23; Backrubs

Later that Tuesday evening, it had suddenly dawned on Officer Park that the desk he'd worked on for the past few months in agony – tasked with receiving redundant phone calls and equally redundant paperwork he still couldn't help but cringe at – was much smaller than he imagined.

Sprawled across it were loose paper clips, dog-eared folders, stapled forms, and files so intimidatingly large, they could probably eat a person's hand alive. And in front of all the formidable office nicknack’s were Officers Park and Woon; heads bowed into their respective files, and eyebrows furrowing deeper with each painstaking minute. The time accounted for precisely with the gruelling ticking of the large steel clock positioned at the entrance of the precinct.

Their work consisted of plotting a timeline of events as accurately as they could, pinning points of interest to the drawing board, reading their own weekly briefings again and again and again for just one thing they could have missed—

'This doesn't add up.'

Kyungja raised her head. With a finger brushing the shortest of coal layers behind her ear, she glanced at her partner. The exhaustion in her eyes evident with the unusual amount of blinking she managed despite how engrossed she appeared to be in her work.

'Elaborate, Park.'

Jimin sat back after a moment of staring at the gleaming white papers beneath the warm yellow pools of light from the desk lamp. They sat across from each other at the table sifting through as much as they could, yet despite their tireless efforts, the red-haired officer looked relatively troubled.

Massaging the faint knot he felt surface in the side of his neck, Jimin continued; his puffy eyes and lips just as much of a portrait of weariness.

'Assuming Kim Jongin's story about his findings at the docks is true, the only thing we can possibly connect to it – from findings of our own – is that Baekhyun kid.'

'Agreed,' Kyungja hummed; the hand that rested against the sooty curtain of her hair now against her chin in deep thought.

'The Byun family seemingly holds ownership of a courier company that's well-known around the school. And considering the circumstances, we can only assume Kim Jongin's former occupation was linked to Byun Baekhyun's father's company.'

Jimin frowned; head leaning against the backrest and body slumping slackly into the chair. He raised his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling; fingers entwined under his rusty undercut, and dark eyes wandering over the knots and crevices within the eggshell timber overhead.

'Byun Baekhyun's father's company...,' the frown travelled to his lips that pressed together visibly.

'There are way too many grey areas here. What would his company have to do with his son's high school? And excess courier of all things... sports equipment? Maybe he's some large shareholder of Melon High?'

Kyungja shook her head slowly, however her eyes remained on the document ahead of her attentively, pinched between her thumb and forefinger. 'But how does any of that information tie up with the case of the kidnappings? I don't see how the missing students fit into that equation.'

'Or how Byun Baekhyun's relationships with the missing students fit in either.'

'Kim Namjoo, Do Kyungsoo, Moon Jihye...,' Kyungja abandoned the documents she'd been working with for the past few minutes relentlessly, and began massaging her temples with a single hand.

'What are we missing? There has to be a pattern here somewhere.'

'You don't suppose...,' Jimin paused; the following words striking his thoughts like lightning as he sat up abruptly in revelation.

'That Baekhyun's actually the kidnapper? Think about it, it makes sense! The  relationships he had with the students before a sudden conflict has always led to a kidnapping. That's just too shady.'

'I agree to some extent,' Kyungja continued in deep thought.

'It's far too striking coincidence, and Moon Jihye's attempted kidnapping is evidence enough of a trend. But it's far too big a risk for an actual attendee of Melon High, striking out the possibility of him carrying out the dirty work himself. And what reasons would he have for the offences? Could they simply be acts of revenge?'

'Wow. Revenge schemes seem like the way to go these days, huh.'

A sound almost inaudible escaped the female officer, however to Jimin, it sounded like a barely-constrained sigh. Combing a layer of hair in what he could only imagine was her way of expressing frustration, she returned to the documents on the desk; fingers pinched between another countless handful of sheets she sifted through.

'Until those hair samples are analysed, I'm afraid there isn't much we can do at this point even if we are on to something. All we can do right now is wait.'

A loud, raucous groan escaped the redhead who lowered his hands again; palms disorienting the deep red mane from behind that stuck up for a moment with the likeness of a canary's crown. Their minds could only function efficiently for so long. And Jimin was afraid the longer they spent in the dwindling office sifting through endless pages of information on their findings and Kim Jongin's story, the higher the chances of them burning out completely.

The day had been long enough already with the earlier interrogation of the janitor who had left on the account of leaving behind as much sensitive information he could. However, the hope they placed in Jongin's findings proved disappointing. All they managed were many more pieces to the puzzle that didn't fit. And Jimin was beginning to worry for his sanity.

He stood up from his chair abruptly; the legs grating against the worn mahogany parquet beneath him.

'Ah, I need more coffee for this,' he mumbled; fingers hooking into the large ring of his mug as he leaned forward slightly to retrieve it.

'Can I get you anything?'

'No, thank you,' she responded quietly, and Jimin couldn't help but notice the awfully rigid square her shoulders formed as she hunched over the desk.

Kyungja's ears were attentive to the sound of his leaving. She could hear a handful of things on his side of the table shift as he rearranged them accordingly before he left, and after a brief moment of shuffling, she felt his presence dwindle. Certain he was out of sight with the silence that ensued, the female officer raised her head; the papers in her hand slapping down against the desk; and a low, unexpectedly laboured breath of air escaped her.

The precinct was quiet. The evening – ever since the close of their interrogation – had transitioned into a peaceful sunset; the sky melting into a periwinkle evening shade and the floating sun disappearing beneath the earth. It was a perfect evening to take off early from work... however, the tantalizing option was not one available for the scattering of officers that remained at the station for the impending night shift. No less, Officers Woon and Park too.

Oh, what on earth were they doing? It seemed as if they were thrown right back where they began with the case, but instead of being tasked with unravelling the mystery behind the kidnappings at Melon High, a courier company's shady activity relating to the school in q