If he had to estimate, the drop was forty feet. The current was slow moving, and it seemed like the suitcase hadn’t made it very far. He climbed onto the balustrade just as a car slowed to a stop next to him.
“Don’t kill yourself,” a woman’s voice shouted. “Think of everything you have to live for.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Junyoung snapped.
Without thinking, he sprinted in the direction he’d come, off the bridge and down the bank of the river, the soles of his feet aching. There was a smaller drop here, ten feet maybe. He could see the suitcase floating a short distance away. Junyoungkicked off his shoes, held his nose, and before he could change his mind, threw himself into the water.
He hit the surface with a smack. It was higher drop than he’d thought, and the pain and cold shocked him. Water flooded his nose and mouth. He had been wrong about the current—it dragged him under without mercy.
Junyoung clawed his way upward, his lungs screaming for air. Gasping, he burst through the surface and looked around as he treaded water, trying to reorient himself. The suitcase was an arm’s length away. He lunged toward it, only for the tide to pull it away.
“Fuck!” Junyoung screamed. He had lost his goddamn mind. His chest hurt. His hands and feet had gone numb from the cold. His clothes clung to him, dragging him down. All he wanted was to lie on the ground, to take a long nap.
“You are not like other men, Junyoung,” his father had once told him. “You are strong. You cannot let a woman lead you astray.”
For years, Junyoung had held onto these words, following them like a beacon cutting through the night. Abeoji had been right all along. If only Junyoung hadn’t allowed Dahye to lead him down this path …
The suitcase knocked against his back, jolting Junyoung out of his thoughts. While he had been ruminating, it had inched closer and closer to him. He reached out and grasped the handle. Flooded with relief, he flailed toward the nearby embankment, pushing the suitcase onto the gravel. Junyoung dragged himself out of the water with the little strength he had left and collapsed.
Everything hurt, but he was desperate to know what the suitcase contained. He crawled toward it. When he unzipped it, helifted the lid to find … clothing. Junyoung frowned. Somehow, it had all managed to stay dry.
Why had she gone through all the trouble of dumping it in the river?
Junyoung picked up the shirt at the top of the pile. It was a men’s linen shirt, expensive looking, with mother-of-pearl buttons. Dark stains covered the front. Junyoung shook it, and something small fell out from between its folds, falling onto the gravel. Junyoung picked it up and held it to his face, squinting.
It was a finger. Part of one, anyway. Junyoung let out a horrified squeal as he leapt away from the suitcase. The moon was full and low over his head, and when he looked down at his hands, he saw that his palms were stained with blood. What had Dahye done? His mind began to race. Junyoung had assumed the man from the previous night had gone home sometime in the morning. But what if he had never left?
What if that man had tried to hurt Dahye, and she had killed him in self-defense?
In spite of his exhaustion, Junyoung felt a sudden burst of adrenaline. He had unexpectedly stumbled upon a treasure. Now that he had the suitcase, he held all the cards. Dahye was under the impression she had gotten rid of it. If she agreed to be with him, he would help her bury the secret. If not … Well, he didn’t want to think that far ahead.
Junyoung’s phone was waterlogged, and his shoes were nowhere to be found, but he trudged away from the embankment and onto the street, the suitcase in tow. He had a vague sense of his location, and after a long and painful trek, his apartment building swam into view. He was nearly grateful for his mother when she opened the door.
“Junyoung!” she gasped, staring at his pale face.
“Hello, Mother,” Junyoung said. Trembling with tiredness, he collapsed onto the floor.
+
For two long days, Junyoung was bedridden, drifting in and out of a tortured sleep. Dahye lingered in his dreams, caressing him. “I love you,” she kept saying, though oddly, her voice sounded exactly like his mother’s.
On the third day, his fever broke. Junyoung’s eyelids fluttered open to see his mother’s face hovering above his.
“Eugh!” Junyoung bolted upright. “What are you doing?”
“I was checking your temperature,” she said, looking hurt. “You’ve been sick. I was worried.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“You showed up in the middle of the night, soaking wet and feverish. You aren’t fine. We should go to the doctor.”
“Stop being a nag. I’m perfectly fine.” Memories of Dahye, the bridge, and, most importantly, the suitcase came flooding back. Junyoung struggled to get to his feet. “Where is it?”
“What? You need to lie down, Junyoung. You’re very sick.”
“The suitcase! Where the hell did you put it?”
“I threw it away,” she said quietly. “It smelled awful. Stank up the whole apartment. I looked inside, and it didn’t look important, so I put it out with the garbage last night.”