Michelle loved playing with her adorable little daughter Kim's sweeping black hair; it's a shame she was in the possession of child kidnappers.
Stroking Kim's baby sister - Fann's - ponytail just wasn't the same. She used to cry when her hair touched her face because it irritated her skin. As much as Michelle wanted to untie her dark locks, she knew Fann didn't like it when her mother fiddled and fussed with her hair. Instead, Michelle settled for just spooning Fann from behind; her soft, caring motherly hands squeezing her daughter's tummy; her sharp, leather stiletto heels digging into her daughter's thighs.
They hoped she would be all right. Michelle, and Yeng Phua, her husband, spent the night attending to their one year-old baby boy, Chan, praying Kim would return home, and making love - in that order. When the panting was over and she'd pried his fingertips off her bulging chest, Michelle woke up in his arms. A neatly-wrapped grey package awaited them outside in the morning. Inside, a video tape.
There she was. Sweet Kim, a four year-old girl; her eyes puffy from tears, while someone's delicate fingers crudely scribbled down a demand for more than ten times Yeng's salary.
He turned pale. For a brief moment, he thought of their two other children, and was glad he'd closed the door before watching the tape. Not only did he not want them to see their older sister on the screen, but he didn't want them to see their mother, in a state of shock, pass out and strike her head on the coffee table. It was too much for her to take.
It would be several days before Michelle came to. The memory of seeing her daughter on that tape had seemingly vanished. Whether it was amnesia or a sub-conscious mechanism by her brain to preserve her sanity, it was surely for the best.
Michelle was sweet - and trusting - she never imagined her friends would lie to her. They weren't close friends; relationships of deep confiding had weakened to nothing when she dedicated her life to home-making and motherhood, but they were the only people outside of her family she could rely on, and she trusted every word they said. How could she have known the crisp, fresh Singapore dollars in their pockets had slipped through the fingers of a corrupt state official?
Her friends told her she may have done it. They visited her at home to help look after the house, and reminded her how much she liked to drink. It was true; on the rare occasions the kids were with a sitter, Michelle did always drink far too much wine by herself. Could she have really done that to her own daughter? She didn't know what to believe.
Now, the court case was in full swing. A prosecution desired by the police. A jail sentence desired by the media. Michelle shivered with fear; it was her turn on the witness stand.
The prosecutor slowly paced the polished, tiled floor. "Mrs Teo," he proudly announced. Michelle looked up at his cruel face; he confidently stared straight back straight into her eyes.
"You're Mrs Michelle Teo, nÊe Lim?" He paused, waiting for her answer.
"Ye-" Her timid confirmation was rudely interrupted as the prosecutor continued. He was deliberately trying to intimidate her.
"Wife of Yeng Phua, mother of Kim, missing, Fann, and Chan. Is that correct?"
Michelle's eyes darted to the left, as someone in the back of the courtroom coughed. She looked back at the prosecutor, repelled by the sizeable bags under his eyes.
"Three children? That's a lot for a young couple, such as you and your husband." His words were confident. "Don't you think, Michelle?" he smirked.
She wasn't prepared for such a personal question. Wasn't he putting words into her mouth? Why was he calling her by her first name? Michelle wasn't sure how to reply, especially in front of so many people. "I... I guess so." Her voice was kind, as if not wanting to judge anyone else in her position who might be listening.
"Another child probably wouldn't be very prudent for you, then, would it?"
She looked at her husband in the rows of wooden benches ahead, hoping for some sort of help. Alas, Yeng's lips were pursed in confusion, staring at the back of the prosecutor's balding head.
The villainous man sensed her uncertainty, and pushed Michelle harder to say what he wanted her to. "After all, your husband couldn't afford the ransom for your poor little daughter, could he? You could hardly afford another child, right now."
Michelle seemed apprehensive; she didn't want to answer, but her court-appointed lawyer had warned her not saying anything could incriminate her further. "Y-Yes," she said, he head bowed down with shame. For the first time, her voice began to waver. When she looked up, the prosecutor had something in his hand: a video tape.
No, no - he couldn't, surely? He was going to make her watch the tape of her daughter? Yeng had warned her, as gently as he could, about what was on that tape, and why she could never watch it again.
For the first time, the courtroom's piercing gaze was directed at something other than the make-up on her face. Their necks were swivelled at the white screen beside the judge's raised bench. A few old men in the jury fiddled with their hearing-aids in anticipation.
"Do I ha-" Michelle's words were so timid they almost remained in her mouth. She only got part-way through her question before the prosecutor prodded a clunky button on the video apparatus beside the projector.
Much to her surprise, her daughter's terrified face was nowhere in sight. Instead, an image of she and her husband's bedroom was beamed onto the courtroom wall. Michelle wasn't sure if it really was a video or just a continuous still photograph, until she recognized herself and Yeng stumble in front of the camera, their bodies pressed against each other's as they made out. It was a recording of last night, somehow covertly made.
The dozens of onlookers stared intently at the playback. Michelle's long, bare legs sauntered toward their bed, the dull thud of her heavy shoes on the bedroom carpet audible on the tape. She didn't even notice the prosecutor pausing the tape. It stopped abruptly, focusing on her spiky high heels.
"Would you kindly remove your shoes for the court, Mrs Teo?"
Michelle couldn't image what was he trying to do; catch her out, embarrass her? He stepped a little closer to the witness stand where she sat, with considerable discomfort. "Today, please, Mrs Teo."
She kept her eyes on his, worried about his intent, as she reached down to feel the smooth bare skin at the top of her feet. Slowly, and carefully, she unfastened the ankle straps of her five-and-a-half inch stilettos. They were Michelle's favourite heels; she could never forget lying on her honeymoon bed, those shoes pressed against Yeng's legs as he made love to her for the very first time. They were the kind of high heels most girls would only be seen wearing during nights-out around the city, but Michelle loved to wear them everywhere she went, even at home; they made her feel feminine, and attractive to her husband. She gently placed the first high heel, followed by the other, on the wooden counter.
The prosecutor gawked at the overly-high metal stiletto spikes. "My my; rather innapropriate for court, don't you think, Mrs Teo?" He pressed his cigarette against one of them.
"Ah, no-!" Michelle cried out. She reached out to grab the shoe, but the prosecutor instead pointed the lit end at her hand.
The judge made his feelings clear. "Do not touch evidence on the stand, Mrs Teo."
She gasped, eyes watering, as the prosecutor pushed the filthy brown cigarette further and further between his grubby fingers. The scarlet plastic of her favourite stiletto heel gradually turned darker and darker, smouldering just a little. Eventually, he removed the butt from her shoe.
Just as she thought the torment was over, the prosecutor tapped the tip of his cigarette into the insole of her high heel. Bright red ash fell into it. The prosecutor almost seemed surprised when the ash slid down the inside of her shoe, from the heel to the toe-box, leaving a black stain; the heels were so high, the sole at such a steep angle, that nothing would have remained immovable inside them. When, at last, the prosecutor moved away from the witness stand, Michelle grabbed her ruined shoes back. Inside the stiletto were live cigarette embers.
"The court will wait for you to put your shoes back on, Mrs Teo."
She yelped in pain while sliding her pretty toes back into the shoe, the now-amber ash searing her feet. Everyone in the courtroom could hear the remains of the cigarette (butt) sizzling and burning her. Michelle knew she'd be enjoying an agonizing blister there for the next few weeks. Her eyes closed, wincing in agony, her overly-tight leather skirt constricting her movement.
She finally secured her dainty feet into her ankle-breaking stiletto shoes. The tall metal heels clunked against the wooden flooring, louder even than the prosecutor's footsteps, drawing faces to her and her alluring footwear.
Everyone's attention slowly diverted back to the picture on the wall, while Michelle quickly tried to fasten her stilettos around her lower legs.
The prosecutor suddenly cleared his throat and snarled at her. "Let's continue."
She jumped in panic, tearing the ankle strap off her right shoe. Her eyes were now beginning to well up. Without the support around her leg, the back of her high heel slipped off her foot, the sharp heel denting the floor. By the time Michelle looked back up at the wall, a nude Yeng was kissing her neck faster and faster. In the video, she carelessly flung the stiletto she was wearing off her toes. The shoe smashed through a variety of ornaments on the bedside table.
As the pair were about to fall onto their bed, the image on the screen got closer, as the prosecutor zoomed in. It focused on a framed print on the floor, the glass cracked by a long, black, needle thin stiletto heel, lamentably stuck through her daughter Kim's face in the photo.
