case 143 | lee felix

4. nightmare

HWAYOUNG

"I thought I could take this as a little break from work but all of a sudden we're in the fucking criminal court all the way in France," Jisung groans in annoyance. I chuckle at his attitude.

"More time in Paris for you. Yay!" I say sarcastically, fully aware that he was missing his bed back home. I see him roll his eyes behind the screen.

"Yay," he mimics. "I can't decide if it was dumb or clever of him to hide all that sensitive information in that art piece. No wonder he was crazy obsessed with getting it back. Atleast he's not a pervert."

"Why can't you come back now? I thought the foreign authorities took matters into their own hands since their banks are involved?" I ask. I hated to admit it but I was really missing his presence back at the station. It gave me more time to wallow in disturbing thoughts about my murder case that literally went up in flames. All I did was stare at the lighter which I had found at the crime scene that day in the evidence lockup.

"I really don't know, this Cho guy is a real piece of work to deal with. He says he doesn't trust the 'Whites.' He thinks we're protecting him or something when we're actually assisting with the Paris investigation. Way to blow up your career," he sighs defeatedly. He looked really tired and stressed and my heart couldn't help but ache a little for him. He's been running around in places he's not familiar with in a country full of people who spoke a different language and not getting any sleep at all. Our station doesn't usually receive such high priority cases like this one and that adds to the pressure of performing well and giving us a good name.

"Try to get him behind bars as soon as possible and be back fast. We know that's the only possible outcome of this whole ordeal," I say.

"Someone's missing me."

"I don't miss you, I miss your food," I snicker, showing my tongue at him. He pretends to punch his camera, making the screen blank for a minute.

"You're so shameless. Try asking me to make you something next time and we'll see what happens," he laughs. It's been a while since we talked like this.

UNKNOWN

"Dad, please! Stop doing this!" I shriek in horror as he repetitively whacks my mother with a cricket bat.

"Just look away, honey!" She cries in between thrashings. Of course, I was just supposed to look away and pretend nothing happened. That's how it always was. We were the picture perfect family.

"Why are you doing this? Let me go!" I cry, struggling against the chains that bound me to the banister.

"That's your punishment for trying to help this whore last time. I'm teaching your so called mother a lesson on fidelity," he roars, a crazed look in his eyes. I was terrified of my own father.

"I was just collecting a package from the mailman, that's it! I would never cheat on you!" she desperately wails in pain, gasping when the bat hits her head. How could a woman chained to such a controlling and manipulative monster even be able to think of cheating?

"You crazy witch! You think you can fool me with that pathetic excuse? How dare you?" I couldn't bear to watch anymore. I close my eyes, hearing each bashing, each smacking against my will till it goes silent. I look up slowly. I dread seeing what I was about to.

"Is...is she-is she dead?" I ask, panic stricken at the sight of my mother's limp body lying still on the bloodied grey rug. He goes silent, not as a show of remorse but that of relief.

"Now you know what happens if you try something."

My father is a monster.

I gasp, lying up from my tattered mattress. It was a dream. The third time this week.

I am a monster.

And I have no control over it.

I'm just like my father.

I crawl to my dresser and rummage through it in the darkness to find what I need, panting heavily. I grab my lighter and a joint, putting it between my lips and igniting the flame.

I sit cross-legged by the window and take a hit, closing my eyes as the fumes emitting from the roll already begins to calm my nerves. I press the button in a robotic manner and watch it expressionlessly as the flame appears and disappears with each click.

The flickering spark illuminates the tiny, gloomy accommodation which I was unlucky enough to call my humble abode. There was nothing in here except for a ragged mattress, a crooked dresser with a missing foot and some mismatched stray cutlery in the kitchen cabinets. The only clothes I owned were my uniforms from all the jobs I worked and a few pairs I stole. The wallpapers had scratch marks all over them and were peeling off. It was an adequate definition of what poverty looked like.

My most prized possessions stand on top of the dresser. They are items that belonged to my victims. Souvenirs, if you'd like to call them that. There was a brown faux leather wallet, a scarf and a broken beer bottle, among quite a few other things. The latest in the collection was the key to a Honda Civic. They may not look worth much to the ordinary person, but to me they were a sign of my achievements. Each object here held some value, some memory that I enjoyed replaying in my head over and over again. There was some satisfaction in recalling their faces as they shrieked and screamed for help within the touch of my fingers. The desperation, the hopelessness in their eyes as the life slowly ebbed away from them. It was all so exhilarating.

Feeling the dopamine kick in, I spring up to my feet and head to the door, clutching my blood red pocket knife I always carried around. I needed to de-stress.

FELIX

"JAKE! WHERE ARE YOU?" I yell, almost hyperventilating in panic after I catch a glimpse of the gruesome mass murder. I had stepped out of the diner after the kitchen suddenly blew up in flames. I look around for any people who could have seen what happened but the place was almost devoid of human beings. I could swear I saw a few people in the streets when we had walked it.

"Excuse me sir, have you seen this man?" I restlessly ask the first person I see, pulling out my phone to show a picture of Jake. "He was wearing a dark brown coat, thin rimmed black glasses and dark...hair?" My words trail off when I see that the woman was staring off into space.

"Sorry son, I am blind," the old lady says, patting my back sympathetically and walking away. Just how bad was my luck that the only person here was blind? And why didn't I hear anything at all when it happened?

My heart was palpitating and my head was spiraling with a billion questions. My best friend was missing in a place full of dead bodies in the middle of the night. I take out my phone and dial the first person I could think of.

After three rings, the phone picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hwayoung?"