Swansong

Jongin existed in a haze of dulled pain. He knew he shouldn’t be out of the hospital – the surgery had only been a few days ago, and before him were still the long, gruelling months of recovery. Doctor Zhang was probably hysterical, wondering how his patient had managed to sneak himself out of the hospital without his notice, but it was almost childishly easy. It had been quite simple to observe the patterns the nurses took, and then move as necessary. People never seemed to think he was watching. 

To the good Doctor’s credit, he had done a miracle job on his leg. His multiple opiates, a strange concoction of morphine and some of the Doctor’s more peculiar substances, were doing an excellent job of keeping the pain at bay. At the moment, he felt rather like he was walking dreamily through the air, distanced from all around him. It was only a matter of time before the haze crashed down though, and then the pain would be excruciating.

It did not matter. Time had run out.

In that moment when Onew had told him he had a suspect in mind, Jongin had seen in his eyes: I know. And, you cannot run. And, the truth will come out, one way or another.

All had been left was to make preparations.

Absently, he wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow. The area behind the stage was unbearably warm. He had never enjoyed the clinging material of the ballet costume, and Kai’s costume was always a little ridiculous – the tight, dark vest that plunged downwards and revealed his chest, the embroidered tights, the heavy crown upon his brow. How shocked the company had been when he had appeared and proclaimed himself in the fullest of health, and more than willing to dance his part. A part of him could not believe they had agreed. For now, luck was holding out. Soon, it would be time for him to take his cue for the final dance of the evening. His eyes flicked over to observe the dancers on stage, raptly following the grace of their movements, the careful curl of their fingers, the potent chemistry of their parts.

Yes, time was running out. But there was still enough left for his grand finale.

Perhaps a touch melodramatic, but then, he was a dancer. He felt eerily calm. In the back of his mind, he thought of the letter he had left behind with his belongings, for Taemin to find. Something clenched painfully in his chest at the thought of his friend. How betrayed Taemin must feel. He tried to express himself within the letter, but poet he had never been.

Dear Taemin,

I suppose you are already aware of the truth of things. I killed my uncle, and Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo. I thought I could get away with it, but Odd Eye was far too clever for me. Please do not blame yourself – and I beg that you ask my Father and Sehun not to blame themselves, either. Don’t take it too harshly. It must be a great shock to you. How did it come to this? When we were still children, dancing for instructors and praying that one day the stage would hold us… did you believe that life should take this turn?

There’s no use being sentimental about it. I feel I’ve become a different person – a dangerous one. It seems so dreadfully easy, killing people. As you said, people stop mattering. All that matters is surviving long enough before you’re caught. What a dangerous feeling. You mentioned opening your heart to evil…

I suppose I ought to start from the beginning.

I planned it all out so carefully. I even brought Moonkyu into it, but he didn’t know what I was after. I hope he isn’t in much trouble. Even though Yifan is dead, it doesn’t change the truth. I’m not sorry for what I did. You must be disgusted, but I hated him. It seemed such an obvious plan. If Uncle were gone, everything would sort itself. It kept eating away at me. One day, when the dark thoughts come a knocking. So I let it in…

He took everything from us. From me. He stole from the family, he stole Mother’s jewellery, he taxed her health – you would say it doesn’t justify murder. Did you know, when I opened the door, Uncle said to me, “You couldn’t sleep, Jongin? What’s wrong?