Chapter 16: Silent Operation
1357 Words
Jakarta’s streetlights flashed alternately into the car's interior, casting fast-moving shadows across the dashboard.
After dropping Saskia at the school gate to pick up her motorcycle, I drove alone toward Brawijaya. I felt like a prisoner returning to solitary confinement after a brief reprieve.
Eight o'clock in the evening.
My car turned into the driveway. Silence. No garden lights were on, only the dim glow of the main porch light.
My guess was completely off. I thought they would be home late because of that damn gala dinner. But seeing the garage, I immediately took a deep breath.
Father’s black Alphard was already neatly parked. Its engine was still ticking softly, a sign it had just been turned off.
Damn. They came home early.
I killed the engine. My hands gripped the steering wheel for a moment, gathering the remnants of the courage I had just summoned at Sister Aluna’s house.
"Remember, Elara. Acting," I whispered to myself.
"Don't be baited. Don't explode."
I stepped out of the car, taking a long breath that felt heavy with the night's humidity, then walked toward the main door.
A soft click echoed.
The moment the door opened, a sudden chill swept over me. Not the cold of the AC, but a bone-chilling cold from the tension hanging in the air.
This house felt like a luxury tomb.
In the living room, under an unlit crystal chandelier, Mother stood. She was still wearing a maroon satin evening gown, complete with diamond jewelry that sparkled with arrogance.
Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her face was hard, her eyes staring at me sharply as if I were a dirty stain on her polished marble floor.
"Good," she said coldly.
"A young lady coming home at this hour. Satisfied with your wandering?"
I didn't answer.
My steps were calm as I walked toward the console table beside where Mother stood.
My hand reached into my pocket, pulling out the car keys I had been using. The car Father gave me when I graduated.
The keys hit the table with a sharp clang.
I dropped the keys just like that onto the glass table. The sound was sharp, shattering the silence of the house.
Mother furrowed her brows, staring at the keys, then looked at me in confusion.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"I'm tired, Mother," I replied flatly. My voice was hollow, devoid of emotion.
"I'm returning the car. So you don't have to worry about me running off with family assets."
Mother’s jaw tightened. She opened her mouth, ready to launch a barrage of reproaches about how ungrateful I was.
"Elara! You think with this attitude—"
"Let's discuss it tomorrow, Mother. My head hurts."
I cut her off with a forced, polite tone, then simply stepped past her. No shouting, no arguments, no drama.
Mother stood frozen in place. She was confused. Usually, I would defend myself, cry, or shout back. My silence threw her fight script into disarray.
My eyes swept the corner of the room.
There, in an armchair near the window, Father sat. He was still in his full suit, but his tie was loose. The whiskey glass in his hand was half-empty.
Father didn't look at me. His eyes were fixed on the carpet, his shoulders slumped. The once-imposing figure who owned Dwijaya Trading now looked small.
A flicker of pity crept in, but disgust dominated. He knew I was being sold, and he just sat there quietly sipping his expensive alcohol.
I looked away. I couldn't bear to look at him any longer.
I climbed the stairs one by one. Behind me, I heard Mother click her tongue harshly, but she didn't chase after me.
Maybe she thought she had already won. Oh... she was dead wrong.
• • •
CLICK.
I turned the bedroom key twice.
I leaned against the door, closing my eyes. The breath I had been holding back desperately finally escaped. My lungs felt like they were burning.
Outside, Mother’s footsteps paced the hallway. The sound of her footsteps on the floor was like a prison warden on patrol.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
The footsteps stopped right in front of my door for a few seconds, then moved away again.
I opened my eyes. My room was dark, lit only by the streetlights piercing through the window curtains.
"Time to move," I hissed.
I pulled a cabin-sized suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. Lowering it slowly so as not to make a loud noise.
ZIP.
I unzipped the suitcase.
I began sorting items quickly yet in total silence.
It wasn't party clothes or expensive gowns I took. My hands grabbed jeans, a few t-shirts, work shirts, and enough underwear.
Then the documents. My diploma, birth certificate, passport, bank book. I put them all into a waterproof plastic folder. This was my life. Without these, I couldn't apply for a job elsewhere if they blocked my access at the school.
I opened the jewelry box on the vanity. Ignoring the diamond necklace Mother gave me for my 25th birthday—it was just a shackle.
My hand took a simple gold necklace with a small locket pendant. This was from Grandma. The only valuable item given purely out of love, not prestige.
I slipped it into the pocket of a small bag.
As I was about to close the nightstand drawer, my hand touched a face-down wooden photo frame.
I flipped it over.
The photo’s colors had faded slightly. A five-year-old Elara was hugging a teenage Aluna in the backyard of our old house. We were both laughing freely, smeared with chocolate ice cream.
A time before Dwijaya Trading was this big. A time when we were still humans, not assets.
My eyes stung.
"Just a little longer, Sister," I whispered to the photo.
"I'll be joining you soon."
I tucked the photo between the layers of clothes so the glass wouldn't break.
DING!
My phone lit up on the bed. Its light was blinding in the dark room.
I grabbed it quickly, afraid the sound would be heard outside.
Saskia Putri:
Operation at 2 AM. Don't be late. I'll be waiting at the CCTV blind spot next to your neighbor's house.
NB: I'm bringing some muscle to help carry the stuff.
My brow furrowed. Muscle?
What did she mean? Was she bringing a cart? Or did she hire market porters?
My fingers were just about to type a reply to ask, when my bedroom door handle moved down.
CLICK. CLICK.
Someone was trying to open it from the outside.
My heart stopped beating.
I threw the phone under the pillow, then jumped onto the bed and pulled the blanket up to my neck in seconds.
"Elara? Are you asleep?"
Mother’s voice. She sounded annoyed and suspicious.
I stayed silent, holding my breath. My eyes were tightly shut, playing dead.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
"I know you're not asleep. We'll talk seriously tomorrow morning. Don't think you can avoid it again."
Silence.
I heard a faint grumble behind the door, then the sound of footsteps moving away.
Their bedroom door closed.
THUD.
I let out a long exhale. Crazy. This felt more nerve-wracking than a teacher certification exam.
• • •
The wall clock ticked slowly, as if mocking my anxiety.
01:30.
The house was completely silent. Even the sound of crickets from the back garden was clearly audible.
I got up slowly. I changed out of my silk pajamas and into black cargo pants and an oversized grey hoodie. Rubber-soled sneakers that wouldn't make noise were already prepared.
I tied my hair in a high bun. Practical.
I looked around the room I had occupied for twenty-six years. The dolls in the cabinet, the luxury vanity, the soft bed.
All first-class facilities. A comfortable golden cage.
"Goodbye," I murmured without regret.
I lifted the suitcase. I didn't drag it. I carried it so the wheels wouldn't rumble on the floor.
My hand turned the door key with a slow movement, like a surgeon defusing a bomb.
CLICK.
Open.
I peeked out into the hallway. Pitch black.
The escape operation began.
- Writer
