I

When my eyes opened, my first instinct was to move, but I was restrained by a pair of steel shackles connected to the black, leather-cushioned chair that I was seated on. In front of me was an enormous glass window towering over Seoul—which was characterized by glistening lights that flickered with the stars’ glimmer and flowed along with the upbeat streets of the capital city of South Korea. It was my first time here and I had just moved in. Stunned by the wonderful sight, it took me an entire minute to remember my situation and my fear of heights.

“Oh, you’re awake now,” a familiar voice remarked. I turned around to see a silhouette of a man dressed in a bathrobe. It was the man playing the piano from a while ago. He the lights and revealed a luxurious, contemporary apartment space.

He clutched my chair and made it lean towards him, his left foot kept its legs balanced.

“Who do you work for?” he interrogated, his eyes directly piercing at mine. I felt cramped having his face so close. Drops of water from his hair even started dripping on me.

“No one. I am currently looking for employment. I have just finished my university studies last month,” I spurted out somewhat nervously. I attempted to seem unperturbed by the situation to validate my blamelessness.    

“You’re a bit too at ease for a college graduate.”

“You’re a bit tactless for a…” I took a guess and added, “kidnapper? Murderer? Assassin? Drug dealer?”

“But you would know now, wouldn’t you?” he taunted.

“Sir,” I cleared my throat, “with all due respect, I understand that you are guarding your occupation and it may not be legal in most countries, if not all, but I still respect that. I have not made any assumptions of you and I dare not to tell a single soul about this encounter. Now, let me run along freely and we can part ways as unlikely friends.”

He gave out an exuberant laughter. “You are comical,” he said in between chuckles, “but I won’t let you go that easily. Then how do you know the mark?”

“Mark?”

“Yes, the tattoo I have on my right wrist. This one, if you can recall,” he revealed a symbol of a capital letter “A” with a dash on the uppermost area. The bar on top of it has vertical lines on its endpoints.

“Well, actually, sir,” I elucidated, “if I may expound myself based on your accusations, I did not see a tattoo. Rather, I saw a stain of blood on your sleeve. And honestly, I couldn’t care less about where that came from. We both live in Seoul City and there really is nothing we can’t do to survive so you have my empathy and understanding. May I go now?”

“Not yet,” he uttered and began removing his bathrobe, exposing his bare skin and sculpted back matched with sharp shoulder blades.

“Oh my God! Please don’t harass me. I’m still a . Actually, no, I’m very loose down there. Please don’t touch me!” I shrieked out of terror.

“Just relax,” he spoke, “So, if I may guess, you majored in Linguistics, 20 years old, and you’re originally from Ulsan.”

“Literature, 21, and Busan,” I still managed to correct.

“Damnit!” he exclaimed with an unsatisfied smirk, which sent gitters down my core. My body was not prepared for his means of intimidation.

Hurried, but heavy steps, which could have been easily heard upon a hallway, rushed towards the front door with no hesitation and busted in.

A man on the short side with handsome features, who seemed like he had been struggling to possess a more authoritative appearance, stood in dread upon seeing the scenario. He was dressed smartly with a light brown trench coat made by fine gabardine, some black slacks, and a plain green vest atop a white shirt. He seemed a bit older than the piano-playing enigma, but was still quite young.

“Was I in the middle of something here? You should’ve at least locked the door!” the man was both flustered and angry at the enigma at the same time.

“What’s going on here?” I demanded, struggling to escape from the handcuffs this time, “This is too much already.”

“Stay calm, Ma’am,” the man replied with a professional demeanor, “I’m an officer. My name is Kim Junmyeon. It is a pleasure to meet you and I had no intentions to intrude your intimate moment together.”

“I’m Choi Sungmi,” I replied urgently, “I was taken hostage by this strange man. I honestly have no idea what’s going on. I remained extremely calm at first, like what police officers advised citizens to do, but I started panicking when he started removing his clothing. Please help me.” 

“Seriously, Chanyeol?” Junmyeon was infuriated, “Get over your paranoia, wear a shirt, and let the girl go! You’re freaking other people out!”  

“Sorry, I wasn’t going to do anything to you, really. I was about to ask more questions.” He quickly threw in a white undershirt and took a key from his jeans, which released me from the cold manacles I was confined in.

I warmed my wrists by rolling my fingers around them and sighed in relief.

“I’m Park Chanyeol. I’m a newbie detective,” he said reaching out his hand, which I accepted dubiously. “The fresh blood was from a crime scene I examined a while ago. I must’ve been careless yet again,” he added and pursed his lips together.

Officer Junmyeon emitted a long, audible breath and said, “We are genuinely sorry for the inconvenience. We can assure you that your safety was not compromised the whole time. Believe it or not, the idiot who kidnapped you is one of the best detectives we have here in Seoul right now. Regardless of his stupidity, he would never have harmed anyone. He is unreasonably strange sometimes, but that’s pretty much it. Anyway, is there anything we can do for you in return?”

A brilliant idea caused by my yearning for adventure instantly came across my twisted little mind. “Well,” I started, tapping the soft tips of my fingers on the arm rests, “I’ve always been a fan of Sherlock Holmes and other similar styles of literary works. Perhaps this could also serve as an opportunity for my kidnapper to prove that he is indeed actually a detective—and not a offender.” Chanyeol simpered and the two men quickly understood the hint, immediately discussing the bargain between themselves.

“Okay,” Junmyeon said, “Just this one. You cannot actively participate. You can only watch Chanyeol perform his duties.”

“That’s absolutely fine,” I agreed to the agreement enthusiastically with avidity in my eyes.

“These are the details of the current case: An English business man by the name of Jonathan Fletcher arrived last night, 9 pm, from London. Earlier tonight, he boarded a deluxe cab, along with an anonymous companion, near Gwanghwamun at 7 pm sharp. About 30 minutes later, the cab crashed against an abandoned infrastructure, injuring the driver and supposedly killing Fletcher. The companion, however, disappeared.” Junmyeon reported, “But here’s the more interesting drawback: Fletcher couldn’t have died from the crash due to the minority of his head injuries.”

Chanyeol winced, “Is that a certainty?”

“Quite so, the x-ray states that it was a minor scalp injury, thus the bleeding,” the officer replied, handing some papers to Chanyeol, “Those are the only facts. Elaborate research has not been made yet. I’m leaving this one to you. I’ll call you when the full autopsy is finished.”

Chanyeol laced his fingers through mine and galvanized me by feverishly exclaiming that I am his “special companion” as he sprinted out the door, taking me along.

II

A black taxi with a yellow sign on top was crashed against a building, about 10 stories tall, on an empty, curved road not very far from the Gwanghwamun. The front area of the car looked destroyed beyond repair. Glass was shattered everywhere, there was the presence of blood in most parts of the automobile, and inside the backseat was a blonde man dressed in a pricey-looking guanaco suit. His head looked like it took a reasonably strong blow during the accident based on the amount of blood on the left side of his skull. The space wherein the smash was concentrated on was already blocked off by tape, very likely by the surrounding officers talking amongst themselves in the safe area.   

“The severe damage on the bonnet, windscreen, and headlights was caused by the impact of the cab against another vehicle, not just by the walls” Chanyeol announced suddenly, capturing the attention of the men surrounding him, “At first it may seem like an ordinary car collision, but that is not the case. There is a very high probability that the driver of another car made a conscious decision to stray into the path of the oncoming cab and caused this tragedy.”

A notable police officer, about 30 years old, rolled his eyes, “This kid again. How do you know for certain?”

“Good evening, Officer Kim Youngwoon! May I walk through and investigate? I have my search warrant this time,” Chanyeol said in a sugary, mawkish tone. The officer grunted, nodded tepidly, and went to sit in a stool nearby.

“He doesn’t quite fancy you, does he?” I commented.

Chanyeol sniggered, “Oh, a lot of people don’t just dislike me, they abhor me. Am I that unlikable?”

I bursted out chucking, “I would be lying if I said that I didn’t have a sufficient amount of understanding on why they could possibly detest you. You kidnapped me.”

He guffawed, exposing his shiny white teeth and rambunctious smile, and made his way through the tape. He carefully walked in and stopped near the front area of the deluxe cab and said, “Let me present you with a few assumptions and evidences, sir. I think you will be able to differentiate on your own which is which.

7 pm, the Seoul Kimchi Making and Sharing Festival began at the Gwanghwamun Plaza. The event was so packed with people that there were barely any cars on the street, let alone any form of gridlock. Now, if I were an uncurious, foreign businessman, it would be a good time to leave for a meeting in Yongsan District at 9 pm—that was scheduled by Fletcher himself, according to the written report—without hurrying.

And now to the road problem: If you observe the curve, it’s barely even a curve. It’s precisely 140 degrees. You could be driving at a constant 90 mph and make a turn and you would still be safe. To assume that the driver crashed himself into an old building for whatever reason, and effectively killing a passenger, is basically accusing him of being an idiot, which I highly doubt. We are talking about a deluxe taxi. The driver was accident-free for at least 10 years.”

“Maybe he was paid to do that?” a random voice from the group of cops inquired.

“It’s possible, but very unlikely. Still, we have yet to acquire information from him so we’ll see.”

Youngwoon claps from his stool, laughing, “What an intricate dialogue! Although we would have preferred a more logical one because none of those proved your statement of a head-on collision.” 

“But as you could see, this place is quite darker than most roads. The streetlight are much dimmer and there’s only a single way to the north and another to the south—not wide, but sufficient. Even if he was careful, the driver must have not expected the other car to smash against him so he ended up going off-road, thus crashing into the building. The damage is too much for a simple crash unless he was driving in an unreasonable amount of speed and wanted his passengers hurt.”

Youngwoon was getting more annoyed, “None of the things you’re saying prove anything!”

“I expected more from you, sir,” Chanyeol sighed, “I thought you would be more observant.”

Before Officer Youngwoon could throw another jab of insults and sarcasm, Chanyeol pointed at the shambles from the crash. In a heap of broken glass, which we overlooked, a silver trademark of a Ferrari logo lingered in our sights. “The deluxe cab isn’t a Ferrari, but you can look for its original trademark if you refuse to believe me,” he said.

The officer rested his head on his own shoulder and then threw it back, “You could’ve just said it earlier,” he said regretfully. “Is that even a crucial detail?”

“Possibly,” he answered.

“So, what you’re saying is, someone really did try to kill him with the car crash, but didn’t really cause him to die?”

“It seems so. The car was damaged enough to make it look like Fletcher had died from the impact, but that simply wasn't the case. It could also be just another delinquent driver. Another hit-and-run scenario. Nonetheless, this is still good to know.”

The officer responded with a grunt.

The rest of the men did their respective jobs after Chanyeol made another turn around the crime scene.   

“You’re keen,” I commented, nudging his arm, “but still not impressively so.”

“We’re not yet finished! There’s more to be done!” He winked, “I’ll sweep you off your feet, for sure.”

His cellphone rang and he immediately answered, “Hello?”

“This is Junmyeon. Head to the coroner’s office now. The autopsy is finished. We have something on Fetcher. Be here, quick,” the phone call ended with a dismissive demand.

III

A tall, pretty girl who looked quite similar to a model in terms of body and facial proportions welcomed us at the entrance of the laboratory with a timid smile. She was wearing a lab coat atop a flowery blouse and brown slacks. She shyly greeted us, handed us coats, and introduced herself to me as she led us to the table wherein Junmyeon was seated, “I’m Seo Juhyun. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Choi Sungmi,” I answered back, “You look pretty!”

She blushed and looked down on her black leather shoes, “Thank you.”

We took the seats from across Officer Junmyeon and sat. “We found something inside his stomach,” Junmyeon said.

“So he was poisoned?” I asked while still observing the state-of-the-art and modern technologies and equipment visible in the lab.

“Apparently so,” he sighed, “We found chloral hydrate inside his body.”

“Back in the day, chloral hydrate is often present during illegal boxing matches. They use this to spike the water the boxers use to wash in between rounds. Many fighters were drugged with it too,” Chanyeol added, “But for medical use, it is commonly found in sleeping pills.”

“When we looked into his attire, all of his cash had been taken out as well.”

A deviant smirk instinctively formed on Chanyeol face, “What do we know about the driver?”

“An interview was already held by Son Seungwan,” the officer went pink upon the mention of the name, accumulating a giggle from both of his co-workers, “This is what the driver had to say. I will read to you the documentation in quote.

There was a middle-aged man with blonde hair and blue eyes and with him was a teenage boy with curly chestnut hair and freckles. They called for me a few meters away from Lotte Hotel. Both were dressed in the finest black suits. They looked nothing alike. The blonde man had a large, tall nose while the younger boy had a small, regular one. The prior had smaller eyes while the other had large, round hazel eyes. I was not quite sure about their relation, but the younger one was dashing and looked similar to a British prince. His hair was pushed back and he had big, full lips. His face was oval, but he had a fine jawline and a prominent chin. His eyebrows were straight and thick and was well-distanced, both horizontally and vertically. I remember this much about him because he was outstandingly handsome. Although, he was expressionless and looked a bit spoiled. I do not remember much about the blonde man because his head was down the entire time.

They remained silent throughout the entire trip, mainly because the blonde man was asleep. The boy ordered the radio shut and played old English pop songs playing from the backseat. We drove for more than two kilometers until all of a sudden I woke up in a hospital. I do not know any more than that.”  

“Ha! So I was not mistaken!” Chanyeol exclaimed and immediately went to a desktop. He typed something in quickly and a bunch of names started to come to sight at a vast speed. He clicked on Fetcher’s name. He skimmed through some text again and clicked someone again. A picture of a British boy, around 19, materialized from the screen.

“Bless me,” he cleared his throat and feigned a cough, “but I believe I have found the man that matches the description perfectly. It’s his adopted son, Charlie Parton.”

“How did you figure it out that fast?” the three of us asked simultaneously.

“I just got lucky. It just so happens that most of his relatives were women or deceased older men.”

“You weren’t even sure if they were related!”

“But I wasn’t wrong, was I?” he taunted, “If I were to be incorrect, then we would’ve just kept looking, right? There is no need to feel dismayed. However, we still need to make sure if he is among those who arrived to Korea from London last night.” 

“Affirmative,” Juhyun confirmed, who looked into the topic, “He even sat next to Fletcher on the plane ride. I also looked into their hotel details. They’re still checked in Lotte Hotel, Room No. 313.”

Chanyeol took my hand hurriedly and said with ardent eyes, “Let’s take off before he does!”

“But what about the Ferrari?” I asked while running.

“We will get to that later. For now, we have to talk to him,” he answered back in a hastened tone, “I can solve this, I promise!”

IV

The Lotto Hotel was an opulent and lavish place indeed. Although I was staggered by the high ceilings with preeminent classic designs and the flashy marble floors I wandered on, the long-legged Chanyeol piloted me to the elevator and pressed the button headed to the 32^nd floor, where the concierge promised Room No. 313 to be on. 

Chanyeol and I caught our breaths as soon as the automated doors closed.

For every oncoming floor, there were strangers who came in and there were those who left. Until unexpectedly, the space was devoured by an unanticipated flow of people that jerked us to the far end of the elevator. This resulted in us facing each other. His hands were on the steel walls, effectively cornering me, but it kept him from completely crushing my much smaller body. My face was flushed upon hearing the sensation of Chanyeol’s heart beating aggressively through his broad chest.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. I felt his breath on my cheek as he spoke softly. I took this opportunity to take a long gander at his features and realized that he resembled a delightful child, especially his eyes, which were erupting with innocence, vigor, and enthusiasm—the kind of spark most adults no longer obtain. It didn’t take too long before we heard the elevator ring at the 32^nd floor and had to squeeze ourselves out of the bundle of people compacted together in the tight space. We swiftly went to search for Room No. 313 and succeeded in less than a minute.

“Room service!” Chanyeol shouted while knocking gently at the wooden door.

“Come in!” a male voice called in with a strong British accent. Chanyeol twisted the knob and entered while I followed suit. “You don’t look like room service!” the boy, Charlie Parton, shrieked out, “Who are you?” He was dressed casually in a tee and denim jeans paired with some sneakers and was packing his clothes in a medium black luggage. He looked like he was off to fly to England already.

“We’re here to investigate,” Chanyeol said assertively, looking around the premises of his hotel room.

“Investigate what?” Charlie was already yelling and started throwing pillows at our direction.

“I think we are both aware of the situation.”

“My father, oh my father,” tears began rolling along his neatly chiseled cheekbones, “I am in utter shock that someone had tried to kill my father! He was such a good man!”

“Yes, it is indeed truly remorseful that he had died so soon. It’s seems that he raised you with such class and elegance. Condolences to your father.” I, too, said my condolences. 

“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said wiping off his tears, but immediately began crying frantically again, “When my biological father died, my mother remarried a noble business tycoon from Liverpool, which was Jonathan Fletcher himself. My mother was happy again and no longer missed my actual father. He raised me and took care of me like what my real father did. We finally had a family again. After 5 years! Sadly, two years ago, my mother died of a tragic death through leukemia. I’m not sure how I could handle myself now that my parents are both taken away by God. I never thought this day would come so soon. However, I am still quite thankful to be alive. I took my father’s cash and a few debit cards because I was frightened that the automobile would ignite a fire and would have no dough to fly home. I have a few scratches here and there, but I am well enough. I do not know how to explain this to the rest of the Fletchers. Stupid ing car! May worst come for that man! And please, please, find the man who tried to kill him and make him suffer! I loathe him with all I am!”

“I can sympathize with you, I can, very deeply so,” Chanyeol said, lowering his head.

“Car crashes are the absolute worst!” he wailed.

Chanyeol started reaching out his arms to Charlie, who was prepared to accept his embrace. When he was close enough, he directly whispered into his ears, “But you know what could possibly be worse? Poison.” Chanyeol suddenly took out the pair of shackles he used on me earlier and handcuffed Charlie with them.

“What is this? Are you accusing me of murdering my own father? I was even there during the crash! How could I be guilty of a crime I was personally victimized by?” he proclaimed hysterically, nudging Chanyeol truculently.

Chanyeol stood up and clasped his hands together. “First of all, at the time of the crash, your father was barely even bleeding, what made you think that could’ve been the reason why he died? Second, wouldn’t it be highly impractical to buy a Ferrari in a foreign country that you intended to stay in for a week, a few hours after arriving in that said country? Oh, yes, one of your Fletcher aunts has a vacation villa here and owns a red Ferrari. I'm guessing that you're not too fond of her either. Silly that you were careless enough to buy the wrong model.”

“I don’t know what you’re taking about! This is all baseless and preposterous!”

“We have proof for those if that’ll shut you up. Another question, though,” Chanyeol jibed as he moved to a table with a glass and heaps of opened medicine pill foils, “how can one take this much dose of chloral hydrate? Is that why he was asleep, and dying, the whole time during the cab ride? Do you think we would actually believe that your father died from a ridiculous car crash?” 

“So?” Charlie sneered back with a sinister half-smirk, “You still have insufficient proof. Who was driving the Ferrari then?”

Chanyeol expressed an involuntary, satisfied grin, “We will wait for him.”

A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door. A regular hotel staff, who carried along a baggage, entered with a bewildered expression, shivering and sweating upon catching a glimpse of Charlie in handcuffs. Chanyeol advanced towards him as he stayed stationary in his domain. He hastily grabbed an object from the staff’s pants—Ferrari keys were just hanging there quite casually. Chanyeol dangled the keys in front of Charlie and gave another blow of derision, “A chubby and clumsy hotel staff was being very neurotic in the lobby a while ago. He stood out to me immediately when I walked into the hotel. He gave out a concerning consternated vibe when he progressed out the elevator from the 32^nd floor. I think I was lucky enough to get a glance of these keys while we were talking to the concierge. This is profoundly serendipitous.”

The hotel staff groaned in defeat, but Charlie’s face was burning red and started screamed angrily, “I don’t care! He never cared about my mother anyway! When she needed medicine or hospitalization, the look in his eyes were filled with apathy and indifference! He only used her to pleasure himself! I was actually kind enough for not ing him up as bad as the way he did to my mum!”

I was taken aback by his rage. I looked at Chanyeol and he said, “The officers will take care of this. They’ll be here very soon.”

V

The cold winter breeze had only registered to me just then. Seoul, a city I thought never slept, was tranquil and still. The lights around the street were composed and unruffled, contrast to the view from Chanyeol’s apartment. The sky was undisturbed and the stars glimmered a soft-phased, gentle gleam that was soothing to my tired, sleepy eyes. But regardless of my shutting eyes, I felt more awake than I ever did in my entire life. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline flowing through my veins, but something told me that what I found was much more valuable than a rapid surge of exhilaration.

Chanyeol looked at me with a beam that could put the starts to shame, “Was I impressive enough? This case was pretty simple to me, though.”

I pretended to contemplate what I was going to reply until I eventually said, “Yeah, it was admirable. I really enjoyed this experience.”

Chanyeol shrieked and threw a fist in the air excitedly. “That makes me really happy!” he said as he took a hold of my face, squeezing it with his big, warm hands, “When I was younger, I have always wanted to be like Sherlock Holmes.”

I pushed his hands away with my dainty, small ones. “Funny, I have always wanted to write about someone like Sherlock Holmes. His adventures were spectacular to me and still are.”

“Are you a writer?”

“You could say that, but it would be unfair to call me a decent one, let alone a brilliant one.”

“Why so?”

“I feel like, I don’t know, I haven’t gotten around life enough to find something truly impactful to write about.”

“Well, I’ve always dreamed of going down in history as one of the greatest detectives in the world. And I never thought it was impossible, regardless of what everyone tells me.” He jabbed his elbow at me lightly and suggested, “How about you join me in my adventures and then tell the world about it? Oh! But change my name! Make it Detective Misfit!”

“You’re insane. And that sounded corny.”

“It is not! I beg to differ!”

“Then you must be kidding.”

“I am absolutely being serious right now!”

I laughed and he looked at me with a confused face. “You have the face and the body of a grown man, but you’re as naïve and as unassuming as a curious little boy. It’s adorable.” His face immediately turned pink upon hearing my comment and crossed his arms together, but he ended up giving in and smiling anyway. A smile that was so infectious that I did the same unknowingly.

Out of the blue, a single snowflake fell from the atmosphere and landed on my forehead. “Pretty,” he said, looking at the snowflake as if he could melt it just by staring at it with his vivid round eyes.

After a few seconds, more snowflakes poured down from the dark blue sky and it soon began snowing steadily without a squall. The streets were covered with a white layer of frozen substance that was a reversion of itself.    

“It’s going to get colder from now and it’s already 3 am. I’ll bring you home. Where do you live?” Chanyeol queried.

The question took my attention away from the trancing snow. Eyes widened, I replied with a chagrin tone, “I forgot.”

 

SPECIAL CHARACTER

 

Gregg Sulkin (as Charlie Parton)

 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The story will keep on progresing and the cases will become more and more elaborate in the upcoming chapters. Please look forward to it!