“I’ll be back,” he mumbled, and he disappeared. Dizzy, she had closed her eyes. When she’d opened them, she wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed, but Hyukjoon still hadn’t returned, and she was alone with one of his friends in the room. He was crouched next to her, one hand pressed against her neck. He seemed surprised.
“I was worried about you,” he said. “Was making sure you still had a pulse. Do you need some water?”
She blinked, and the scene transformed. Neon lights flashed in her face. She lurched out, pushing past the crowd of people closing in on her, looking for Hyukjoon. She headed toward the restrooms. Another of his friends spotted her, pulled her away. “Hyukjoon,” she shouted at him. “I’m looking for Hyukjoon. Where is he? I’m tired. I want to go home.”
Another blink, and she was in a hotel room with Hyukjoon lying on the bed next to her. They were both naked. He was propped up on one elbow, staring at his phone. When she sat up, he set it down. “You’re awake.”
She looked around. “Where are we?”
“Itaewon. Here, have some water.” He watched her drink thirstily. “I’ve never seen you so drunk,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself that drunk,” she admitted. “Was I embarrassing?”
“Not too bad.”
“I hope your friends didn’t think I was a complete idiot.”
“They liked you.”
He had been all over her. They had stayed up nearly the entire night, his hunger insatiable, and Dahye had felt nothing but excitement. Nobody had ever wanted her that much.
Now the memory was tainted. Dahye stood and picked up a decorative pillow from the bed, heaving it against the wall. The enormous windows, which she had earlier admired, now made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. She peered out. There were so many buildings just across the way. Was somebody watching her now?
Abruptly, she yanked the shades closed. Still, her skin prickled. She went into the bathroom and locked the door, triple-checking to make sure, before she turned on the tub’s faucet. She waited until the water was hot and lay flat in the tub, staring at the ceiling.
Hyukjoon had told her the video had been discovered in a molka chatroom. Over the past few years, the issue of molka—hidden spy cameras—had made major headlines in Korea, with some even calling it an “epidemic.” And during the summer, protestors who were outraged at the government’s lack of action had blocked the main roads in the heart of Seoul,causing an influx of traffic. At the time, Dahye had been angry at the inconvenience. At having to find an alternate route into work.
She sank deeper into the bathtub, the ends of her hair fanning out in the water. She had heard stories of women finding microscopic cameras hidden in everyday objects in public restrooms, gyms, classroom, and, of course, motel rooms. Of discovering videos of themselves online. One woman had even found a spycam hidden in an alarm clock in her own apartment—a gift from her neighbor, a man whom she had considered a friend. He was found guilty but sentenced to only probation and a hundred hours of community service. Unable to bear this outcome, the woman had killed herself.
In an emotional social media post, the woman’s younger brother described the moment when he had found her body swinging from the rafters of her apartment. He had posted a picture of her shoes, an image that had lingered in Dahye’s mind long after she had exited the page. The last paragraph of the post read:
For months we have tried desperately to seek justice for my sister, only to meet obstacles at every turn. One thing I have learned from this experience is that there is no help at all from the government. Every single day, thousands of women have their most vulnerable moments posted anonymously on the internet. The criminals who plant these cameras are impossible to find, disappearing into thin air at the first sign of suspicion. And even if they are caught, like in my sister’s case, the justice system gives them a pass. Probation and community service is aninsult to her life and to her memory. I only hope that in death, she has found peace. I love her and miss her every single day.
Inhaling sharply, Dahye submerged her head under the water. Maybe she would drown herself, she thought, before opening her eyes. Her skin was wrinkled and pruned. Her lungs burned as she fought to hold her breath—
A shadow moved over her head. There was someone with her inside the bathroom.
She stood up so fast the walls spun. “Hello?” she said tentatively, sticking one foot out of the tub. Water dripped onto the floor. The door was still locked. She frowned, turning to look toward the toilet. Her gaze caught on the vent. She remembered. The eyes.
“Hello?” she said again, her heart beginning to race. “Is someone here?”
Against her better judgment, she clambered on top of the toilet seat. With her hands flat on the wall, she squinted through the gaps. It was empty. There was nothing strange about it except for a bit of water leaking out. Probably from the air conditioning.
Relieved, Dahye climbed back down. She was done with her bath anyway. The water was getting cold, and her head ached from thinking too much. All she wanted to do was sleep. Snatching the towel hanging from the wall, she wrapped it around herself before turning to the foggy mirror.
She dragged the edge of her towel across the glass, cutting through the steam. Then she noticed the dark figure standing behind her. Dahye gasped. She turned, pressing her bare back into the countertop. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The figure’s head was bowed. Its long hair was soaking wet and covered its face so that Dahye couldn’t see it clearly. As fear coursed through her body, Dahye’s knees gave out, buckling underneath her. She tumbled onto the floor.
What she could see of the figure was blue, wrinkled skin. Water pooled beneath its swollen feet. It reached for her with fingers black with rot, and Dahye finally found her voice. She screamed, curling into a ball. “No! No, no, nonono—”
It was over. She was going to die here, alone in a bathroom at the Park Hyatt. She could feel the hot breath of the monster coming closer and closer, a low growl in its throat, and then she heard a knock.
The awful, stifling sensation in the bathroom disappeared, and Dahye scrambled to her feet, looking around. It was gone. “What the—?”
She was losing her mind. The only rational explanation she could think of was that the incident with Hyukjoon had shaken her up, had shocked her so completely that she had lost her grip on reality. “You’re seeing things again,” she muttered. “It isn’t real. None of it is real.”
Then, remembering the knocking, she hurried out, thinking Hyukjoon had returned for her. She flung the door wide open.