IV. | Pluto.
Suicide Circle
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chapter four
pluto
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02:35, no. 13 Jonggak apartment complex.
It's the early hours of the morning when Jaejoong and Jinah arrive at his apartment. Fingers unwillingly curl around the metal doorknob, teeth nip at his bottom lip. Jaejoong glances up at the white '13' situated half-way through his door, the paint from '3' was slowly chipping away from bad weather and years of neglect. He sighs. He didn't like the situation he was in. He didn't like bringing people to his apartment— his sanctuary. A place where he could revel in his horde of all things unholy without having to spare a glance over his shoulder. He liked to have his own personal space. But the sudden downfall of rain made it even harder for him to change his mind— like fate had played some sick joke on him— or maybe it was karma. Maybe he was getting punished for his misplaced sense of superiority and his harsh, straightforward flicks of tongue after all these year.s Or maybe he was just a stupid guy that always made the wrong choices, either way, it's his price to pay.
When they enter the apartment they're bathed in silence. Comforted by the sudden whiff of old laundry, vinegar, alcohol and something else that Jinah couldn't quite put her finger on. Jaejoong doesn't bother showing her around, but he also tells her not to touch what doesn't belong to her. She nods. Always nods. Jaejoong's idea of a bed are two mattresses placed on top of each other with a blanket and bunch of pillows thrown on top; so to make two beds, her pulls out the bottom mattress and throws it to the ground, a handful of pillows and a thin blanket quickly following. She smiles earnestly, taking the blanket and smoothing out the creases. "Thank you."
Jaejoong frowns, "Don't get too cosy." He makes a point of saying before disappearing into the bathroom. Jinah watches the bathroom door close, and at the sound of the 'click' of the lock, in a matter of moments she's spread out face-down on Jaejoong's bed, hugging the blanket and breathing in the smell of the old bedsheets and fluffy pillows. Soaking in the enchanting aroma of human skin and cigarette buds. It's been a long time since she's gotten a good whiff of that man. And she cracks an amused smirk, her fingers curling around a crumpled t-shirt left on the edge of the bed. A really long time.
The noises— the water eases, light switch flicking off, heavy shoes stomping—startle Jinah, but by the time the lock clicks, she's already on her allocated bed. It's quiet for a long time. She doesn't move, just lies very, very still with her eyes closed. She could feel Jaejoong's gaze on her back. The weight of it is reassuring, but also making her heart beat just that little faster.
She hears Jaejoong's bed creak, she hears his heavy breathing and she imagines his chest heaving up and down and up and down— she holds back a cackle. Not for long.
The older man sighs, leaning back and letting his body melt into the already formed crease of the bed. Today had been the first day of legitimate work he had done in the past 5 years— if you didn't count the 3 and a half years he slaved off in a factory. A factory that would muffle his throat and wash the gleam of hope in his eyes. Useless waste of time, he remembers.
From the corner of his eyes he spots a gentle gleam in the shadows, and although he can't see him due to the lack of light in the room, he knows he's there. He's always there.
"I don't like her." Luhan whispers in his gentle, evanescence voice. His tone is light, and Jaejoong always thinks that whenever the young Chinese boy spoke it reminded him of cigarette paper floating through the wind. It's hard to notice, but you know it's there.
"You don't need to." He whispers in the softest voice he could muster, because he didn't want to wake Jinah. For a second, he could hear Luhan's fist clench and unclench. Over the months, years— (who knows) since first meeting Luhan, Jaejoong knew him like the back of his hand. He was immature, childish, and overall, annoying. But the thing that bugged him the most, was that Luhan didn't remember a thing of his past, nor could he remember why he'd chosen Jaejoong to bother. Whenever Jaejoong would ask, the Chinese boy would just give him those dead-lifeless eyes, then turn around and continue playing with his dolls.
* * *
09:48, no. 13 Jonggak apartment complex.
When Jaejoong woke up the next morning, he was welcomed by a wave of warmth. He opened one eye, and leaning down above him was a giant orb— hazel with specks of green— and the pleasant, soothing scent of lilies and chimes and buttersuckle. The teenage girl clasped her hands behind her back and stepped back, narrowly avoiding the sweeping uppercut heading from below her chin. "Good morning," she says with a warm smile, the corners of her eyes creasing. "I hope you slept well."
Jaejoong sits up, sharp-eyed with beads of sweat and perspiration ridding his boyish good looks. "Why were you so close?" He asked himself, more than the girl. She smiles and shrugs her shoulders, "I wasn't. You must have been imagining things."
He frowned and watched the tall, slimming girl skip into the kitchen a few meters away. She slips a large plate of buttercream pancakes in her hands and in a matter of seconds, she returns and places the plate in Jaejoong's lap. He systematically looks down at the skillfully crafted mess of cremes, oranges and feverish violets. "I don't like pancakes with... Berries.." He mutters, and she shakes her head, a hand patting his broad shoulder. "Don't say that, silly. Everyone loves pancakes and berries! So just eat it, it'll make you feel great!"
"I don't want to feel great." He says, eyes still looking down at the food. Jinah sighs and takes the fork from his hands, slicing off a piece of pancake and scooping up a plump blueberry. She uses her free hand to open Jaejoong's jaw and quickly— oh so quickly, she feeds prey into the mouth of the lion. He pauses, frisson tickling his spine and running back into the nape of his neck. Dying stars burn and bubble Jaejoong's blood and irradiates his cheeks, but nonetheless, he chews.... And chews.. And chews. He chews and chews and chews until there is no more. He looks up to see Jinah's wide smile— a collage of dreams and wonders and fairytales. She's the l'eau de printemps of all things colorful, vibrant, peony with a base of creamy white musk. The tint of her cheeks reminded Jaejoong of a small rose blossoming in the snow, with eyes like a priceless China doll. And in that moment he felt a dark flower blooming around his unsteady heart and it was like his rib cage had become a corset two sizes too small.
He pushes the plate away and makes a run towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him before he crouches down in front of the toilet bowl. His arm hooks itself around his stomach and he feels uneasy because that was the first time in years that he's had a proper meal; because that's the first time in years that he's felt infatuated; because that's the first time in years that he's felt in love. He purges the contents of his stomach, and in doing which, he hopes that he purges himself of any of those disgusting emotions that he felt a few minutes prior.
* * *
10:26, Seoul Central Police Station— Byun Baekhyun's office.
Park Chanyeol pinches the end of his nose when Kim Jaejoong lets out another deep puff of smoke. He casts a glance at Byun Baekhyun, who was sitting at the end of the table sorting through a tall pile of red, yellow, orange and white files. After a few moments of sorting, he cracks a relieved grin and pulls out two files, places them in front of Jaejoong side-by-side. On the left, there lays an orange-marked folder, while beside it lays a bright red one.
"Is this the one you requested?" Baekhyun taps his finger on the orange file, and Jaejoong nods slowly, slipping his fingers under the delicate sheet and bringing it up closer for a better look. "Yes, she's the one I need. Make it happen." He tosses the sheet back onto the table.
Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows, "Make what happen?". "He told us earlier that if we requested his assistance in solving this case, then we'd have to allow him to have a con working by his side." Baekhyun noticed the disbelief in the young detective's eyes. "Calm down Chanyeol, she'll be monitored at all times. Besides, reckless as she may be, her moves are quite predictable."
"Who is this 'she'?" This time it was Do Kyungsoo speaking, he matched Chanyeol's look of disbelief with an even stronger one with a dash of worry.
"I don't know if you've heard of her, but her name is Kim Taeyeon. She's a terrorist that uses explosives to terminate religious structures, as well as big companies and powerful individuals." Baekhyun paused to retrieve Taeyeon's file and slip it back into it's folder. "She was captured and persecuted about a year ago after a few months of tracking. She had tried to assassinate the current Dalai Lama, but her moves were sloppy and predicable."
Silence swallowed the room as the two detectives soaked up all the information. It seemed as if Kyungsoo, as well as Chanyeol, both didn't have a clue to who this Taeyeon woman was. After a few more moments, Kyungsoo spoke up, "Why would she try to murder such a kind man? Did she give you a reason? She must have been truly heartless to even consider such a thing. He brough hope to many people."
This time it was Jaejoong who answered, pulling out his cigarette and resting it in-between his thumb and forefinger. "She despises the idea of god in general. Hence why all of her bombings are aimed for a monument, or person of recognition or power. The Dalai Lama fit into that category, so she tried to kill him.... But failed." He added with a roll of his eyes. "Idiot. She doesn't believe in idolization or superiority."
The orange-haired detective leaned back in his chair, an exasperated sigh passing his lips. This whole Jaejoong-mess was so confusing to him. He felt like he was the only one that was possibly curious as to why the chief of police would allow a convicted terrorist to help an ex-detective solve a serious case like this. Lives would be at stake. What if the two of them joined together and assassinated the rest of the police force? From the moment he met Jaejoong, Chanyeol knew he couldn't be trusted, but he had learnt to deal with it for the sake of the case, but if this Taeyeon woman was going to be anything like Jaejoong, then he couldn't think he'd be able to handle it.
* * *
14:04, Seoul National Asylum for the Crimanally Insane.
As soon as Park Chanyeol walked into that place, he felt as if he had stepped foot on some evil ancient Indian burial ground. Invisible spirits were rising from the ground and clawing at his legs, trying to swallow him into their pit of maliciousness and sin, but they couldn't, because he was oh-so-pure. His soul wasn't tainted, it was guarded by powerful angels. His innocence hadn't been corrupted, it was guarded by the Holy Spirit. He was safe. For now.
Jaejoong could smell the fear in Chanyeol's physique while they walked through the 'Seoul National Asylum for the Criminally Insane'. It was understandable, for Jaejoong anyway, because believe it or not, he use to be innocent too. Or so he thinks. Back in the days when he saw life in rose-tinted glasses, obsessed with reds and blues and anything that was the opposite of black. It was somewhere before his 5th birthday, if he remembers correctly.
The four police officers walked through the rows and rows and rows of unholy, cynical, and mentally instable sinners. They all bled black. It a poetic way, really. They looked up onto the officers with bloodthirsty eyes— like the way a lion stares at the deer right before it's about to pounce— Chanyeol had to force himself to look away, unconsciously gripping the crucifix necklace he was hiding under his shirt. A good Christian boy like him was told to avoid evil, but which evil did they mean? There are many types of evil. He wanted to banish all the wrongdoings— obsessed with justice, his mother had once said with a smile. But to him, a mere detective banishes the basic evil. Robbery, thief, murder— murder was the most extreme. People always talk about serial killers, but the fact of the matter is that there's barely any out there these days. But when Chanyeol was walking through the aisle, hundreds of eyes watching him, he felt as if he was seeing a serial killer in each and every one of them. He wasn't ready.
After what felt like a century of walking, ignoring all the howls and whistles and "ooh, fresh meat" or, "he's a cute one" comments from the patients, they finally reached the cell they were looking for— cell number 113.
Baekhyun was the one with the keys, shifting around to find the correct one, before pulling it out and unlocking the cell's door. Jaejoong and Baekhyun walked into the tiny cell easily, while Kyungsoo and Chanyeol were nervously standing just outside the gates.
The inside of the cells was wet, ridden with mold, and had this eerie feel to it. Like the walls were watching, talking, mocking you of your mere existence.
'Join us' they whispered in sets of ten. Jaejoong chuckled and pressed his lit cigarette bud against the bricks, extinguishing the flame. 'Soon' he mouthed.
Inside the cell there was a single bed, white, with faded pink sheets, a plain metal table holding withering yellow tulips lined with crumbled, brown leaves and mildew growing on the roots. There was a toilet on the other corner with a matching stainless-steel sink. It wasn't shiny though, she was barely able to see her own outline whenever she looked into it.
Then there, on top of the bed, was a small, thin girl curled up in a ball with her arms loosely wrapped around her legs. She had long hair that flowed down her back all the way to the bottom of her hips in wiry, black ribbons. The tips of her hair were a sandy blonde, but it was hard to notice due to all of the regrowth. Her arms and legs were bare, as the only thing she was wearing was a short, white dress that was fraying at the bottom.
"Hey Tae," Jaejoong says casually, taking a seat on the end of her bed. She looks over at him with emotionless eyes— they're almost blank. Boredom-tinted— you could tell that she'd already grown sick of this place a long time ago. "Hi Jae."
"This room seems pretty dull," He fiddled around with a handful of her bed sheets. Taeyeon rested her chin on top of her knees. "It's a ing hole."
The oldest male let out an amused chuckle, his hand reaching out to poke at Taeyeon's forehead. Her skin looked pale and chalky. In return Taeyeon propped her body up with her palms, and lifted up her leg, and in one swift movement she had kicked Jaejoong right in the nose. Bright red blood slowly trickled down over his lip, and the petite woman smiled proudly.
Jaejoong used his sleeve to wipe the blood away all whilst muttering foul vulgarities under his breath. "I came to get you out of here, for some time anyways."
Kim Taeyeon's head shot up, and a glimmer of hope flashed through her hazel orbs. "You are? Why?"
"Because I have to solve this case, and I thought you'd be a good partner for it." Taeyeon shot a glance at the other officers, "But them. I don't like them. They think they're better than all of us." Chanyeol could feel the hatred hot off her tongue, Jaejoong wasn't lying when he said she loathed idols and people of admiration. So he decided to in, because he wasn't cocky and didn't view himself as superior unlike most other detectives. "I'm not like them, every human is of the same importance— and B-Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are just the same."
Almost unnaturally, Taeyeon's head snapped in Chanyeol's direction. Her emotionless eyes studied him for a few moments before she slid her tongue over her lips. "Mhm.. Such a darling, new meat we have here, hm~?" Chanyeol shivered and stayed quiet. "Let's see how long it takes you to get corrupted by superiority." She added before hopping off her bed and skipping towards the gate. Chanyeol held his breath as she skept straight pass him and twirled, her white dress floating around her.
"So that's Taeyeon."
"Keep your distance." Baekhyun whispered in Chanyeol's ear. "She's unholy."
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