Chapter 6 Rui
Rui
The higher you climb, the harder you fall.
If that were true, then Matthias Lin’s plummet from grace was a meteor that shattered her world, Rui thought, as she stood
in front of his apartment.
The loan sharks had done a thorough job this time. Obscenities splashed across the door in angry red paint. Even the grille
gate was not spared. At least they hadn’t hung a pig’s head.
Yet.
Rui turned to the middle-aged woman who was standing at the door of the neighboring apartment. “Thanks for calling me, Auntie
Chen. I’m so sorry for the trouble. It won’t happen again.”
“Young people shouldn’t make promises they can’t keep,” Auntie Chen said, one hand resting on her generous hip. “I know you’re
a good daughter, Rui, but these ah long don’t care about the law, and your father is—”
“I’m really sorry,” Rui repeated, knowing full well apologies often meant nothing. Just ephemeral words to absolve the offender. “Don’t
worry, Auntie Chen, the loan sharks won’t bother you. They know you’re not involved.”
Auntie Chen shook her head, muttering about ah long and irresponsible fathers as she retreated into her home.
Rui kept a penitent smile on her face until the door was shut. She fished for her keys, hands trembling as she jammed the
right one into the padlock. She failed twice before the stubborn thing finally gave and the notches fell in place.
The grille gate opened with a loud creak.
Thank gods for this piece of junk. With enough brute force, the loan sharks could have easily busted through the wooden door, but a steel gate was a different matter.
The new apartments didn’t have this extra layer of security anymore.
Good thing her father lived in one of the older constructions where rent was cheaper.
The shoebox apartment looked like a typhoon had hit it. For a moment, Rui thought the loan sharks had broken in after all.
But the mess was familiar. Empty takeout food cartons were strewn over the small dining table, dirty clothing spewed onto
the chairs. The cheap window blinds were torn, the couch was askew, and fluff was coming out of some cushions.
Rui wrinkled her nose at the smell coming from the kitchen.
When was the last time she visited or saw her father? Was it late spring? She’d been busy with training, and frankly, it was
easier to pretend he didn’t exist. They’d moved here after her mother died. The living room was once partitioned to create
enough space to squeeze in a single bed to fit a teenage girl. Not long after she’d enrolled in the Academy, Rui petitioned
for a permanent room there all year round. She left this dump, scrubbing all traces of herself from it. She hadn’t planned
on returning today, but maybe the universe was warning her not to lie to Ada again.
“Dad?” Her voice sounded small to her ears. The same way she’d sounded when she was a frightened child expecting to find someone
passed out on the floor, or worse, lying face down in a pool of their own vomit.
“Dad?” she called out again, maneuvering her way through the clutter to the bedroom. It was messier than the living room.
Stacks of medical journals, their pages torn and yellowing, piled up on the floor. Old photographs and half-crumpled papers
with her father’s chicken scratch handwriting on them spread across the desk and unmade bed.
Rui stuck her head into the bathroom.
A man was sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled out. His khakis were wrinkled, and there were food stains on the sleeves
of his T-shirt. He was staring into space, as if his mind were a million miles away, fixated on something else.
It was unnerving to see herself in his features. Her wide-set brown eyes were her mother’s, but she shared the same slightly upturned nose as her father and an angular jaw that slanted to a narrow chin. It frightened her sometimes to think they might share more than a physical resemblance.
Once a prominent researcher and doctor at the city’s top hospital, Matthias Lin was now a shadow of himself. He had crumbled
after his wife died, and the subsequent accusations of malpractice along with his increasingly erratic behavior did nothing
to help his case. He wilted, faded into nothing, his skin stretching too tightly over his bones. It hurt to look at him, and
Rui stopped looking a long time ago.
She was different. She fed on her grief, thriving, blossoming like a vicious weed nourished by the hope of vengeance.
“Baba,” she said.
Her father looked up with a start, his face lighting up when he recognized her. “What are you doing here, Ru-er?”
Rui startled. Only her mother called her that. “Auntie Chen told me what happened,” she said. “Are you okay?”
Her father sniffed and rubbed his eyes, picking his glasses up from the bathroom rug. The black wire frames sat crookedly
on his nose. Rui wondered if he could see through the clouded lenses. She made a mental note to clean them for him.
“Are they gone?” he asked tiredly.
She nodded. “They left a present on the front door. I’ll get some paint and cleaning supplies from the store.”
Her father strained a smile. “No need. I have some leftover paint under the sink. I’ll do it.”
How many times had he repainted the front door? Now that she was here, it was clear that her father needed more help than
a paint job. But her stubbornness returned. It was his fault things were the way they were. She couldn’t solve his problems for him. Carefully, she sheathed the sharp edge of anger
that had long overcome guilt and worry.
“I’ve nothing planned until tonight’s patrol,” she said. “I can stay and help with the door.”
Her father’s smile became less strained, and he patted the spot next to him. “Will you sit with me for a while?”
Rui sank to the floor. The chill from the tiles seeped through her jeans, bringing gooseflesh to her skin. She couldn’t remember
when she’d last sat with her father or paused long enough to share a moment—or anything—together.
“How’s school?” he said. “How’s my miracle child doing?”
Miracle child. Rui’s mother used to tell the story of how she’d gotten into an accident while pregnant, and how she had been in danger of
losing her baby and her own life. But the paramedics arrived in time, and Rui was born, albeit prematurely. Her miracle child.
“I’m fine,” Rui said, staring at the mold at the edge of the shower curtain. “How much do you owe them?”
Matthias Lin’s head drooped, like a puppeteer’s string had loosened and he no longer had the strength to hold it up. “You
don’t have to worry about that.”
It took her every effort not to yell at him. “As long as no one gets hurt,” she said monotonously, unclenching her hands.
“No one will get hurt,” he said.
Empty words, empty promises. Empty everything. Rui was sick of it.
She was about to get up when her father did the strangest thing. He took her hand in his. Squeezed it. His hand felt warm
and big and safe, like she remembered from when she was a little girl. For the briefest of moments, she let herself believe
that everything was fine. That Matthias Lin was the larger-than-life doctor who wanted to save the world. The man she’d looked
up to and had wanted to be like when she grew up.
“You know I miss her, too, right?” her father said softly.
Rui swallowed the lump in her throat. It was the first time in a long time that he’d acknowledged the loss of his wife.
Rui leaned against him, resting her weary head on his thin shoulder. I know you do, she thought, and squeezed his hand back.