Chapter 16
Much to Junyoung’s dismay, Dahye did not show up to work the next day, or the day after that.
And despite waiting around on Bora’s street every night, he saw no sign of Dahye.
At least he was able to figure out where Bora lived.
On the second evening, he saw her returning from work, her ample bosom heaving.
Her face looked tired and unhappy. She hurried into one of the officetels without even a glance in his direction.
In the middle of the workday on the fourth day, Junyoung found himself back on the fifth floor, peeking into Dahye’s cubicle. He was surprised to find that all of Dahye’s belongings had been removed.
There was no more frilly seat cover. No more water bottle. No more sticky pads. All the pink had been taken down, every trace of Dahye’s existence scrubbed clean.
“She quit,” said a quiet, feminine voice behind Junyoung. Startled, he turned to see who it was. It was the same woman from last time. Junyoung had looked her up and learned that her name was Lee Sunhwa. “I was going to call you, but I figured you already knew.”
“No. I had no idea.” He paused, considering. “That seems very sudden.”
Sunhwa frowned. “Yes, it was sudden. She didn’t give any notice whatsoever. Nobody knows why she left, either. She just sent an email formally resigning. Can’t be good for her future job prospects, especially if they ask for a reference check.”
Junyoung returned to his desk in a complete daze. Some part of him had been expecting this, especially given the conversation he had overheard between Dahye’s mother and her friend, but it had physically pained him to see the empty cubicle.
The blinds to Mr. Choi’s office were closed, which meant that he did not want any visitors, but Junyoung rapped his knuckles against the glass door anyway. There was no answer. Junyoung knocked again. “Sir?” he asked meekly.
“Who is it? What do you want?” Mr. Choi boomed, sounding irritated.
Junyoung pushed the door open. Poked his head in. “Hello, Mr. Choi. It’s me. Junyoung.”
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well. I think it’s best if I go home early,” Junyoung said. Mr. Choi squinted at him, clenching his jaw. “That is,” Junyoung added hastily, “if you’ll allow it.”
Mr. Choi’s office was sparsely decorated, the space mostly taken up by an enormous desk.
Piles of paper were stacked everywhere on top of it, and Junyoung’s fingers itched to organize them.
Someone had attached a floating shelf to the wall on which dozens of glittering trophies were displayed.
Junyoung peered at their inscriptions. MANAGER OF THE YEAR 2010, the closest one read.
MANAGER OF THE YEAR 2012. MANAGER OF THE YEAR 2016.
“Get out.”
“Sir?” Junyoung asked.
“I said, get out.”
“But does that mean I can …”
“I don’t care what you do.”
“Oh. Well, in that case … I’ll leave now.”
Junyoung backed out from the office and ran to his cubicle.
Thankfully, Kangmin seemed hyperfocused on his work, his shoulders tight with concentration.
Not wanting to run into him, Junyoung quickly packed his things and ran into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
He walked through the lobby with his head down.
Outside, a light drizzle had begun to fall, and the sky was gray and foreboding.
Junyoung huddled under the eaves of the building and called a taxi to Sillim, setting his destination to Bora’s street.
He waited nearly six hours before Dahye finally emerged from the officetel’s front doors.
From his vantage point across the street, Junyoung was able to see her clearly.
The love of his life looked pale and withdrawn, and she had lost so much weight she was practically swimming in the black hoodie she was wearing.
Whatever traumatic event had occurred, it was obvious she wasn’t taking it well.
He had the urge to run up to her, wrap his arms tightly around her shoulders.
To take her face gently in his palms and kiss her, long and deep, until she forgot all her problems.
All in good time.
He followed her to the subway station but nearly blew his cover when Dahye stopped suddenly in front of a bakery stand.
Junyoung cursed under his breath. He feigned taking a wrong turn and circled back toward her as she picked up a pastry, staring at it with a wistful expression.
She made it down to the train just as it arrived and got on.
It was crowded; Junyoung jumped into the compartment as the doors were closing.
He was crammed against the wall. It smelled like old meat, and some bastard’s briefcase was pushed up against his ass, but Junyoung remained unmoving as he stared at Dahye’s reflection in the window.
He tried to picture how their encounter might go. Perhaps she would be surprised? Excited? “What a coincidence,” he’d say. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?” He imagined her raised eyebrows, the delight crossing her features.
“Right now?” she might respond. Junyoung’s version of Dahye batted her eyelashes and licked her lips. “I’d love that.”
Before he could muster up the courage, the train slowed to a stop, and Dahye got out.
Junyoung, who was still daydreaming, barely made it off before the doors shut.
It took him a second, but he found her in the crowd going up the stairs and dashed after her, pushing people out of the way.
She transferred to the Light Blue Line; Junyoung did the same.
On the train, he had the sudden realization that he was aroused.
He liked following her around. Liked watching her while she had no clue.
Junyoung moved closer to the wall and put his hand in his pocket to adjust his erection, feeling a rush of elation.
Then he looked up to the window to watch her reflection.
Dahye was sitting between two elderly women, her head bent over her phone.
Her eyes were narrowed in concentration.
Someone pushed past him to get closer to the doors, and in that brief moment when he looked away, Dahye had noticed him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dahye half standing, hesitant, one hand reaching out to tap him on the shoulder.
All his bravado vanished. The familiar arrival jingle began to play over the speakers as the train slowed.
Before she could touch him, Junyoung leaped out onto the station and lost himself within the crowd.
The doors closed. Dahye was gone. He stood there, looking at the place she had just been, listening to the annoyed murmurs of the people stepping around him.
All of a sudden, a wild whoop burst from deep within his gut and escaped out of his mouth. The pedestrians gave him strange looks; one woman grabbed her young son and pulled him away from Junyoung, apprehension clouding her face.
Junyoung didn’t care. He let out another whoop, quieter this time, and started laughing. For the first time in a long time, he felt … alive.
A dozen notifications bounced around on his phone’s screen. There was one voicemail he had missed, and when he tapped on it, he saw it was from Lee Sunhwa. Junyoung pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello, Mr. Cho,” the message began. “It’s Lee Sunhwa from work again.
I came by your desk earlier to chat, but your neighbor said you weren’t feeling well and had gone home early.
Hope you’re able to get some rest.” Sunhwa cleared her throat.
“People are saying that the person we talked about previously had … some kind of mental problem. A breakdown. Something about her sister killing herself ? In any case, it’s all anybody can talk about in our department.
Terrible, really. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if you’d heard and thought I’d give you a call.
Let me know if you have any news. I’ll stop by again tomorrow. ”
Junyoung lowered his hand to his side, thinking hard.
A mental breakdown seemed plausible. Everything he had seen seemed in line with that theory.
She was acting erratically, cutting ties with her family, abruptly quitting her job.
But she was a woman after all, and women were prone to fits of hysteria.
Junyoung knew that firsthand, having experienced it with his mother.
Shortly after his father had left, she had been diagnosed with hwabyeong—anger disease.
For weeks, she hadn’t been able to sleep and complained constantly of a headache, dry mouth, and palpitations.
She startled easily, even when she knew Junyoung was around.
The worst was when she stopped doing her motherly duties: making him meals, washing his clothes, cleaning the apartment.
After enduring weeks of this, Junyoung had grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her. Hard. Her teeth had rattled around in her skull, and for a moment, her eyes rolled so far back that he thought he’d killed her. When she cried out, Junyoung shook her again.
“Get it through your head,” he had hissed. “This is why Abeoji left. Because you’re weak and pathetic. And if you don’t stop, I’m going to leave, too. Is that what you want? To be an old, lonely woman without any purpose in your life?”
Loving someone meant that you had to have their best interests at heart.
Sometimes it was giving them a wake-up call like he had done with his mother.
He could help Dahye. He wouldn’t shake her as hard, of course.
His mother was old and stubborn and needed more encouragement.
But Dahye was young. Pliable. It wouldn’t be hard to mold her into his ideal woman.
His phone vibrated in his hand, and when Junyoung looked down, he saw that Kangmin had messaged him on KakaoTalk. His heart sank. Kangmin rarely communicated with him outside of work. It meant only one thing.
Kangmin: Heard you went home early with food poisoning. Hope you’re not puking
Kangmin: I’m ready to collect on that favor you owe me
Kangmin: Have you seen the foreign woman that was just hired on the software dev team? She’s a redhead. Natural, you think?
Kangmin: Send me what you have on her. I want to see if the carpets match the drapes. Haha
Fine, Junyoung started typing. He didn’t give a shit about that woman, whoever she was. But before he could hit send, four more messages came through.
Kangmin: Also. Do you know a woman named Park Dahye? She’s in finance, fifth floor
Kangmin: Rumor is that she lost her mind and suddenly quit without notice
Kangmin: Did you see anything unusual on the fifth floor?
Kangmin: Scratch that. Just send me the videos, and I’ll investigate
Junyoung froze, his fist curling at his side. The exhilaration he had been experiencing earlier had vanished. Fucking Kangmin. Fucking rat-faced bastard. Dahye was the one thing that had given Junyoung’s life meaning, and now Kangmin wanted to take that from him.
A series of images flashed through Junyoung’s mind: Kangmin, squashed flat by a passing bus.
Drowned in the Han River. Dead from poisoning.
Junyoung had a box of rat poison left over in his apartment from a few years ago, when a pesky little rodent had made its way into the kitchen and eaten through a sealed bag of rice.
His mother had lifted the bag up, and the grains had spilled all over the floor, causing her to scream.
The poison was in the form of pellets, small and pink, with a crumbly texture.
It would be so easy, slipping a handful of them into Kangmin’s morning coffee.
Or in a pastry, offered during the midafternoon slump. A gesture of goodwill.
No. Too many things could go wrong. The container had instructions on dosing for a single rat or multiple rats, but Kangmin was at least fifty times bigger than that.
How many containers would it take? It wasn’t as if Junyoung could simply search “How many containers of rat poison does it take to kill a human?” on Naver.
Plus, Kangmin was a young and healthy man.
He worked out three times a week—or at least claimed to—and a premature death could trigger suspicion. Autopsies. Investigations.
He looked at the messages again. Felt heat flare up in his chest.
“The best way to handle aggressive dogs is to neuter them,” Abeoji used to say.
“It reduces their testosterone levels. Plus, when you cut off their testicles, it shows them you’re the boss.
” Junyoung smiled. He could handle someone like Kangmin, who was all bark and no bite.
Why had he let Kangmin have any power over him in the first place?
Kangmin had no proof. Kangmin didn’t have access to his computer or any of the footage.
And as far as Junyoung knew, Kangmin didn’t even know where the cameras were located in the bathrooms.
The thing about overconfident people, Junyoung thought, was that they underestimated everybody else.
When the next train arrived, Junyoung jumped in and began heading in the direction of the office.
+
It was quick work. Thirteen minutes in total, and all the cameras were gone.
Junyoung returned to the empty basement, looking around.
The one good thing was that the guys in the IT department never stayed late unless they had to.
They were lazy as a matter of principle, and Kangmin was no exception.
Junyoung stopped at his coworker’s cubicle.
Kangmin was a complete slob. There were opened bags of chips, plastic wrappers, and empty water bottles strewn across his desk.
Crumpled balls of paper littered the floor.
He opened the first drawer and peeked inside.
There was an unopened croissant wrapped in plastic that was covered in a fuzzy layer of green mold.
Junyoung shuddered and moved on to the next drawer.
This one had a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste, the bristles of the toothbrush frayed and worn.
Underneath them was a stack of manila file folders.
Junyoung opened the first one and saw that they were meeting notes, handwritten in Kangmin’s childish scrawl.
There was a doodle that looked suspiciously like breasts, and Junyoung closed the drawer with a snap.
The third and final drawer was filled with all sorts of junk.
Cables and cords, a Samsung Galaxy with a shattered screen, business cards, tissue boxes, even a random ceramic plate.
He carefully placed the cameras under the mess and dug in his pocket to find the flash drive.
It was his ticket to freedom. Lifting it up to the light, Junyoung gave it a little kiss.