Junyoung squirmed. He was saved. Saved! Dahye, scowling, hit him across the cheek with the handle of the knife, cutting his elation short. Spots of white danced across his vision.
“Get in the closet,” she hissed, as they listened to another barrage of knocks. Junyoung hesitated. She made a shallow cut in his thigh.
“I said, get in the fucking closet.”
The most he could manage was a slow-moving crawl along the floor as Dahye pushed and kicked him. The wood floor tugged and pinched at his bare skin. He moved as deliberately as possible, sensing Dahye’s agitation. Maybe if he took long enough, the police would break down the door—
She cut him again, deeper this time. He could feel blood trickling down his leg and was overcome with panic. He crawled faster.
“I’m coming,” Dahye yelled in a high, cheerful voice. “I’m getting out of the shower now. I’ll be just a minute!”
Junyoung stopped in front of the closet, and Dahye raised the butt of the knife over his head again as if to hit him. He flinched. “That’s right,” she said, giggling hysterically. “Now get in the closet, little piggy. Do as I say.”
He lay flat on the floor as Dahye piled her dirty laundry ontop of him, doing her best to hide him from view. Junyoung’s face was covered, and he was blind, but he could sense the warmth of her body as she hovered above him.
“If you do anything, if you even breathe the wrong way,” she whispered, “I’ll make you regret every last second of your miserable, pathetic life.”
Then he heard the door shut. Her footsteps disappeared around the corner, and Junyoung lay there in the stillness, breathing the scent of her musk. He had been given an opportunity, and he wasn’t about to die without a fight. He was meant to survive. To live. He closed his eyes and saw his mother’s face again, blindingly bright. Yes—he needed to get home to his mother. He needed to right all his wrongs.
He shook the clothing from his face and pushed up against the door, stopping when he felt the soles of his feet resting against the wood. Thinking hard, he tried again to pull his ankles apart. Faint voices trickled in from the living room, and Junyoung felt his desperation grow. He pulled harder and felt the string slacken slightly, giving him a little room to move his feet. Lifting his hips, he reached for the doorknob with his big toe.
How much time had passed? Five minutes? Were the cops still here? Junyoung quieted his breathing, trying to eavesdrop. He could hear snippets of their conversation. One distinct voice—a man’s—and then Junyoung heard another, deeper than the first.Two policemen, he breathed. If he could just open the door, they could rescue him.
He extended his foot, moving it back and forth, trying to get a grip on the metal. Sweat pooled along his forehead, and the pain in his ankle was excruciating.Just a bit more, he thought.A little more.
The shoelaces were cutting off his circulation. For one awful moment, he was sure he was stuck, and then he managed to turn the doorknob. He stared in astonishment as the door opened, the light from the bedroom flooding in.
+
Dahye hid the phone and the knife, and after one final scan, hurried to the front door. She plastered a smile on her face and greeted the two police officers who were waiting for her on the other side. One was young; the other looked to be in his fifties. They were serious. Solemn. They didn’t crack even the slightest hint of a smile.
“So sorry to make you wait,” Dahye said apologetically. “I wasn’t expecting any company. Can I help you?”
“My name is Officer Lim,” said the older officer. “This is Officer Han. We have a few questions regarding the disappearance of Jang Hyukjoon. His family informed us that you two had … some kind of romantic relationship?”
“Oh—well, yes,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “It wasn’t serious. We met briefly for a few months.”
“Right …” Officer Lim peered over her shoulder. “Can we come in?”
Dahye looked over her shoulder. “Certainly,” she said. “Though I have to warn you—I don’t have much yet. I just moved in a few days ago.”
She moved aside to let the officers pass. They glanced around but gave nothing away with their expressions.
“We have a few questions,” Officer Lim said, removing a small notepad and pen from his pocket. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
“Of course,” she said, nervously eyeing the gun at his waist.She had never seen an officer with a gun before. She tried her best not to stare.
“Where were you on the night of August 14th?”
“August 14th?” She pretended to think. “I think I was home. I don’t remember exactly …”
“Is there someone who can vouch for you?” Officer Han interrupted.
“I—I don’t know. My friend Bora, maybe.”
“Great,” Officer Lim said, scribbled furiously. “What’s her last name?”
“Kim.”