DEEP

12. ΑΔΡΕΝΑΛΙΝΗ

It has started to rain, come down heavy and relentless. Water hits the side of your head and it stings. You've regained hearing now in that ear, but the ringing hasn't stopped, has become a dull fixation next to your heartbeat.

Jisung walks beside you, shoulder to shoulder, hands deep into the pockets of his coat. His hair blows up in the wind wildly, face gaunt. He has scrapes on his forehead and over the bridge of his nose, blood down the side of his neck, half-deaf himself. Not to mention that explosion sending him flying that far, his back was killing him. But even now, an hour after that close cut with death, he stands a handsome, although a little disheveled, figure.

"Where are we going?"

"A safe house."

You walk down the sidewalk, collars pulled up high to cover their faces as much as possible. Only when Jisung sees that little café does he recognize the street, only when he sees that damn red door does he know where you are. "This fucking shithole?"

You stand on the steps, stare at the door for a second. It's a pretty red, has pink undertones. It's home. You close your eyes for a second. The warmth at the side of your face, running down your neck, reminds you why you've grown to hate the color.

"Well are you going to fucking open it, or are you waiting to get shot?"

No you think. Not home anymore.

You punch in a code, and the door clicks open. You step into the corridor, Jisung behind you. You look up, see the staircase curl up five floors, old and wooden and dusty. Jisung pushes past you, up the flights of stairs. Of course he'd know the way. You climb the staircase to the top floor, down the hall of doors to the last apartment. You lift up the small potted plant on the little table by the window, pick up the spare key that sits there waiting. You fit it into the lock, ignoring Jisung's judgmental look, and pushes open the door.

The apartment is as you remembers it. It feels like you're walking back into your past, granted it's only been a little over a month. The flat smells moldy, like wet wood. Large windows let in gray light, illuminate the torn up space. Most of the furniture is gone, the valuables. Your old couch sits angled in the middle, stuffing poking out its wooden ribs, large cuts in the cushions where a knife had undoubtedly gone through. Jisung pushes past you, makes for the bathroom. You step into the apartment, push the couch back into place. You hear the drip drip of the leaking roof, the soft squeak of a tired tap being turned on as Jisung cleans his wounds. You move towards the desk, walk over the papers strewn over the floor, step over random items from drawers overturned. Your computer is gone, all your books, all the copies of your work. Your chemical supplies, your makeshift lab sits torn up in the corner, a harsh smell coming up from the fallen bottles.

You look down at the floor, sees wood. Your heart skips a beat when you see the bare surface, doesn't see the rug there.

"Everything valuable, of interest, was taken." Jisung steps out of the bathroom, coat and jacket off, the dress shirt underneath unbuttoned to reveal the toned body beneath. He holds an old rag up against his neck, the side of his face, as he cleans the blood around his ear.

You quickly look away. You step back, survey the wood floor. You use the sole of your shoe, tap along several boards. Jisung stops wiping at his neck, stares at you. But then it sounds out, your shoe against the wood creating a low note.

You look up and Jisung meets your eyes. "Not everything."

You kneel down, slam your fist against the old wooden floor board, and the loose thing lifts up easily revealing the little shallow square carved into the solid base below. You reach into the hold, pick up the object. You open the box, pick up the clear slide inside. You hold it up against the gray light of the windows, rain coming down relentless. The gold lines on the chip glint. "Bingo."