The resort, p.12
The Resort, page 12
Hackney Man Convicted of Sexual Assault Flees Country, Violates Parole.
13
BROOKE
When I leave my room, the sun has just begun to dip behind the mountains, casting the entire island in shimmering pink rays. The beauty of this place is undeniable, but today it feels different. The gray of Lucy’s death seems to dull the effect of the late-afternoon sky—although I seem to be the only one who notices.
The quiet and discomfort that seemed to run through the resort earlier today have already faded as the possibilities of the night draw nearer. A low excitement buzzes among the guests wandering through the grounds, a combination of hope for further partying mixed with the salaciousness of yesterday’s news—a guaranteed icebreaker for meeting fellow backpackers. I can already hear it: Lucy’s death becoming nothing more than a pickup line. Did you hear about that girl who died? Makes you want to live every minute to the fullest, doesn’t it?
As I walk out of my room, I check my phone. I initially didn’t plan to text the video to Cass, but her eagerness from earlier convinced me. She seemed so invested as we searched Lucy’s room and later as we scoured social media, but how far is she willing to go? I figured the video could serve as a test of sorts. To see just how committed Cass is to figuring out what really happened to Lucy. But she hasn’t responded.
I hadn’t pegged Daniel as a killer, but what other reason could he possibly have had to follow Lucy around the other night, filming her? Cass had mentioned offhand that Daniel had seemed into Lucy and that Lucy hadn’t reciprocated. Could that have been enough to set Daniel off? I’ve known guys who’ve been drawn to violence for less.
I think back to our conversation after they found Lucy’s body, how casually he led me to the conclusion that her death wasn’t an accident. Could that have been part of his plan? Trying to shift the blame to cover up what he’d done?
I stop at the medical center first, even though I know there’s little chance Daniel’s still being treated. When the cheerful receptionist at the front counter confirms as much, I head toward the Tiki Palms, but a quick glance around shows me Daniel’s not here.
I turn down the beach until I reach the dive shop and then double back. Frustration simmers in my gut. I’m walking aimlessly now, with no idea where he could be. I don’t even know what room he’s in.
But just as I reach the first plateau, I see a figure coming toward me, and as I take in his gait, I know instantly that it’s him. His face is shadowed by a hooded sweatshirt despite the oppressive evening heat, and my jaw drops when I notice the color. Black. It’s the same hoodie worn by the person I saw leaving Lucy’s room earlier.
The realization hits me in an instant. Not only did Daniel spend his time at the Full Moon Party following Lucy, but he was also trying to break into her room earlier today.
What did he want to find? Or cover up?
I watch his head rise slowly, and without thinking, I throw myself behind one of the massive palm trees lining the walkway a moment before his eyes pass over the spot where I’d been standing.
I had planned to confront him, but a pulse of fear lodges in my chest.
I want to see where he’s going, to catch him doing something that will give me enough evidence for this to all make sense, to smash this entire story open.
I watch him walk closer to my hiding place. I expect him to turn into the Tiki Palms, but instead, he takes a sharp right, heading onto the beach road that leads away from the resort and toward Kumvit.
I take a deep breath, and when Daniel’s about twenty yards away, I step out from behind the palm tree to follow him.
I stay close enough to see which way he goes but at a safe enough distance for him not to notice. After a while, though, as we get closer to Kumvit, Daniel veers suddenly off the main road and into an alley I’ve never noticed. I look toward where he’s heading, but the dark trees lining this stretch block out the dim light filtering in from the sunset, darkening the path. Even so, I can make out Daniel’s form walking ahead of me.
With his head covered, walking down a nondescript alley, it’s clear he doesn’t want to be seen.
The thought further raises my already strong suspicions, but I don’t pause to consider the potential ramifications.
After a few steps, I feel a vibration against my leg, the sound exploding against my eardrums. I scramble into my shorts pocket for my phone, fumbling until I find the switch on the side that stops the vibration. I hold my breath and force myself to lift my head and look upward.
But Daniel doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Cautiously, I pull out the phone. It could be Cass, and I want to let her know where I am in case something goes wrong.
I quickly change the settings to lower the brightness of the screen, and with my eyes flicking up regularly to trail Daniel, I pull up the message.
It is from Cass, but it’s not at all the message I expected.
Where are you? Found something new about Daniel. He’s dangerous, stay away.
Despite myself, I feel a warmth from her message. She’s concerned about my safety. But the feeling is quickly dissolved by my curiosity. What does she mean he’s dangerous? I click on the link she included at the end of her message, and for once on this island, the internet loads mercifully quickly. I inhale sharply as I take in the headline and Daniel’s mug shot.
I glance upward to check that Daniel hasn’t noticed anything is amiss—he hasn’t—and move to the side of the alley so that I’m in the shadows offered by the trees before I feverishly read the article.
HACKNEY MAN CONVICTED OF SEXUAL ASSAULT FLEES COUNTRY, VIOLATES PAROLE
Daniel Ayadebo, a 22-year-old Hackney man, has reportedly fled the UK following his recent release from HMP Pentonville. Ayadebo was convicted by a London court on charges of sexual assault and actual bodily harm two years ago, following an incident in which he reportedly attacked his former girlfriend.
Ayadebo’s accuser, who wishes to remain anonymous, claimed that Ayadebo followed her home from a London nightclub, forced his way into her apartment, and sexually assaulted her. Evidence presented at trial, including the accuser’s physical injuries in the form of a black eye and a sprained wrist as well as testimony from witnesses confirming that Ayadebo and his accuser had argued at the nightclub that night, led to his conviction. Ayadebo served twenty-four months of a twenty-eight-month prison sentence and was released early for good behavior.
According to Ayadebo’s probation officer, he disappeared less than a month after his release, and the belief is that he has left the country. Ayadebo’s flight from London constitutes a violation of his parole and warrants his return to prison.
Readers with knowledge of Ayadebo’s whereabouts are encouraged to contact us at tips@hackneysun.com.
I stare at the words for a moment. Daniel is a convicted felon. Of sexual assault.
He’s more than capable of violence.
I’m so invested in the article, my mind racing with its implications, that I don’t hear it: the sudden blanket of quiet that drapes the alley.
There are no more footsteps.
I look up, but the alley in front of me stands empty. I hurry to the end of it, ignoring the unemptied trash cans and discarded palm fronds lining its sides, until I reach a passage that is so narrow it’s almost hidden. I follow it for a few seconds before it deposits me onto another road just outside Kumvit, on the opposite side of the resort. But there’s no sign of Daniel.
The road is busier in this area closer to town, backpackers and locals alike gearing up for the evening. I look frantically both ways—any attempts at furtiveness long discarded—but I don’t see anyone in a black hoodie.
Daniel’s gone.
There’s a crowd gathered at the Tiki Palms when I arrive, and I’m surprised to see Logan behind the bar. Shoes aren’t allowed inside—as per Thai custom—so I slip my sandals off and leave them in a pile with the other guests’. I wait until Logan’s attention is focused on a group of girls placing a large drink order, then head to the staircase in the back corner of the restaurant. It’s blocked by a sign that reads UPPER LEVEL CLOSED FOR STAFF MEETING, which I deftly skirt around before tiptoeing up the stairs.
I spent ten minutes searching every side road and alley weaving through Kumvit, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering in my stomach when I imagined how exactly I would confront Daniel. But ultimately, I didn’t see any sign of him. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t want to be found.
I headed back to the resort, reading the additional texts from Cass that had come in as I walked. She told me about the staff meeting at the Tiki Palms and asked me to meet her in the lobby, where Frederic has her manning reception. But I told her I’ll meet her afterward. There’s something I need to do first.
I know the meeting’s just for staff, but if there’s any chance that Frederic is going to share insider information about Lucy’s death—especially information that may confirm my suspicions about Daniel—I have to know. My hands are still shaking with the adrenaline of following Daniel as I walk up the stairs, but I can’t deny the buzz that vibrates just beneath it. The excitement of knowing I’m getting closer to the truth.
I reach the upper level to find that the meeting hasn’t started. A cloud of chatter, conversations mingling in Thai and English, drapes the room, giving me the cover I need to sneak in and stand at the back, unseen.
I look over the crowd of thirty or so staff members, seated in fold-up chairs in neat little rows. Greta is at the very front, apparently helping Frederic with his notes, but despite looking for them, I don’t spot any of the other Permanents.
“Sawadee krap, bonsoir, good evening,” Frederic’s voice bellows from the front of the room, and the conversations immediately cease.
I’ve only met Frederic once, on one of my first days on the island. I had sought him out, hoping to form some type of collaboration with the resort to help fund my stay here. At the front desk, I’d been forced to schedule a meeting with him and had to wait several days for him to become available. “He’s a busy man,” all the receptionists assured me.
Once we finally met, I was confronted with the full weight of Frederic’s disdain for me, spending nearly an hour listening to him iterate and reiterate all the posts and videos and highlights that were required of me in exchange for a room discount—far more than had ever been required by any other hotel I’ve promoted. The meeting ended with him threatening to revoke my discount should my posts fail to improve resort traffic. Through it all, I forced myself to wear a polite, grateful smile while my insides burned with shame and rage.
Those same emotions flare again as I watch him address the crowd in front of me, his usual condescension replaced by a tone apparently attempting to mimic sincerity.
“By now, many of you have heard that we have lost one of our own. A special guest who we only welcomed to the Koh Sang Dive Resort three days ago. Her name was Lucy Dupin.”
A murmur rises from the staff members at the sound of her name, but Frederic continues, undeterred.
“Friday night, at the Full Moon Party, an event that is supposed to inspire friendships, new beginnings, and connection, Lucy experienced a horrible accident. She entered the ocean for a late-night swim, which you all know we regularly warn against here at the resort.”
I can’t think of any verbal or written warnings given to guests about the dangers of late-night swimming, but Frederic steamrolls on.
“Given the dangerous current in the water and Lucy’s intoxicated state, the police have confirmed that she drowned a short distance from the beach.
“We have also received additional news from the police just a few moments ago.” He pauses, savoring the suspense he’s creating, and I want to scream. “They informed us that they received test results that indicate Lucy was under the influence of alcohol and MDMA at the time of her death.”
The news isn’t surprising—if the police did alter the autopsy results, as I certainly suspect they did, what was to stop them from falsifying some test results? But still, I find myself inhaling sharply. I think I see the whisper of a smirk on Frederic’s lips. Of course, this is perfect for him. If Lucy was on drugs, it’s even easier for him to paint this all as her fault.
“We are so sad to learn that Ms. Dupin lost her life for such a mundane reason,” Frederic continues, quickly contorting his face into an expression that distantly resembles sympathy. “She was a beautiful woman, with a world of possibilities ahead of her, and we here at the Koh Sang Dive Resort are so honored that we got to know her, if only for a few short days.”
The superficiality of his words rings hollow throughout the room, and disgust rises in my throat.
“This is a tragic accident, but it is something that could have happened at any resort, on any island, anywhere in the world. No one here at the dive resort is culpable for Ms. Dupin’s regrettable decisions. We want to make that absolutely clear. As I have said, this was an accident.” He stresses the last word. “Accordingly, we would like you all to refrain from discussing this in the presence of guests. We do not want this unfortunate news to detract from anyone’s experience at our resort.
“With that in mind,” he continues, lifting a piece of paper in one hand while using the other to pull a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. “We have created a response for you to politely give to any guest who lodges such an inquiry. I ask that you please now refer to the handout under your seat.” He pauses as the commotion of thirty people bending down and resituating themselves fills the room. “Now, if we could all read this together…”
The voices speak in unison, like a congregation praying. Thirty mouths move as the monotone speech fills every corner of the room. “Ms. Dupin suffered an unfortunate accident that could have been easily avoided should she have acted with more caution…”
Suddenly I can’t take it anymore. The canned response, the victim blaming. I need to be somewhere else, not listening to this bullshit. I head back down the stairs, not bothering to hide from view, knowing everyone is far too transfixed on their handouts to notice my departure.
I exhale deeply once I’m back on the ground floor of the Tiki Palms. I expect to feel better now that I’m removed from Frederic and his insincere bullshit, but after the stuffy silence upstairs, the din of the nighttime bar crowd seems far too loud.
I’m about to head out onto the path that leads to the rest of the resort when I feel someone watching me. I turn, scanning the room, noting that Sengphet is back in his rightful place behind the bar, with Logan nowhere to be seen. I continue until I spot someone in the far corner of the restaurant, removed from the rest of the crowd. She looks young, possibly still a teenager. Her thick, black hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes are glued on me.
The intensity of her stare is jolting, and I jerk my eyes away. But when I look back a moment later, she’s still looking at me pointedly. Perhaps it’s the reminder of how Lucy stared at me on the day she died, of how I let her down, how badly I failed. Whatever it is, the emotion propels me toward this girl in a flurry of frustration. The adrenaline from earlier continues to pulse through my veins, and after everything that has happened today, I’m ready for a confrontation, to ask this girl what it is she wants. But at that moment, a group of guests chattering loudly in German piles into the bar, stepping in front of me. I try to move around them, but each time I do, another seems to pop up in my way. By the time I get past them, there’s no longer any sign of the girl.
I try to shake it off, the uneasiness her stare has left in my gut, and turn back, slipping on my sandals and heading out of the restaurant.
Without the air circulating from the ceiling fans of the Tiki Palms, the night is heavy and humid. The waves crash against the beach, complementing the sounds of upbeat music wafting over from Kumvit. I breathe in deeply, forcing the salty air into my lungs. I start up the path away from the beach, but as I get closer to the Coral Bungalows, I can’t quite bring myself to go back to my solitary room. I need to walk. To think through what I should do next. To figure out how to tell this story. To find a way to get justice for Lucy.
I veer off from the path, taking the beach road toward Kumvit, the exact route I traveled as I followed Daniel. I walk for a few minutes until I reach the alley where I last saw him. Instinctively I peer down it, expecting to see nothing but the bins and palm fronds from earlier.
But as I do, something farther down catches my attention. There’s a bundle lying against one of the bins, next to a puddle of water. A leaking garbage bag left by someone who couldn’t be bothered to throw it away properly, maybe? I rack my brain, but I can’t remember it being there earlier. And something about the bundle, the length of it, draws me in. Before I can fully understand why, I’m walking toward it.
I hold my breath, blocking out the sweetly sour stench of garbage that I was too distracted to notice earlier. As I walk farther, the shadows grow darker, the streetlights from the main road doing little to illuminate this alley. No restaurants, no bars. Just abandoned trash and a rarely used shortcut.
But even without the lights, as my eyes adjust and I come closer, I can tell I was wrong about the puddle of water. It’s not clear but a dark matte color. I peer at it as I get closer. It’s so dark, it’s almost black. And there’s a new smell now, something metallic in the undertones of the rubbish.
I draw close enough so that I’m inches away. And as the realization starts to click, I shift my gaze to the object splayed out next to the puddle. The thing I mistook for a bag of rubbish is clearly anything but.
“Hello?” I ask quietly, the street swallowing the fear of my word and shouting it back to me in echoes.
As if my body is moving of its own volition, my knees bend so that I’m crouched next to the object. I rest my fingers on it, pushing slightly. I pull away, the tips of my fingers damp and sticky.
