Just as she was about to exit from the app, a video caught her eye. It looked grainy and familiar. She tapped on it andrecognized it instantly. It had been taken inside the restrooms at work.
At first, the video showed an empty toilet. But seconds later, the stall opened, and a woman entered. Dahye recognized the person instantly, and her skin crawled. It was her. The woman in the video was her.
“What is this?” she asked. “Where the fuck did you get this?” She shoved the phone into Junyoung’s face. “Did Hyukjoon send this to you? Did you lie to me? Were you working with him?”
“No,” he tried to say through the gag.
“You were in that chat with him, weren’t you? You were sharing pictures of me? Videos? And what—you broke in to get more footage? How long have you been watching me?” She dug the tip of the blade into his cheek, carving a small divot into his flesh. Blood filled the hole and spilled down his cheek. Dahye tore the sock out from his mouth.
“I haven’t—I don’t know—I—”
“Answer me!” she shrieked. “How long?” She looked around, her eyes frantic. “Are there cameras in here now?”
“No! It was just at work! I swear—I swear on my life. I wasn’t lying. I had no idea who Hyukjoon was, and—”
Junyoung began to sob, silently, his mouth wide open. As Dahye stared at him, the room grew hazy and indistinct. Eunhye’s movements were jerky and erratic. She was nearly touching him now. She looked at Dahye as though asking for permission, and Dahye gave her a small nod. Eunhye smiled. Her face seemed to split apart, and she began to sing.
“All pigs go to the slaughterhouse to die.”
+
“I’m going to show you a movie. I want you to watch the whole thing.”
Junyoung, thinking it to be a trick, squeezed his eyes shut. Dahye grabbed his face and dug the tip of her fingernail into the open wound on his cheek. “I said watch,” she snarled. The pain made him gasp, and he complied.
The video began to play. It had been taken in her bedroom. Right away, Junyoung recognized the man on the screen as Jang Hyukjoon, and he began to tremble.
It was the video of his murder.
Junyoung tried to turn his head, but once again, Dahye grabbed him and forced him to watch. It was far worse than anything Junyoung could have imagined. He could see clearly Hyukjoon’s fear, the way the man screamed and howled and dragged himself away, his blood spilling across the floor. Warmth spread along the inside of Junyoung’s thigh. He’d wet himself.
Dahye stared at him with distaste, wrinkling her nose. Once the video ended, she opened her camera and pressed the record button, propping the phone against the wall. Junyoung stared at it.
“Wh—what is that?” he asked fearfully. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going to make an even better video,” Dahye said, smiling.
“No,” Junyoung moaned. “No. Nonono—”
“Shhh. The more you fight, the more painful it’ll be.” She gagged him again, then bent over him to carve through his clothing with the cleaver, revealing the soft, hairless curd of his belly. She smirked as she cut through his jeans and then his underwear. His penis was wilted and flaccid. Small. Seeing herexpression, Junyoung grew red with shame. He was on the verge of dying, of being emasculated, and all he could think about was how small his dick looked.
He wanted to tell her that he was a grower, not a shower. But he was fully naked now, and he had bigger things to worry about.
Junyoung had envisioned his death many times throughout the course of his life, but always as an old man, gray and worn, cradled in the arms of a beautiful woman. Never had he anticipated this—lying on the ground, wrists and ankles bound, a knife at his groin.
For some reason, he kept thinking about his mother and her wrinkled face. He thought about her yellow teeth and the way she always covered her mouth when she talked or smiled. It was funny; he had spent so much of his time hating her after his father had left, despising her weakness and the fact that she hadn’t been able to do her duties as a wife to make him stay.
Junyoung didn’t blame his father. In his shoes, he would have done the same. Abeoji had been educated, his family lineage strong. He had come from a line of military generals, strong-willed, temperamental, while Junyoung’s mother had been poor. She hadn’t attended university. She wasn’t beautiful or particularly interesting in any way. As far as Junyoung knew, his father had married her out of pity. Was it any wonder that it had gone the way it had?
As Dahye raised the knife, Junyoung’s vision went black. He began to pray.Please, if you’re up there, God, get me out of this horrible situation. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. I’ll be nice to my mother. I’ll buy her whatever she wants. I’ll take her to the dentist to get her teeth fixed. I’ll get rid of all the cameras and delete all the footage I have. I’ll spend the rest of my life repenting. I’ll join a monastery. I won’t think of women ever again. Please just let me live.
Suddenly, a knock came at the front door. Dahye stopped, her hand floating in mid-air. She cocked her head, listening, as another rapid knock came through. Frowning, she turned to Junyoung.
“Does anybody know where you are?” she asked. “Your family?”
Junyoung shook his head. Dahye scuttled toward her bedroom door, peeking out. They heard a deep voice.
“Police! We know you’re inside. Open the door, or we’ll break it down!”