Funny
Innocent“Keep an eye on Wendy Son.”
Of all the news Joy expects to hear, this is the last on her list. But this is an order from the warden so Joy nods, bows slightly, and closes the door on her way out. She sits in the lobby, pulls out a pen from her front pocket, and flips the pen.
7 bodies discovered.
Chest cut open, heart taken out and returned back in, skin stitched up.
Ongoing search of a missing person.
Hardly her ideal inmate, is it possible to transfer Wendy to a different block?
“Good morning.”
Joy puts her pen back into her pocket. “Morning.”
As usual, Irene is early. Irene inserts coins into the vending machine. She gives Joy a cold canned coffee and pops open her lemonade. It’s a routine between them, treating each other drinks. Joy prefers not make unnecessary expenses, especially for someone else, but Irene has helped her numerous times as a friend, and frankly, Joy doesn’t mind.
“I heard they’re putting you in charge of Wendy.”
Joy drinks. She’s going to need more caffeine but this will do for now. “Must be my lucky day.”
“Exciting, isn’t it?”
“Thrilling. Serial killer, this is what I signed up for.”
“You’ve come this far.” Irene waves at a passing janitor and says good morning. She turns and smiles at Joy. ”You won’t back down, will you?”
“As long as she behaves in her cell, I don’t care.”
“Is that all it takes to be your favourite? That’s not very hard to do.”
“Why, do you want to volunteer?” Joy tosses her empty can into a bin 30 feet away. It bounces off then it falls in. Score. “Switch places with Wendy, I’ll bring you extra meals.”
Irene giggles, soft and brief. “I’ll consider it but only because it’s you.”
They’re both stuck in this miserable place but it helps to share each other’s sarcasm and sense of humour. Irene is the reason she sticks around, though Joy will never admit this out loud because Irene will endlessly.
It’s a miracle how Irene shows up every morning calm and sane.
“I have to meet my patient,” Irene says, looking at her watch. She stands up and tosses her can into a slightly further bin. Perfect throw. “I win.”
Tsk. “I’ll beat you next time.”
“I won’t lose to you.” Irene winks, always so competitive. “Have fun with Wendy.”
///
Joy has seen a number of people arrested for heinous crimes, but none of them look as harmless as Wendy Son, who looks like she’ll drop her grocery bags and help an old man cross the road, and although it’s unprofessional, Joy can’t help but speak out her thought.
“You don’t look like a serial killer.”
Wendy grips the iron bars and glares at Joy. “Because I’m not.”
“Not according to the crime scene.”
“Look, you got the wrong person, I didn’t kill anyone.”
Joy clasps her hands behind her. She maintains an arm’s length distance from Wendy’s cell. “My job is to watch over you, not to prove you’re innocent.”
Wendy loosens her grip on the prison bars and hangs her head. Pathetic. “I’m innocent, why can’t you trust me?”
“Not in my job description.”
“Change it.”
“I don’t see how that benefits me.”
“I get to go home and you don’t have to deal with me. Win-win.”
Less than 5 minutes in and Joy wants to transfer Wendy to a different block. “If I give you a pen and paper, will you shut your mouth?”
“Will you do what I write?”
“Why, does your mouth only work at certain times?”
“One, release Wendy. Two, never appear in each other’s life again. That’s all, I figured you wouldn’t read more than two lines.”
The nerve of this woman.
Joy huffs, standing straight, hands still clasped behind her. “I was wrong, you do have a spine. You’ll fit right in with these guys.”
“I don’t belong here, let me out.“
This isn’t the first time an inmate pisses her off, and Joy isn’t one to hold her temper. “Don’t push your luck.”
Wendy opens and, before she says something stupid, Joy cuts her off.
“Final warning. I won’t go easy on you just because you’re new.”
Wendy grits her teeth. She drags her feet to her bed and glares at the wall. Seems Joy doesn’t have to resort to violence after all. Not for now, at least.
Joy patrols the corridor. Most inmates are sprawled out on the floor or in their bed, drooling with their mouths hanging open. It used to freak her out when she first started (she sympathized, even), but she’s seen it so many times she’s immune to it. But not all of them are obedient, one inmate likes to make highly specific lewd comments whenever she passes by. Joy’s immune to that too.
She finishes her round and finds Wendy balancing a toothbrush on her index finger, tongue slightly sticking out at the corner of . It’s a harmless form of entertainment unlike sharpening a toothbrush, so Joy lets her be.
And stares.
And stares.
And stares.
Wendy turns around and makes a face. “Can you not? This place is already creepy as it is.”
Joy shrugs. “It’s in my job description.”
“You’re plotting something.”
“Am I?”
Wendy jumps and scrambles over to the bars. She points her toothbrush at Joy. “You can’t punish me for being good, that’s against the rules.”
Rules? What a joke, she’s seen her fellow guards abuse their power. “Put that down.”
“Not unless you promise.”
“Promise what?”
“Fair treatment.”
“As long as you behave, I have no reason to report your behaviour.”
Wendy puts her hand down. “Really?”
“Hm.”
“You won’t punish me as long as I behave?”
“Yeah.”
“For real?”
“Sure.”
“Can you be any less convincing?”
“What do you want me to do, swear an oath?”
“Can you?”
Joy rolls her eyes, is she dealing with a child? “I hereby swear I will not mistreat any inmate who are on their best behaviour. There, happy?”
Surprisingly, Wendy laughs. She steps back, smiling. “Thanks.”
What is this, Wendy’s so.. so..
Normal.
Joy wouldn’t mind continuing their conversation, but naturally, something goes wrong because Joy’s surrounded with the mentally ill. Next to Wendy’s cell, inmate 04 groans and uses her sticky fingers to wipe off the drool dripping from the corner of , legs covered in a mixture of bodily fluids.
Disgusting.
Inmate 04 scurries back against the wall, hands trembling. “S-sorry.”
It’s easy to be an and swear at inmate 04, and honestly, Joy wants to. “I’ll call the janitor.” Joy takes out her walkie-talkie. “The nurses will help you clean up so be nice to them. Can you stand?”
Inmate 04 nods, her thumb in . And, of course, 15 minutes later, Joy finds inmate 04 in the shower crying and screaming and banging her head against the wall. She calls for back-up. Soon, 3 guards slam inmate 04 down.
Irene slips a syringe needle into inmate 04’s arm. Almost immediately, inmate 04 stops thrashing and closes her eyes. Two men carry her away while Joy and Irene stay behind.
“This is so sudden, she’s been well-behaved lately,” Irene says. “Are you okay, Joy?”
Joy massages her jaw. Ugh, she can taste her blood. “I’m fine.”
“Did something happen that set her off?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Maybe you’re not giving her enough attention. She’s quite fond of you, you know.”
It’s a sick joke but Joy plays along. “I think you’re a better match for her.”
“No thanks. Before you go back, go to the infirmary please.”
Joy sighs, removing her hand from her jaw. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“You don’t have to act tough all the time.”
“Same goes for you.”
Irene smiles, placing her hand on Joy’s shoulder (Joy isn’t a big fan of physical touch but Irene has that calming effect on her). “I can take care of myself, you just focus on you.”
Neither of them are the sentimental type, and Joy’s fine with that. Instead of dropping by the infirmary, Joy goes straight back to her duty. She walks down the corridor and stops at Wendy’s cell, surprised to find Wendy pacing in circles.
Wendy points her index finger at Joy, frowning. “There you are!”
“Here I am.”
“You were gone for so long, are you okay?”
Joy isn’t sure how she’s supposed to feel, having an inmate worry about her. “I’ve had worse.”
“Just because you’ve had worse doesn’t make it okay. Your jaw is turning purple, don’t you have tons of doctors here? Get someone to look at that. God, and you’re supposed to be my guard? You can’t even take care of yourself.”
“Excuse you, I can take care of myself just fine.”
“Then go away and see a doctor. Shoo.”
Joy really isn’t sure how she’s supposed to feel. Great, now her head hurts. “You don’t act like a serial killer.”
“Because I’m not, obviously.”
Joys scoffs but it comes out lighter than she intends. Before she clocks out, Wendy wishes her a safe trip home, to which Joy says “you’re making my headache worse,” to which Wendy says “you’re welcome, jerk, go see a doctor.”
In the end, Joy drops by the infirmary but Wendy doesn’t have to know this.
///
“Wendy Son is innocent.”
It’s 17:45, Joy wants to go home, have dinner, shower, and sleep. “Really.”
Yeri takes out a stack of papers from her leather messenger bag which probably costs more than Joy’s monthly salary. She holds them up in one hand, photos clumsily taped. “The crime scene was set up to frame Wendy.”
Joy walks past Yeri, her bus is here. “I’m a guard. Stop wasting your time on me and talk to the detectives working on this case. If you can bribe them to give you those files, you can bribe them to listen.” She puts one step onto the bus and feels a tug.
“I can’t.” Yeri’s hand is on Joy’s sleeve, her other hand holding the papers against her chest. “You’re the only one who listens.”
Big deal, she doesn’t care.
“Miss,” the bus driver says. “Are you coming?”
Yeri’s hand is still on Joy’s sleeve. She doesn’t pull Joy back, she just keeps her hand there, and it annoys Joy even more.
“Miss?”
Joy looks back at Yeri over her shoulder. So annoying. “No, sorry.”
Finally, Yeri lets go, and Joy steps off the bus. Yeri isn’t even trying to hide her happiness.
“You have 45 minutes, buy me dinner.”
Yeri takes Joy’s hand and pulls so suddenly Joy almost trips. They dine at a cheap rundown noodle restaurant. With the amount of money Yeri has in her bank account, Joy would prefer a better off place. But free food is free food, Joy chooses the most expensive meal on the menu. Yeri spreads papers all over the table, which doesn’t help Joy’s appetite.
“Can you not show me these when I’m eating?”
Yeri ignores her, pointing at a photo of the victim’s chest, all stitched up. “They examined the wound, it’s from a scalpel.”
“So?”
“It doesn’t match with the knife they found on Wendy.”
Joy puts down her fork. It isn’t concrete evidence, but if Wendy really is framed, that would explain everything.
“The real murderer is out there.”
“That’s one problem.” Wendy is another, and the last one is Yeri playing detective. “You know you’re putting yourself in danger.“
“That’s kinda what reporters do, Joy.”
“Like sticking your finger in the power socket?”
“There’s a difference between getting yourself electrocuted on purpose and finding out who the real murderer is.” Yeri takes the paper furthest from her. She’s probably read it a hundred times. “And I was 7, doesn’t count.”
“So you did do it on purpose.”
“Look, I just, I need to find out, okay? I need to know who’s behind this,” Yeri says while Joy pays for her half-eaten meal although it’s supposed to be Yeri’s treat. “Come on, you spent all day with Wendy, didn’t she look normal to you?”
“You’re going to need another lead.”
“I do have one.” Is Yeri smiling? “I just need them to find the missing person’s body.”
It’s unsettling, the way Yeri says it. As if she doesn’t mind whether the missing person is dead or alive as they speak. But Joy has hit her crazy people quota for the day, so she calls a taxi and goes home. Whatever happens, she’ll deal with it tomorrow.
///
Irene prefers to mind her own business.
Normally, when Irene sees someone standing and staring into space, Irene would shrug it off and continue walking. She wouldn’t sneak up on a stranger. But this person, aside from being familiar, is holding onto a case file, more specifically, one that a typical person shouldn’t have access to.
“Hello,” Irene says, and the woman jumps. Now that Irene has a closer look, she’s quite pretty. Long eyelashes and brown eyes. “I’m sorry, did I scare you? You were standing there for a while and I thought you needed help.”
The woman rubs the back of her head. “Just spacing out, thanks.”
“Good to know.” Irene grins and offers her hand. “I’m Irene.”
“Yeri.”
Yeri’s handshake isn’t weak, but it isn’t firm enough for Irene’s taste. She keeps her eyes on Irene and Irene reciprocates it, and when their hands part, Irene gestures to the case file in Yeri’s other hand.
“It’s a good thing they caught the murderer, isn’t it?”
Yeri hides the papers behind her back. Very subtle, like hiding an elephant. “What?”
“I don’t think I have to explain, it’s all over the news.”
“The case isn’t over.”
“How so?” Irene waits, but Yeri doesn’t reply. That’s fine, but something else bothers her. “You seem familiar.”
“I don’t think we’ve met.”
Yes, they have. Remembering people’s faces isn’t her forte but Irene swears they’ve met before. But where.. oh. “I’ve seen you at the police station a few times but you’re not a cop, are you?”
“I’m a reporter.”
Reporter. Not in her best interest but that may change in the future. “A reporter shouldn’t have such easy access, no? You shouldn’t have a copy of those files either, unless you’re pulling some strings.”
Yeri puts her hand down and the papers rustle in the wind. Yeri’s grip is too strong, she’s leaving wrinkles all over the case file. “Who are you? You’re not with the detectives, forensics, or anyone in the homicide department.”
“My, you know everyone.”
“So what if I do?”
Irene can list so many reasons and possibilities but she skips those and says, “you said the case isn’t over, can you tell me more? I’d like to listen, maybe I can help.”
“How?”
“Rather than standing here, I think we should find a place to talk. Shall we go?”
Yeri frowns, seemingly suspicious, but she follows Irene. Irene holds the door open for Yeri and an elderly man behind her. Yeri taps her foot, nodding at the waiter but not saying anything.
“Chamomile tea, please.” Irene thanks the waiter before he leaves. She rests her elbow on the table, cheek in her palm. “Why so tense?”
“Hard to be relaxed when you hit a wall.”
“How so?”
“The case isn’t over, Wendy Son was framed.”
Well then.
This is unexpected.
Irene leans closer, putting on a curious face. “Framed?”
“The victim’s wound didn’t match Wendy’s knife.”
“Oh my.” What else does Yeri know? ”How dreadful, Wendy doesn’t deserve this.”
Yeri doesn’t agree. Not visibly or audibly, and she shows no signs of sympathy. So cold. “I just want to know who the real murderer is.”
“Why?”
“I just do.” Yeri slumps, eyes wide and unfocused. “I need to.”
Judging by the eyebags, Yeri hasn’t been sleeping well. She looks so tired, as if she’s on her breaking point and one little careless push will make her snap. It’s the kind of desperation Irene has seen many times, one she is very familiar with, especially among her patients.
“I’d kill for a lead.”
Irene blinks. “You would?”
Yeri doesn’t seem to realize what she’s said, so Irene waits and waits, until Yeri gasps and covers . “No, I, that’s not what I mean.”
Irene stops herself from snorting. It’s almost painful not to grin but she keeps her expression calm and understanding. She pours a cup of tea and offers it to Yeri.
She’s so generous, revealing herself to Yeri like this. “I’m a prison psychiatrist.”
Yeri accepts the teacup from Irene. She takes a whiff and sips, puts the cup back onto the table, and stirs although there’s no sugar in her tea. “You haven’t answered how you’re going to help me.”
“The cakes here are very nice, you should try their chocolate fudge.”
“This isn’t what we agreed on.”
“We can talk about the case later. You don’t have much time to relax nowadays, do you?”
“Who does?”
“Exactly.” Irene pours herself a cup. “We’re so busy we forget to take care of ourselves. Everyone needs to wind down, otherwise, we get burnt out and stop functioning.”
“Including you?”
“Of course.” Irene adds milk to her tea without spilling a drop. “I’m just like you. I get stressed, I get tired, I get frustrated. We’re all human.”
Yeri doesn’t look as defensive but Irene knows she can do better. Oh well. “Is this how you are with your patients?”
“I don’t treat my patients to tea,” Irene says, “and cakes if you’re up for it.”
Yeri wraps her fingers around the tea cup’s handle. Her defensive look is back, this is going to take a while. “What do you want?”
“I want us to have tea together, that’s all. But if you want more, I’d be happy. Would you like to come to my place or would you prefer a hotel?”
Yeri blushes and shakes her head, mumbling unintelligible words. Who would’ve thought a sleazy comment is all it takes?
“I don’t—“
Thunders rumble and Yeri yelps, covering one ear with her hand. She spills (supposedly scalding) tea on her hand but she doesn’t seem to register the pain. Even with the thunders as a distraction, it isn’t normal to just ignore the burn.
“Isn’t it hot?”
Yeri takes a breath, peeking outside the window. “No, not really.”
Irene passes over a napkin. Either high pain tolerance or Yeri lacks an appropriate response. “You’re scared of thunders?”
“Yeah.” Yeri wipes the tea off her hand. “I usually listen to music to block them out but my earphones are busted.”
Thunders rumble again, and Yeri lets out a faint high-pitched cry. Irene drums her fingers against the armrest. Hmm, doesn’t feel or respond to scalding water but is scared of thunders when she’s indoors.
What a funny person.
“It isn’t that loud, don’t worry about me.” Yeri must be mistaking Irene’s curiosity for concern. She keeps her hand over her ear and gives a lop-sided smile. “Recommend me a cake?”
Irene thins her lips. It would be rude to keep analyzing Yeri instead of enjoying her company. She’ll have to tone it down, at least for the rest of the evening. “Try their chocolate fudge, it’s the best in town.”
///
Maybe it’s the sound of rain, maybe it’s the tea, maybe it’s the way Irene makes Yeri calm just being there, maybe it’s all these 3 factors combined, but before Yeri knows it, a waiter comes to them and says they’re about to close. Yeri goes to the rest room, and when she comes back to split the bill, Irene pays the full amount.
It’s been a perfect evening, Yeri thinks, except, “you told me nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“But you looked so happy when you were eating cake, how can I talk about murder?”
“Not the point.”
“If you want to talk, I can take you to my home. Or would you prefer a—”
“No.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Doesn’t matter, my answer’s no.”
“My home, then?”
“No.”
Irene giggles. “That’s too bad. See you around, Yeri.”
“Wait, your number.”
“You wouldn’t go home with me but you’re asking for my number. Do you prefer to take it slow? That’s surprising, considering you have a high pain tolerance.”
“How did you— that has nothing to do with what I like.” Yeri shoves her phone into Irene’s hand, she doesn’t get why Irene seems amused. “Your number please, and I don’t swing that way.”
“Neither do I.” Irene puts a hand over , eyes wide. “You didn’t think I was serious, did you?”
“You were messing around?”
“Did I make you uncomfortable?”
Not really, but she kind of wants to get back at Irene so she says, “yeah, you did.”
“Oh.” Irene hangs her head, one arm crossed over the chest holding on to the elbow on her other arm. “I didn’t mean to go overboard.”
Is she acting? Well, too bad, Yeri won’t fall for that. “Doesn’t matter whether you mean it or not.”
“I’m sorry.” Irene shuffles her feet, stares at the ground, then raises her head and.. oh.
Jesus, how can someone look like that? Come on, that’s just, that’s not fair. Yeri’s supposed to be angry, she isn’t supposed to forgive Irene this easily, she’s stronger than this.
“It’s fine, just don’t do that again.” Damn it.
“Thank you.” Irene smiles. So. Not. Fair. “I saved my number on your phone.”
Yeri unlocks her phone screen, and there it is, a new number she doesn’t recognize.
Wait a minute.
Irene <3
“Was it necessary to add a heart sign?”
Irene laughs and — wait, why is she so close — she presses her lips on Yeri’s cheek with a very loud and clear smooch. Then she pulls back and grins real wide, and Yeri kind of wants to slap her for invading her personal space.
“Text me.”
Without waiting for Yeri’s response, which is an obvious no by the way, Irene walks off. And when Irene turns a corner, Yeri finally snaps out of it, and she shouts “no.” She can’t see or hear Irene but she has a feeling Irene is laughing.
Damn her.
But before Yeri goes to bed, she sends a text message to Irene.
///
Irene has a list of personal rules, and one of them is to reply a text message as soon as possible. Because sometimes, she holds it off and she forgets to reply. There’s only so many excuses she can come up with that doesn’t boil down to “I don’t want to talk,” which, in her experience, makes people view her in a negative light.
Besides, dead bodies can wait.
From: Yeri
tell me all you know tomorrow, no excuses!
She types, barely suppressing her grin. Not that it matters, no one’s around to watch and judge her. Well, except this man, but he’s dead so that doesn’t count.
Hi, Sherlock <3 I’m free on Thursday evening, cake and tea on me
Now then.
She needs to handle this body.
Irene isn’t fond of having dead bodies in her basement. The stench lingers, like rotten eggs. The longer she waits, the more likely the body’s muscles will relax too much, which means she’ll have to clean up the faeces and urine. Not pleasant.
She puts on her nitrile gloves and picks up her scalpel. She applies just the right pressure, keeps her hand steady, and slides down the body’s chest very very slowly.
Everything goes fine until Yeri’s words replay in her head.
“I just want to know who the real murderer is.”
It’s inappropriate to giggle when she’s doing this procedure, not to mention disrespectful and, oops, she presses a little too hard. She puts aside her scalpel again, tosses her gloves to the floor, and laughs.
Gosh, this is too funny.
Apparently, today is national relaxation day, which I now know is a thing. And I think it’s the perfect time to post this because reasons.
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