He rounded the corner. She was gone. Junyoung blinked, looking around. The street was lined with apartment buildings and officetels, and he couldn’t tell which one she had disappeared into. As he turned to go, a single raindrop hit the center of his forehead. He covered his head with his hands and sprinted down the street.
Get up.”
Dahye grunted as Bora prodded her with soft hands. She made no effort to get up.
“It’s been three days, Dahye. You can’t sleep forever.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dahye muttered, still keeping her eyes closed.
“Can you at least take a shower? No offense, but you stink.”
Dahye said nothing. Bora let out a loud sigh. “Alright. Do whatever you want. I have to go to work now, but I left some samgyetang in the fridge for you. Warm it up before you eat it.” With that, Bora left, though her reluctance was obvious. Once she was certain that she was alone again, Dahye groped underneath her pillow for Hyukjoon’s wallet. She had looked at it so many times that, when she closed her eyes, she saw his smiling image from his license recreated perfectly under her eyelids.
Was he thinking about her at all?
Of course he was. Hyukjoon loved her. He had gone to great lengths to protect her.
But if that were the case, why hadn’t he called? He had been in New York for several days now. Surely he had seen all the missed calls and the dozens of messages she had left him. She closed the wallet. Opened it again. The smell of leather wafted toward her.
“Staring at his picture isn’t going to bring him back,” she said aloud. She shoved it under the pillow, then gave herself a tentative whiff, wrinkling her nose. Bora was right. She smelled disgusting.
Bora had not hesitated when Dahye had shown up at her door, dragging the suitcase behind her. Right away Bora had helped her inside, made her feel comfortable. Now that she thought about it, Bora was more of a sister to Dahye than Eunhye had ever been, that was for certain.
Once, after her bracelet went missing, Eunhye had torn Dahye’s side of the room apart, claiming Dahye had stolen it. When they eventually found it at the bottom of Eunhye’s backpack, Dahye had threatened to run away. She had expected Eunhye to apologize. Instead, Eunhye dragged her out into the hallway outside their apartment while she had kicked and screamed.
“Fine!” Eunhye had said. “Go! See if I care.” Then she’d slammed the door in Dahye’s face.
Without any conscious thought, Dahye reached under the pillow again. She opened Hyukjoon’s wallet, gazing at the information on his driver’s license. His name was printed neatly at the top, along with his license number: 11-17-41074-01. His address was listed underneath. She sat up straight, thinking.
Why did she have to wait for Hyukjoon to return? She could go to his house now and talk to his father, explain the whole situation. At the very least, she could take back the wallet. She jumped out of bed, the wallet still in her hand, and unpluggedher phone. Blindly she grabbed a shirt and a pair of pants—Bora’s clothes—from the pile sitting by the bed, before throwing them on and stumbling outside for the first time in days.
It was midafternoon. She squinted into the sun as she called a taxi, directing the driver to Seongbuk-dong, where Hyukjoon’s family lived. The driver looked at the address and then at her, seemingly wondering what business she might have there. Dahye kept her gaze fixed out the window as they rolled up the hills.
She could tell the moment they made it out of downtown and into Seongbuk. Pine trees peppered the streets, and vines crawled across the brick and stone walls. The sounds of the city, which Dahye was so used to, faded away. She could hear birds. Nearby, on a low-hanging branch, a crow let out a sharpcawbefore spreading its wings, taking flight. Her mother always said that crows were bad luck. On the day Eunhye’s body was discovered, Dahye had seen four crows sitting on a telephone line. She tried not to think about that as the taxi slowed to a stop, a police officer approaching the window.
“Hello,” he said, peering at the driver first and then at Dahye. “Unfortunately, there’s road work up ahead, and the street is blocked. I don’t think you’ll be able to get through.”
The driver glanced at her, his eyes questioning.
“Oh. That’s fine,” Dahye said. “I’ll get out here and walk the rest of the way.”
She should have known better. The street was on an incline, and it was hot and humid. With each step, her muscles burned. She walked for a long time until finally, she navigated her way to Hyukjoon’s street. His house was perched at the top of a hill; a lattice of rooftops sprawled out below. It was quiet. She was the only person on the street.
Hyukjoon’s house was blocked from view by a towering brick wall and an enormous set of wooden doors, next to which hisBMW was parked. There was also a white Range Rover and a blue Maserati. Dahye peered into Hyukjoon’s car. It was empty, as were the other two. She frowned, examining the doors to the house. There was no intercom or doorbell. No way of communicating with those inside. She had just pressed her hands flat against the sun-warmed wood when, suddenly, she heard a loud bark. A dog. Did Hyukjoon have a dog? He had never mentioned one to her. She stepped back onto the street and noticed her disheveled reflection in the BMW’s gleaming window.
The sun was beating down on her. She touched her reddened cheeks. They felt sunburned. Her hair was matted and unkempt, and she was sweaty from the uphill trek. Though she had changed her clothing, she still smelled sour, unwashed. Bora’s words reverberated in her head:“You stink.”
Maybe she could fix her hair? She raked her fingers through the tangled mess, but it quickly became obvious to her that she was beyond fixing. It was stupid to show up at Hyukjoon’s house like this, she realized. She couldn’t meet his father this way. She had to come back another time, when she was at least presentable. She had just moved away from Hyukjoon’s car when the great wooden doors began to slide open.
Dahye ran, crouching behind the Maserati. She couldn’t make out the figure that had stepped onto the street, but she could see their shoes. Black Ferragamo loafers, the kind that Hyukjoon wore often. She held her breath as the shoes approached the BMW. It was probably Hyukjoon’s father, or maybe his brother. She waited.
A voice cut through her thoughts.
“No, I don’t agree. That’s a bunch of bullshit, and you know it.”
Dahye froze. It sounded like Hyukjoon’s voice, but that didn’t make sense. Hyukjoon was in New York, not Seoul. Shelistened, her ears straining to pick up every nuance in his tone, certain that what she was seeing and hearing was someone else, or maybe another apparition.
“I don’t give a shit! I told you that it has nothing to do with me. It’s a fucking smear campaign—”