Chanel's Fics

48 Hours - EXO

48 HOURS

Summary: After 48 hours, only one boy will be alive in this house

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PROLOGUE:

Lately, LA’s weather is sunny and pleasant, nevertheless, there isn’t a significant decrease in the number of patients visiting my clinic. As usual, my secretary complains about the importance yet low worth of her job between the tiny breaks she gets while picking up phone calls. The patients maintain their deafening silence, sipping water relentlessly while the overgrown plants insolently curl about in its rather scarce boundaries.

I am a psychologist, 42 years old, still single and holding a license in America (for more than 10 years now). Generally speaking, I haven’t got much dissatisfactions or expectations of myself, either.

Ever since my schooldays, LA has never been peaceful before. But this, of course, is of no relation to my choice of major- psychology. However, in selecting my doctorate, I was unable to evade my interest. I would admit that my take on psychological crimes cases are largely related to my passion towards the psychological coordination between husbands and wives. It is in no disdain towards the responsibilities of my occupation but more of the recognition I have of my fate because I understand, after all, living is not easy. 4 years ago, an autistic 40 year old man was suspected of wrapping his son in a plastic wrap and disposing him in a bin 2 kilometres away from his home. His wife, a thai woman, was unable to comprehend English, her psychological well being unfortunately went viral after the incident. I remember it being a not-so-pleasant Christmas, in the control room of the Federal Bureau, the man that sat opposite, eventually shedding a tear or two which proceeded on to collect in the coffee cup.

Since then, the route to the bureau grew all too familiar to me, but only applying to the sceneries on one side of the street as I was always there in the day and back at night. I was (and still am), a rather satisfactory supplier, making use of my professional skills to win the souls of the devils and subsequently selling out to Satan. This of course, did not include my own soul.

My soul did not require any rescuing, I allowed it unlimited enjoyment in hell and thereby learning from the pain. This (police) gang did not need to know of my sexual orientation, which would not be beneficial to any of my 'product sales', it would make them think of me as a psychologist with personal psychological problems.

Beginning last year, I intended on reducing my cooperation with them, the substantial amount of private patients resulted in the lack of attention for myself; I definitely did not wish for the overwhelming pressure to eventually require the attention of another psychiatrist. However, in the last week, a major case happened, involving a number of men of Asian descent. This may have been due to the peculiar case itself and my psychological relations with Asians, for when the 40 year old police inspector David phoned me an invitation, I did not refuse.

Simply speaking, a young and popular Korean group came to LA last friday in preparation for a tour, some interviews and a series of MV shooting activities. They disappeared the moment they disembarked the plane; the local company personnel who was arranged to welcome them did not manage to and their accompanying staff had separated while exiting a different channel. They had lost contact ever since.

“I only heard two people calling out one of our member’s names but failed to wait for the others”, said a local staff.

It was only until yesterday, a tuesday morning, that the police located a few boys in the villa of a suburban farm.

Unfortunately, when they were discovered, only one male was alive, sitting in the tub, attempting to swallow great amounts of heart disease pills.

“This boy is just like you, he is Chinese.” said the young trainee Mike, to me.