Chapter Four: A life, Alive

The grim photographs that cluttered her desk scared her. Not because she was afraid of what they showed, but because of what they meant. Burned into the backs of her eyelids, their sheer numbers sat accusingly, a crushing weight of responsibility, of guilt—feelings she struggled to shut it out. The haunting whisper of urgency was ever-present. An acute awareness of the countdown to the next body ate away at her conscience, festering like necrotic flesh. The same lingering questions on an endless loop. How long til the next one? Who would it be?

The station was prepared for Kim Taeyeon’s grand entrance, or rather, return. Her own office filled with makeshift memorials for the victims—red strings, smiling faces, photos of their dead bodies all to be pinned to a board. Reconstructing the crimes would come later. And with help.

Krystal rubbed at her temples. An ache had settled there, gradually building in intensity over the hours. Perhaps, it was time to turn in for the night, get some much-needed sleep to stave off the insistent feeling of doom. The ticking of the countdown had started again.

For a long while she stood in the doorway and just looked back into her office.

Eventually, she flicked off the lights.

--

Taeyeon woke from her light slumber as glaring LEDs jumped to life signalling the imminent approach of a visitor. It was a late into the night.

Hyoyeon stood before her cell with a strange look upon her face. It reeked of a good-natured yet stern farewell, strange but not entirely out of character for the blonde-haired warden. Taeyeon let her lips pull into a semblance of a pleasant smile. They were not friends, but may have been, had they met under different circumstances. But this was that way of the world, the way the dice rolled—one in which the infinite other possibilities were erased so as to manifest this one into reality.

“Hyoyeon.” Taeyeon said simply. She stood and moved to stand at the bars, leaving them only separated by half a metre of space and of course, the steel rods of her cage themselves. Soon, she would be rid of them, Taeyeon thought.

“Taeyeon.” The woman greeted back, her smile mirroring Taeyeon’s. The artificial light glinted off the metal of the handcuffs Hyoyeon carried with her, looped onto the belt at her waist. A baton, unused during the course of Taeyeon's stay, hung there too. “I bet the events of the past few days have come as a surprise to you.”

“They have, and a pleasant one, at that.”

Taeyeon’s visitors were few and far between and had mostly been in her earlier years, when she was still fresh to this facility. Later, the reason for this pattern became apparent—the circumstances surrounding her ‘retirement’ from the work force had been a tight-lipped affair, shrouded in ambiguity and vague answers. It was a job done internally, a cover-up for a major oversight of the department.

Ironically, it was the growing number of dead bodies that gave Taeyeon her freedom—though conditional—back. It was only in these dire circumstances that people like Yunho could afford to turn to her. Desperation smothered their pride – the price of their present and imminent future pains outweighed past ones.

“I can’t say it’s been unpleasant working with you, Taeyeon.”

“I haven’t given you any reason to feel that way.”

Hyoyeon nodded in agreement.

“I have a few words of advice for you, old friend. I am by no means an expert of the mind, but what you have—your ability—is both a blessing and a curse. A connection that must go both ways. There will come a day where someone will become cognizant of this fact and you will find it turned against yourself. Perhaps it already has. I do not know what may happen but please refrain from making a ruckus out there. I do not think our next meeting will be as friendly should that happen. Nor do I wish for either of our vacations from each other to be cut short.”

“It is not in my interests to do so—this I know, Hyoyeon.”

“Then we are on the same page. Good luck out there, I hope you are ready for the world.”

No, no. Taeyeon smiled to herself as Hyoyeon turned to leave. The question Hyoyeon should have asked echoing in her ears:

Is the world ready for me?

--

The affair was surprisingly quiet, without the bells and whistles or rather sirens. This had Yunho written all over it—an attempt to downplay the risky nature of this arrangement, no doubt. A procession of four vehicles, accompanied Taeyeon for her transfer from the facility to a temporary cell within the station where she would be spending her nights. Amongst the was Jung Yunho and of course, his impressionable protégé, Krystal. Taeyeon let herself smile as she watched the facility that had once caged her disappear into the distance behind her.

The moment she set foot into the station; she was marched into Krystal’s office. A sense of nostalgia followed by a wave of irony swept into her being. This exact office had once belonged to her.

“Taeyeon.” A deep voice grumbled, laced with a hostility she had not felt from the Jung sisters or Hyoyeon. Jung Yunho looked into her eyes for the first time in years. He had, like the others, stopped visiting her a long while ago. There were no hard feelings.

Yunho had aged. Whether it had been accelerated by the stress of his job or was just the natural passing of time, Taeyeon did not know. He held himself differently too; that was to be expected of a man that had seen too much and the weight of the experiences held him down, anchored him to the gruesome realities of the world. Taeyeon knew she had a personal hand in carving an experience or two in his repertoire and was proud of this as well.

“It’s been a while since we’ve worked together, Yunho. Maybe this will be like old times.”

Taeyeon prodded at old wounds, tested how well they had healed. A spark of satisfaction flickered to life somewhere within her as she watched Yunho struggling to hold back the sneer that was threatening to break across his lips. That scar had yet to heal.

“Remember your place, Taeyeon. Remember why you are even out of that cage of yours.” He said menacingly, his voice lowering an octave.

“I recall it was you begging for my help Chief and not the other way around.”

Jung Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard that Taeyeon could see the muscle bulk in his temples twitching. Beside him, Krystal remained silent, perhaps out of loyalty to her superior, perhaps she smartly recognised the corner Taeyeon had backed them both into.

“Krystal.” He finally said, the words grated harshly, forced out between gritted teeth. His nostrils flared. “You can show Taeyeon the evidence. Make sure she does what she’s only good for.”

Taeyeon made sure to bare her teeth as she grinned.

Without so as much as a glance in Taeyeon’s direction, Jung Yunho nodded to Krystal and his heel to leave; his retreating steps were resoundingly heavy.

Taeyeon turned to the young detective, the metallic links around her wrists and ankles clinked quietly with the action.

“Shall we make a start?”

Krystal seemed wary of her, but her duty commanded her to nod and lead Taeyeon over to the desk of awaiting photos.

Lifeless bodies stared at her from the glossy surfaces of printed film. This is what it meant to be alive amongst the dead.

Taeyeon felt more alive than she had in a long time.

--

The photos go up. One by one, lives snuffed out like feeble candles flickering in the wind. Jessica watched as Taeyeon and her sister worked to piece what evidence they had into a semblance of a narrative. The board showed four victims, the locations where they’d been found and whatever else the police had managed to track down about their disappearances.

Something urged her to move closer and her feet brought her to a stop in the open doorway. In the clamour of the office, no one stopped her.

When she had left the house earlier, the station was not where she'd expected to end up. This was as close to a crime than she had ever gotten—perhaps too close. She had been given a glimpse into a world which she did not truly understand or like. Her profession kept her reasonably safe, positioned behind the walls of text, legalities of documents and the inked authority of the law. Wha