chapter nine (*edited 2021)

“Protocol?” Matthew almost laughed at Jae’s suggestion. “What protocol?” He resumed pacing the office room. He could feel the stares of the other three members boring into his back as he walked back and forth.

Jae took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Okay, so what do we do? Do we assume she’s guil—”

“There is no ing way—”

“Matthew, it’s a possibility, all right?” Jiwoo interrupted. Matthew all but glared at her. “And we won’t know anything until we find her, and we get her side of what happened—and we have to decide whether or not we can believe her.”

Matthew took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing, because in some corner of his mind he realized they were right; that if this had involved anyone but Somin, he’d be the one saying those same words.

None of them were doing much—none of them had had anything to do for the past few days, actually. The days passed uneasily, without enough evidence to analyze, without enough evidence to be able to sleep. It was almost the end of the week again, but they had gotten no new information.

Matthew had gotten tired of doing nothing and had started pacing the room to try to clear his mind . . . not that it was actually helping. Jiwoo and Kevin, by the time Matthew had arrived at the office that Sunday evening, had gone back to the lab to get the results double-checked, but it was definite beyond a doubt. Under the Resident Registration Act, all Korean citizens, upon reaching the age of 17, were issued a national ID card. Part of the process to get the ID card involved getting fingerprinted. Police usually checked through the criminal fingerprint records first, but Matthew supposed it made sense for them to request Somin’s as well—she was involved in one way, so why not in another?

But it made no sense. Somin? . . . Murdering someone?

The memory of Somin being dragged away by her hair flashed through his mind again, and Matthew winced. He knew Somin, and he knew that there was no way she would have committed a crime—a murder—of her own free will.

Hell, she hadn’t even had the heart to hold a grudge against Hongbin for nearly killing her in that accident, justifying that at least she was still alive; her killing someone else was out of the question.

And then there was Hongbin’s outburst, his sudden claim that he had actually saved her. Matthew didn’t even know where to begin in analyzing that, but reminded of Hongbin’s statement that bringing it up would make it worse, Matthew pushed the thought to the back of his mind—he’d deal with that later, when he could be sure that Somin was safe.

It was already Friday—soon, it would have been two weeks, two whole weeks since—

“Okay,” Kevin said, walking up to the board. “Let’s go over what we have so far.” On the board were scattered the numerous pictures and corresponding descriptions. While there were arrows connecting each piece of information, at the same time none of it seemed connected.

“We have Choi Jinhyung, the first victim in this possibly connected string of murders. Found Saturday—” glancing at Matthew— “same day that Somin was kidnapped.” Matthew stiffened, but didn’t react. These were just facts. “Stabbed to death.”

“Lee Sunghun. The second victim, found in the same car in the same location that Somin was kidnapped. Shot in the head at another location and brought to this one.” He pointed to the corresponding photos as he talked.

“Third victim, Ahn Hyunsuk. Found in Daejung Offices; cause of death—poisoning. Originally only weakly linked to this case, but with Somin’s fingerprints at the scene, a strong connection.”

“Fourth victim . . . Heo Youngji. Found in Daejung Offices . . . beaten and possibly tortured—” At Matthew’s expression, Kevin skipped that part. “She used to work at Sangchul Medical, and she was close friends with Somin.”

Kevin turned to face all of them. “The main connection between all these cases is . . . well, Somin.”

Matthew finally stopped pacing and took a seat at his desk. “It’s also J.Seph.” When everyone turned to him, he explained, “Choi was working at Sangchul Medical. Lee was probably hired to murder Choi, and it was probably related to those drugs he was stealing, so again—Sangchul Medical. Yo—Y—” Matthew cleared his throat. “She was working there.”

“And Ahn?” Jae asked.

Matthew paused, but Jiwoo stepped in. “There was an official convention that day, similar to the fake one that Youngji was attending when she was killed. Though we can’t rule out other possibilities, it’s highly likely that this was a medical convention, especially since the man was poisoned . . .”

“Do we know what convention that was?” Matthew asked, and Jae got up to get the related file. He flipped through the first few pages and then paused.

“What do ya know,” he said quietly. “Sangchul Medical. It was for new drugs that were devel—wait, it’s the same description as the fake convention Youngji was attending.” He looked up, meeting Matthew’s eyes.

Matthew blinked at him, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “ing hell,” he muttered, his eyes still closed.

Then he snapped his eyes open, some of the pieces clicking into places. “Someone could have known about that first convention . . . then the same person . . . the same person could have called her about the fake convention. The same description—it would have made sense, especially if she had known about the other convention . . . she might not have carefully checked the date of the official one, so she wouldn’t have remembered if this was the same one or if it was different.”

“So she goes, expecting others to be there, expecting it to be real, and she’s in for a surprise when that’s not the case,” Jiwoo finished, realization dawning on her face.

Jae frowned. “But why? That’s basically a trap, set out just for her—why?”

They had no answer for that. Some pieces were in place, but the bigger picture was still a mystery.

Matthew ran his hand through hair. “I . . . I’ll call Hongbin.” He had completely forgotten about calling to check up on him, and now he actually had a more pressing reason to call. “Ask when Youngji told him about the convention . . . or when she got the call . . . we need to check her call history too.”

They quickly got moving, getting up from the chairs they had pulled up around the board to return to their desks. Matthew got out his phone, intending to call Hongbin, but then he almost dropped it in surprise when it started vibrating. His eyes widened slightly as he saw who was calling him: Hongbin.

Only momentarily flustered, Matthew hit answer. “Hongbin, I was just about to—”

“Matthew!” When Hongbin cut him off, his voice was full of so much alarm that Matthew couldn’t bring himself to respond for a few seconds. “Matthew, oh my god, oh my ing god, Somin’s here, we found her—”

Matthew sat up straighter in his chair, his heart suddenly pounding. “Hongbin, breathe. Slow down. What about Somin?” He could hear the other activity in the room come to a stop.

“Somin is here. She—the cul-de-sac—it’s the same place—I called the police already—”

One of the phones in the office rang, and Kevin answered. His eyes went wide. “They found Somin. She’s alive. Same location as Lee.”

Matthew didn’t need any more information. He all but ran out of the office room with keys in hand, the others following him.

They found Somin. They found Somin.

Somin was alive. She was alive, she was alive, she was alive—

He had to force himself to slow down as he entered the gated community, but as soon as he parked near the entrance to the cul-de-sac, he ran out of the car, toward the few officers at the far edge of the cul-de-sac. Matthew had been driving so fast that he had reached the location just as many of the other emergency responders were arriving.

The paramedics weren’t there yet, but Somin would have to be taken to the hospital, and as much as he hated that place he wished they would get here faster so that they could get her looked over—what if she was hurt—if she was ing hurt—

Matthew pushed his way past the first few officers on the scene. There were two officers crouched down next to Somin; the male officer was holding her right hand, keeping track of her pulse, and the female officer was sitting down to help elevate Somin’s head and shoulders. Matthew stood still, unable to do much more than just look at Somin.

She was here. He had forced himself to stick to the belief that he would see her again, but even though he would never admit it to himself, there had always been that stray thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t again see her alive. Especially after witnessing what Hongbin was going through . . . the fear became more persistent, increasingly harder to avoid.

Except she was here, and she was alive.

As if feeling the weight of Matthew’s gaze, the female officer looked up, and upon recognizing Matthew, she drew the attention of the other officer. With a quick glance at Matthew, he shifted over, indicating for Matthew to take his spot.

Matthew could feel his hand shaking, but he carefully, gently took Somin’s hand, placing two fingers on the inside of her wrist.

Her pulse was there. It was weak, but it was there, and he let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Somin,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, opening just barely before closing again.

.

.

.

.

Even as she stood, Somin tried to massage her ankle with her other foot, sure that the cuff had left its mark. The weightlessness on that foot from the absence of the cuff felt foreign. J.Seph entered the room again, and she quickly resumed her standing position near the kitchen island.

There was a faint smile on his face as he saw Somin standing exactly how he left her. He held up the ring he had just gotten from the other room, and taking Somin’s right hand, placed it on her index finger. It was a plain greyish band, almost half a centimeter in width, and glinted dully in the light. It was thicker than she expected a normal ring to be. Her eyes followed the ring on her hand as he dropped her hand back to her side, and then J.Seph drew her attention upward, back to him.

“And the consequences for not accomplishing this task?”

Somin swallowed, going dry at the mere thought. But J.Seph was staring at her pointedly, and she knew she’d have to answer. She cleared . “You . . . you’ll hurt more people.” More people I care about.

“Do you remember anyone in particular?”

Somin closed her eyes and took a slow breath, hoping to keep her voice steady. “M-Matthew.”

“So you know what you’ll have to do, yes?”

She nodded in affirmation, but after noticing his expression from the corner of her eye Somin said, out loud, “Yes.”

“Good, that’s good.” J.Seph’s voice was light, revealing nothing of the pressure he was placing on her, the torture he was putting her through. But that’s how he always was. Somin barely flinched as he tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear—in fact, the routine action was oddly comforting. “I knew I could count on you.”

His hand ghosted over her shoulders as he walked behind her, stopping when he had completed a full circle around her. His face was at her ear, and she couldn’t see his expression. “Don’t make me regret keeping you alive,” J.Seph said, his voice soft.

“I won’t.”

It was the right answer. In response, J.Seph pressed a light kiss to her cheek. Somin felt a wave of relief wash over her, since it meant she didn’t have to deal with whatever the consequences were today for answering wrong.

Somin couldn’t remember what exactly happened after that, but she did clearly remember the sudden, striking pain in her neck, and the memory of the car ride so long ago with the man that was now dead flashed through her mind, and then it was dark.

It was cold. She could feel the ground through her clothes, but she couldn’t move yet. Every part of her felt too heavy, as if it were lead running through her veins instead of blood, weighing her down. She could feel her hair shielding her face, though, and she was grateful for the little warmth it provided.

The passing of time was lost on her, but eventually she could feel footsteps approaching, and when she focused she heard a familiar voice. “No . . . oh god . . . Somin?” The footsteps sped up and then stopped, and she felt the lightest of touches push her hair out of her face.

Her head started pounding then, and suddenly she wasn’t there . . . but she was still there.

She was on the ground, but it wasn’t cold.

It was hot, uncomfortably so, as if she were too close to the fireplace. Though she still couldn’t move, she could open her eyes this time, and despite the night sky it was unnaturally bright, especially right in front of her—

The car. It was crushed, broken, bent beyond repair and still on fire. The flames were twirling as they rose above the remains of the car, the frame deteriorating a little more every time Somin managed to open her eyes. It was beautiful, the way the fire seemed to be dancing, tendrils of flame jumping out to go further, to reach higher. Even as it was of destruction, the sight was elegant and mesmerizing, and Somin could only stare, not move.

And then she felt the footsteps, the same footsteps, and she heard the same familiar voice. “Holy . . . Somin?” The same footsteps came closer, and the same touch—the same light, fleeting touch—and the same voice— “Somin, can you hear me?”

“Somin, can you hear me?”

“An accident . . . my friend, she’s here—I don’t know—It was a car accident. An explosion, I think? It’s—it's on fire . . . yeah, we’re near—we’re near the library, the park on the far side, I—I can’t remember—she’s bleeding, please, can you—Somin! Somin, please, stay awake, open your eyes—”

“, , , holy —” Something dropped, and it was loud but she still couldn’t move. “I need help. My—my friend, she’s a—she was kidnapped, but now she’s here, she’s unconscious, she’s—yes, it’s near my house, the cul-de-sac near . . .”

Somin’s head hurt, both events playing through her mind like she was watching two movies simultaneously. It was too much, and she slipped out again, welcoming the relief providing by the darkness.

The sound of the sirens brought her back out, and though she still felt too weak to move, her limbs felt a little lighter. Someone took her wrist, and someone else slowly shifted her so her head was raised. It felt better, but Somin was still so tired.

And then the person at her hand shifted. Someone else was holding her wrist.

“Somin.”

That voice, she would know that voice anywhere, but it had been so long, she couldn’t believe it—she had to see—

Using every last bit of conscious determination she could muster, Somin opened her eyes.

She opened them just barely, and she had to close them again—her eyelids were too heavy—but her heart jumped in recognition, in relief, and if she had been able to she would have cried.

Matthew.

hehehe the fun is only starting ... *laughs*