Uncle Namhee’s face went placid. Rigid almost.

He laughed as her expression turned mildly cool. Then his tone went cautiously chipper. “Visit sometime, Namjoo. You haven’t been to service for a while. It’d be a pleasure to have you join us.”

In reply Namjoo faked a smile.

On the way out, Namjoo slowly climbed down the steps a distance from her uncle. Shooting fiery lasers into his broad back, wishing she could tackle him down the stairs hoping to break his neck.

The expensive imported vehicle’s lights glowed orange when he pressed the remote to unlock it, but did not make a move to get in. Completing the last step meeting him on even ground, Namjoo stopped three steps behind him. Uncle Namhee stood still as if sky gazing.

One foot moved forward. Swiveling he revealed a face so stern a metal sword could never have pierced him. His pupils swore black and evil. A disturbing look Namjoo had never witnessed front row.

“Five years have definitely made it’s mark on you,” his voice was low. Only enough that she could hear.

“Yes, I’ve changed.” Namjoo verified. “Death definitely makes it’s mark.”

His face turned grave.

“I had a dream.” Namjoo said. “My brother says hi.”

His eyes opened large then pinched. “Your parents should have sent you to a mental facility instead of college.”

“Uncle,” Namjoo spoke ersely in a light tone, “I’m not afraid of you, so don’t put on an air around me anymore. I’m no longer a child. Go on with your true self. I’d like to see who you are.”

“What galls you have to spit in my face you little girl.” A menacing frown twined his brows. “Why I oughta tell your father…”

“Do it,” Namjoo provoked. “I also have a surprise waiting for you.”

The man scoffed not taking her seriously.

Namjoo took an inch step into his space. Daring to lean nearer so that she smelled the cologne assaulting her nostrils. She whispered, “I know what you did.”

Back tracking Namjoo held his eyes. At first, they were impenetrably cold. Next, they tremored just a slight bit. Allowing a sly smile onto her face she quietly dared him to fight her.

Spotting a figure exiting the house on her right, she loudly called out in a friendly voice, “Have a good day, uncle. Let’s catch up next time.”

The elder man sputtered a breath as Munho approached her. Getting into his car he slammed the door and accelerated down the drive. Namjoo listened to the tires whir maddeningly.

“What were you two talking about?” Munho asked.

“Barcelona.” Namjoo turned.

Munho stared questionably but did not press. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I can call a cab.”

“Namjoo.” He agitatedly gritted his teeth.

Surrendering, Namjoo threw her arms out. Shuffling toward his car she slid into the passenger seat.

“You shouldn’t have said that to your parents. That was rude. Your father must have been shocked.” Munho lectured along the drive.

“What can be more shocking than me coming back alive?”

“Namjoo.” He warned frowning at her. Sighing he asked, “Can’t you be more careful around the adults?”

“Sorry?” her brows rose. “Do you remember how old I am?”

Flustered, he corrected, “You know very well what I’m talking about. Why are you being like this?”

“Good question.” Namjoo pouted. Saying in a ditzy manner, “It’s a secret.”

Munho’s frown deepened. “Can’t you at least try to think of me?”

“Munho,” Namjoo said more seriously, “you don’t care about me.”

Surprised fluxed through her when he sped ahead, nearly skimming past an oncoming car, and hastily pulled over to the side of the road. Braking so hard the seatbelt tightly locked around her chest suffocating her.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Munho really sounded pained. He huffed and tightly squeezed the steering wheel. Breathlessly spitting, “You’re right. In thirty years, I’ll be sixty. What about you? You made me wait for you. You disappeared. You sent me no letter. No notification. You didn’t try to reach out. Five years, Namjoo! At least own up to it!”

All emotion disappeared. Namjoo tranquilly stared out the window. Watching cars zip past. The world roll by. As if she wasn’t in his car, but on a bus traveling into another parallel dimension. Never hearing a word just said.

“I didn’t ask you to wait.” Namjoo mumbled.

“That’s it?” he asked deplored. The ache so vivid in his mouth, but not penetrating Namjoo’s iced heart.

Whirling toward him, Namjoo hissed, “Why don’t you stop pretending, Munho? You’re clinging onto him, too. Don’t you use me to appease your guilt.”

Shoving the door open Namjoo slammed it with all available might before stomping off.

◘⸞⸟⸞⸟⸞◘

Kim Namhee.

Local pastor. Famous for his volunteer work. Donating often to charity. Helping out the homeless by holding monthly food drives, opening the church to feed the hungry on Saturdays, and providing shelter to abused women and children. He was a saint to the drunks. Never discriminated between the poor and rich. Welcomed wherever he appeared.

Kim Namhee was hailed for being Jesus himself. Spreading faith and belief everywhere he went. Abroad on religious retreats. Rebuilding broken villages, handing out books and school supplies to children in need.

Jongin spent the entire morning scrolling the web. Finding numerous articles praising Kim Namhee nonstop.

A man on such grand scale was impossible to criminalize. The people had placed him on such an untouchable pedestal Kim Namjoo was freaking crazy to point a finger at him.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Jongin leaned against the threshold of his open office.

“Yes?” Secretary Ma cocked a brow.

Jongin glanced toward the doorway. Careful not to be eavesdropped on he hurriedly shut the door. Walking closer to the desk he lowered his voice, “Can you dig up a profile? I mean, extending family tree and everything included. Good and bad.”

“Depends whom.”

“Kim Namhee.”

A quick hand covered in a gasp. Secretary Ma’s lids fluttered like a bat’s wings.

“Do you know him?” Jongin questioned.

“He’s a pastor. He teaches church school on Wednesdays. My son and his friends attend his lessons.” Secretary Ma gushed. “Why, is there something wrong?”

Worry increased the lines on her elegant face. Jongin felt guilty for bringing this upon her.

Shaking his head, he comforted, “Nothing. Just…it’s related to something. So, can you?”

“Why, I’m sure there can’t be anything wrong. He’s a great man.” The secretary ensured confidently. “But since you asked, I’ll do what I can.”

“Th