Nightmares

The ringing of the phone sent Taemin jerking out of his fitful sleep and onto the floor. A pained groaning noise escaped his lips, and he was thankful his family lived in the country rather than in his cramped city apartment, or else he might have woken them. Scrabbling about blindly, he managed to get his body back onto the bed. His body felt dull and listless, eager for the warm siren song of the bed…as long as the nightmares did not come. Had it only been yesterday when he had seen Byun Baekhyun’s dead, staring eyes?

Fumbling, his fingers found the telephone, and he pulled it to his ear. “Hello?” he mumbled, silently wishing death upon the person.

“It’s Minho!” Taemin pulled the phone away from his ear, hissing out in pain at how loud and bright his colleague was. He was beginning to liken the man to an overexcited puppy in his head. “We don’t have any meeting or plan scheduled today for the moment, so you have the day free.”

“How do you know this?” He picked up his clock and squinted at it. “It’s six o’clock in the bloody morning!”

“Exactly – always good to start the day fresh and bright, I always say. And Onew told me!”

“Why would he be up at this hour?”

“Such are his ways,” Minho said sagely, indicating that he hadn’t the faintest idea either. If he hadn’t felt rather like someone had chewed him up and spat him out, Taemin might have laughed despite his lingering doubts about them. At the moment though, all he could think was that he was going to burn the album he’d made that contained all the clippings about Minho, and then wring Onew’s neck for good measure.

“Huh.”

“Oh…Did I wake you?” Now Minho sounded mildly guilty. “I’m really so –”

“Ngarg,” Taemin said, before putting the receiver down, and passing out, his body still dangling off the bed. When he woke again, it was with a startled shock, his skin slick with sweat. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the images still flashing before his eyes, taking deep breaths until the blood stopped pounding in his ears. He felt acutely tired, frightened, and plagued with the indescribable feeling not to be left alone.

Picking up the phone, he turned the dial, tapping out a familiar number. “Hello?”

It took him a moment to register that the voice was not the cool, disarming tones of Byun Baekhyun. Because Baekhyun was dead – he swallowed quickly, shoving that mask-like face out of his mind.

“Hello, Sehun? This is Taemin. I’d like to speak to Jongin, please,” he said stiffly, aware that he and the younger Kim twin had never been particularly close. He and Jongin had met at ballet school, and spent more time in the city and Taemin’s apartment than they had on the estate. Regardless, Sehun had always kept his distance, moving within his own circles.

There was a long, disapproving pause. “Hang on.” 

Taemin tapped the table, waiting as he heard muffled bickering between the two brothers, before Jongin’s voice filled his ear. “Taemin! How are you?”

“You saw me yesterday,” he responded with amusement.

“Yes, and you looked awful,” Jongin said worriedly, “Like something that was dragged in by a big dog.”

Taemin’s stomach churned, and he told himself not to think of the cold flesh beneath his fingertips. “And there I was about to ask you to have lunch with me.”

Instantly, Jongin was excitedly agreeing, and they fleshed out the details of where and when they were to meet easily. It had been a long time since he had been able to spend time with his old friend, and he was not under any obligation to investigate today, if he had any clue where to begin. The thought made him frown: he was still the loose end, despite it all, the thread that didn’t quite fit.

Taemin was the first to arrive at the restaurant, a reputable but rather quaint place called Ace that was located near a park. Settling himself down in a window seat, he absently straightened one of the forks, poking the gorgeous table arrangement of white lilies. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to relax. There was a screeching of tires, and he saw a familiar black car pull up haphazardly by the curb. The door opened, and a rather queasy-looking Jongin stumbled out, balancing himself using his cane.

Jumping to his feet, he helped his friend in and onto his seat. “Don’t mind me, I’m still reliving my entire life several times,” Jongin managed, taking a gulp of water with a shaky hand.

“What happened?” Taemin asked, concerned.

“Doctor Zhang insisted on driving me for my own health and well-being,” Jongin said, sounding as though he were quoting the good doctor. “Father may cry at the scratches the car now has.”

It took several moments before the colour had returned to Jongin’s face, and they gamely accepted their menus from the rather grim-faced waiter. After ordering – roast chicken for Jongin, only soup for Taemin – the detective dropped his head into his hands.

“Did you sleep at all?” Jongin was staring at him with distress in his eyes.

“In and out,” Taemin responded vaguely, running his hands across his face. “I didn’t… When I was with the police, it was always housebreaking and pickpockets, not murderers. Naïve, aren’t I? It was… You didn’t see his eyes. You can’t forget eyes like that.”

He shuddered horribly.

“It’s over, “ Jongin told him kindly, “We buried Baekhyun this morning.”

“I can understand now, a little, the others,” Taemin murmured, “Especially Mr Onew. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all just a way to keep sane – perhaps I’m being too cynical.”

“It scares me,” Jongin admitted, squeezing Taemin’s hand, “It’s bad enough that someone I know killed another. But I didn’t think he’d kill again…”

“If you can kill once, you can do it again, couldn’t you?” Taemin said reflectively, “Once you open your heart to that kind of evil, people stop mattering,