CL / Chaelin's POV

My restless fingers seemed ghostly white on the dark mahogany table, like blothes of snow floating on a patch of dried blood. Unlike the waiting room, the room was strangely angled, like a square sawed into acute corners, where it was half-filled with furniture and bookcases. Stereotype covers like cardboard boxes with silver lettering squeezed into every available space in the racks, secured with clamps and keys. Every bookcase, ornament display, trophy display was locked behind glass doors, as though every item would decompose under the mere graze of oxygen.

The design was generic – with clean white curtains, leather setees, watermarked paintings and green mugs of coffee on a marble counter behind the wooden desk. I waited with a slight hint of impatience as Ji-Eun's right hand moved on a sheet attached to a red clipboard opposite me, her equally pale flesh traslucent under the thin ray of sunlight that shone through the black-panned-windows, exposing her poor weight.

I still remember the day Ji-Eun approached me at the hospital. Her dark brown hair was tied into a flawless knot, falling over a grey cashmere sweater pulled over a silk shirt. She'd sat on a foldable chair, the same clipboard over her skirt as she jotted down Chaelin's details, her eyes browsing through the flimsy medical report. The, she put it down and asked me about my favourite colour.

She was the third psychiatrist that had come in to see me, and the very first I spoke to.

No matter what others say and do; in our hearts, we're always the most miserable people in the world. that often suddenly turn out so empty. In our distress, it turns for everyone but us, mocking our suffering with each lazy second, and each tick of the watch is an insult.

Before I was found, I often lay there in that dispensable condition, praying that each second would last forever, so that whatever fate my captor had in store for me would be delayed. In captivity, I prayed and prayed dementedly, that I could stay alive. Conversely, upon rescue, I prayed that every minute would fly.

Fly, fly high and fast, carried by the winds – after all, the flow of time was said to heal.

When I was a little girl, I used to fluff up my pillows, rearrange my dolls and stuffed chaperones, and pull my bed covers over a perfectly made bed, that was just waiting for me to dive into for the night. At exactly ten o'clock, before snapping off the lights and blundering my way through the dark to the bed, I would go down to my feet, lie flat on my chest and peer at a foot's distance at the dark space under my bed to check for long-haired ladies with flashing red eyes or curved talons.

But as I grew up, I came to realize that in truth, my life had been so enclosed in such a limited space of thinking, that those were the only things I had to fear. Without my knowing it, my mind had become arrogant, conceited; thinking that all the mysteries of life needed for unfolding, was a molded IQ, a retentive memory, and the ability to ponder.

After my rescue, I carry on the ritual I took up as a girl, but this time, I didn't look for ghosts. I often see my brother and sister at the opening of the doorway, staring at me with a mixture of consternation and dismay, worry etched on their loving features, with stuff stances and poorly constructed comfort stuck up their throat. They were worried for me, but sadly, I didn't want it.

I wanted to be alone, to free myself from the voice of darkness through isolation, to pick up pieces of my own sanity and cram them back together like a complex jigsaw. I didn't want them to worry, but I was too tired to try. I didn't complain, but I didn't offer comfort to my siblings either.

I just wanted to live on.

And forget.

Forget it all.

Forget the gruesome oil on my skin, forget the smell of olive in my hair, forget the heat on my flesh, and most of all...

Forget the man in the black mask...

*

Onew / Jinki's POV

About 48 Hours Later

I don't know why this is happening to us.

Barely five weeks ago, my first sister was found traumatized by mental abuse. Now, my youngest sister is missing. My family wasn't rich, like any other elite family that had kidnappers to fear. Seoul was supposed to be safe, where you could pass out drunk on any pavement and still wake up the next morning with your kidney still there with you. When Chaelin was found, I had thought that I wouldn't have to live with the uncertainty and fear again.

I'm feeling it now, and it is worse by a ten fold.

I am also furious.

In 48 hours, you can fly from South Korea to Europe and back twice. You can cure a man with a tumour, you can read seven books, you can fix a broken engine. In 48 hours, you can stay strong without water and reach Mount Everest. In 48 hours, you can capture my sister, haul her into a van and drive her off somewhere and kill her.

In 48 hours, you could kill 4 girls if you were sick enough in the head.

And I had to wait 48 hours after her disappearance before the police considered it a disappearance.

The detective in charge was a tall, well-built man with a strong gaze, who carried himself like a yakuza. Whilst his sidekick had a softer appearance, short and pleasant – which pissed me off, because I wasn't in the mood to approve of a rookie cop handling my sister's case.

Chaelin was fast asleep at home, under antidepressants and evil dosages of tranquilizing pills. She had provided me with Hayi's photo, which I dropped into Senior Investigating Officer – Jung Yunho's sight on a steel table. He picked it up and clipped it onto Hayi's newly created file.

"Has she ever complained of any suspiscious, or malicious events, like someone following her, watching her or..."

"No."

"Any enemies you know of that might want to inflict..."

"No, she's perfectly decent and likeable."

"Does Ms. Lee Hayi have a boyfriend, or love interest?"

"No, she's focused on pursuing her degree of choice."

No, no, no, no... will it never end...?

"So, you mentioned that your other sister was also kidnapped on the 17^th of September?"

"For the seventh time, yes," I almost snapped, my head rested tiredly on my palm. The police station was stifling, the windows snapped shut like an isolation ward in prison, and the blinds pulled up, allowing glares of sunlight to pour into the dusty office. It felt like a concentration camp, with lethargic officers and the lazy stench of coffee, tobacco and sweat. Across the room, I could see a white door fixed next to a huge window, where a good-looking man was seated, impatience and irritation carved all over his features.

His name is Nichkhun (pronounced Ni-chi-kun) and he witnessed Hayi's kidnapping.

"You other sister dropped in yesterday to help the investigation, didn't she?"

"Yes, Officer Junmyeon asked her some questions because you weren't around," I looked up at him, picking at my nails in saw-like motion.

"He mentioned that she looked very edgy, was she assaulted in any way by the abductor?"

I had answered this question over a million times.

"She was found with unsaturated oil on every inch of her, fresh and thick," my fist clenched, "my senior helped the investigation and told me that it was poured on her barely two hours before she escaped."

Yunho was still staring at Hayi's file.

"As his assistant, I was entitled to help with the tests, and found that her skin layer was concentrated with olive oil, that usually takes 45 minutes to seep in. Later we found out that the kidnapper had been drenching her with olive oil every two days whilst keeping her in a heat vent. My sister was steamed every two days, with the sound of fire cackling in her ears whilst she was soaked in extra-flammable plant oil."

Silence.

"You tell me what reason has she got not to be edgy," I uncurled my fist and settled them on the table.

Junmyeon looked horrified, but Yunho shielded his surprise well, if he felt it at all.

"Sounds familiar," Yunho commented.

"Of course it does, you were there when we relayed the medical info," I must have sounded colder than I wanted, because he finally looked up. But I wasn't finished.

"And you still haven't found the kidnapper."

Junmyeon turned towards him, who didn't flinch.

"Well," Yunho finally opened his mouth, "let's get started then."

*

Nichkhun was less happier than we had left him two hours ago. Sitting with his feet planted on the table, Junmyeon pushed the photograph of Hayi towards him.

"Is this the girl you saw?"

Nichkhun groaned, a couple of cracks evolving from his spine as she straightened up in the hard chair and snatched up the photograph impatiently.

"Yeah, looks like her."

"I want certainty," Junmyeon pressed and he flipped it down on the table.

"Yeah, it's her," he stretched, "hey, I'm doing a good deed here by letting you know what I saw, so how about you let a good Samaritan go home? I have a flight to catch tomorrow back to Hatyai."

Junmyeon was about to reply when Nichkhun extended his limbs and his waist jacket shifted upwards. His eyes narrowed as the material revealed the hilt of a revolver, solidly between his pants and shirt. Nichkhun noticed him staring and put down his hands.

"What?"

"You got a license for that?"

"Yeah."

"Show me."

Nichkhun's face paled.

"It's allowed."

Junmyeon picked up the photograph.

"Might want to cancel that flight," he called just before shutting the auto-lock door with a click, "you're not in Thailand anymore."

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