Chapter 13
Sillim was located in Gwanak District in the southwestern portion of Seoul.
It was a gritty neighborhood close to Seoul-dae, composed mostly of students and elderly residents.
It had a bad reputation. Junyoung’s family had always lived in Dangsan-dong, and though he had partied in Sillim a handful of times as a university student, he had mostly avoided the area after a series of high-profile murders over the past few years.
It was busy and noisy. The streets were crowded with squat buildings.
Junyoung slipped into an alleyway, feeling apprehensive, and walked past several eye-watering marquee signs.
PC BANG, one of them read. The adjacent sign, MOTEL.
Bulging trash bags littered the ground. On every block, he encountered rows of food delivery scooters blocking portions of the sidewalk. He felt the urge to kick them over.
Loud music blasted from bars, the bass reverberating through Junyoung’s skull. A group of drunk university students were huddled around on the sidewalk, laughing and smoking. Their faces glowed red in the neon lights. Junyoung walked faster.
Soon he made it past the main streets and found himself in another alley, this time in the quieter, more residential part of Sillim, near Dahye’s home.
There was little light here, but Junyoung could see the squat buildings were poorly kept, the paint peeling, walls dark with grime.
A man limped by with two sagging plastic bags, startling Junyoung.
He jumped, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Then a scooter zipped by, narrowly missing him.
“Hey—” Junyoung started to say, but before he could finish, the man on the scooter was gone. He watched the red of its lights fade into the dark, in disbelief that Dahye lived in a place like this. It was downright barbaric.
Junyoung made two wrong turns, but after some navigating, he found himself standing in front of a shabby three-story building with wide, dusty windows.
Six big planters sat by the chipped front door.
All of the plants were in various stages of decay.
Staring up at the windows, he tried to figure out what to do.
He hadn’t planned ahead, and now that he was here, he felt foolish.
If he was lucky, he could catch her on the way out somewhere and pretend that he just happened to be in the neighborhood. Maybe he could ask to use her bathroom. He found a nearby ledge with a clear view of the door and sat.
Thirty minutes passed. Junyoung’s spine was stiff, and he was just about ready to give up when a scooter pulled up next to him, slowing to a stop at the corner.
The driver jumped off, nudging the kickstand down with his foot.
Junyoung watched as the driver went to the plastic box at the back of the scooter to take out a plastic bag. A thought came to him.
“Hey,” Junyoung called.
The man looked up.
“I need a favor,” Junyoung said. “I’ll give you twenty thousand won if you help me.”
+
The vest was too big, and the inside of the helmet was soaked in sweat. Nevertheless, Junyoung tipped it over his head, feeling the dampness against his own perspiring brow. Eugh. Wearing someone else’s helmet made him feel ill.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The flooring was worn in some parts, stained in others.
Every surface seemed to be covered in a layer of grime.
Junyoung was careful not to touch anything as he looked around.
The information in Dahye’s file hadn’t indicated the specific unit in which she lived, so Junyoung tried the very first door, knocking gently.
“Delivery,” he called, rustling the plastic bag in his hands. The smell of chicken wafted out. His stomach grumbled.
There was no answer. He moved to the second door, only to hear a shout: “I didn’t order any fucking delivery.”
With a sudden sense of panic, Junyoung hurried up the dimly lit stairwell and onto the second floor. He was unlucky here, too, as nobody answered at either of the doors. Disheartened, Junyoung climbed the next set of stairs.
At the first residence, he took a deep breath and knocked. The door opened a crack, and an eye peeked out from the gap. She was an older woman, tired looking, her hair striped with gray.
“Yes?”
“I’m here to deliver some chicken?”
“We didn’t order any delivery.” She moved to close the door.
“Maybe I’m at the wrong house?” Junyoung asked. He looked at his phone and then back at her. “Do you know where Park Dahye lives?”
She stiffened. “There must be some kind of mistake.”
“Ma’am?”
“She doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. Well, is there an updated address I can deliver this to?”
“No.” She tried to close the door again, but Junyoung put his hand on the doorjamb.
“Please, ma’am,” he said. “I’m just trying to do my job. If you could just tell me—”
She slammed the door in his face. Junyoung frowned. If this woman was Dahye’s mother, she was rude and off-putting. Not something he wanted in a mother-in-law, he thought, irritated. Hopefully she wouldn’t live long.
Outside, he gave the helmet, the vest, and the bag of chicken back to the impatient driver. “It’s all cold now,” the man complained, and Junyoung, not wanting to fight, handed him another twenty thousand won. The man pocketed it happily before disappearing into the adjacent building.
Junyoung slumped on the ledge, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.
He had braved Sillim, made the trek through the dirty streets, risked his life.
He had marinated in some other asshole’s sweat and nearly gotten his nose cut off, and for what?
He had nothing to show for his efforts. No leads.
No information on Dahye’s whereabouts. He sighed, then jerked upright as he noticed a woman walking up the street toward him.
Right away Junyoung’s heart began to pound. He squinted in her direction, only to be met with disappointment.
It wasn’t Dahye. This woman was shorter, with a pinched sort of face. Her chin was long and narrow. The most interesting thing about her was by far her giant knockers. They had to be fake—they looked like overfilled water balloons.
He stared at her chest without shame as she approached the front door of Dahye’s building, seemingly waiting. Several minutes later, an older woman—the one whom Junyoung thought might be Dahye’s mother—stepped out.
“Eomeonim,” the woman with the enormous breasts said, bowing. “Are you well?”
“It’s good to see you, Bora. Thank you for coming to meet me.”
They muttered a few words Junyoung couldn’t hear. Then the older woman asked, “How is Dahye doing?” At that, Junyoung’s ears perked up. He leaned forward, listening hard.
Bora hesitated. “Not well. She’s been sleeping a lot.”
“Has she said anything about going back to work?”
Bora shook her head. “No,” she said.
“That ridiculous girl. She doesn’t understand that she’s ruining her life,” Dahye’s mother said bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself.
She glanced up at the corner window on the third floor.
The light had gone out. “Her father is distraught. He doesn’t want her to come back.
Not that it matters. The neighbors are up in arms again, spreading rumors that she has issues, just like Eunhye.
If she returns, all they’ll do is talk.” Shaking her head sadly, she asked Bora, “Is she in some kind of trouble? Is she pregnant? Is she … doing drugs?”
“No, nothing like that,” Bora said. “It’s complicated. I’m sure she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
“I don’t know. She’s a complete mystery.
She doesn’t seem to care how much she hurts us or embarrasses us.
Sometimes I wonder how I ever gave birth to her.
” She let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Do you need money?” she asked suddenly, reaching for her pocket.
“I don’t expect you to take care of her for free, you know. We’re not … like that.”
Bora stopped her. “No, Eomeonim. We’re fine. You don’t have to worry about Dahye. She”—Bora’s voice cracked—“She’s like a sister to me. I can take care of her.”
+
Bora was a slow walker. Junyoung felt his impatience growing as he stooped behind the line of parked cars separating them.
He followed her back to the busy part of Sillim, where, over the last hour, things had gotten noticeably rowdier.
The music blared. On the sidewalk, people shoved him as they walked by.
Police sirens wailed, flashing lights spilling across the asphalt.
He almost lost Bora while crossing the street. By then, nearly fifteen minutes had passed since they had left Dahye’s parents’ building, and Junyoung couldn’t figure out where they were headed. He spotted her bobbing along on the opposite sidewalk and hurried to catch up.
Stupid girl, Junyoung thought, as he followed her down an empty street. If he wanted to, he could drag her down some dark alleyway and—
He rounded the corner. She was gone. Junyoung blinked, looking around.
The street was lined with apartment buildings and officetels, and he couldn’t tell which one she had disappeared into.
As he turned to go, a single raindrop hit the center of his forehead.
He covered his head with his hands and sprinted down the street.