Dream Me a Sonatine

12 - A Pick-Pocket of Voices

'That'll be €3.20.'

Jiwoo shoved the notes into the cash machine and thrust the change into the customer's hand. As soon as they left, she let out a dejected sigh. She started fiddling with the positions of the cakes on the counter, as she'd already done 12 times today. If she stared at the pastries for too long, her eyeballs ached.

The lump in her throat seemed to be the size of a tennis ball and her head pounded from the effort of trying not to sob. She knew she looked like a mess, too, because her shop had been practically empty all day.

Jiwoo's entire world had done a somersault and landed on its spine. She supposed she ought to be grateful; at least she still got to talk to her dead friend. Normal people never saw them again, because, well, they were dead. But how could she be happy? Her friend had been stabbed and mutilated, ripped from her body and left to fade away in between death and life.

What was worse? That Chaewon was dead or that she had lied about everything? She and Heejin were assassins, the very assassins that Jiwoo read about in newspapers every day. They were the cause of this blackening city. They were the cause of Sooyoung's pain.

And somehow, she couldn't leave them. Couldn't tear herself away from them and forget. They had been her friends. They were people, they had suffered. No matter what Chaewon had done, death wasn't a fair punishment.

Her phone buzzed next to her for the second time that day. She made the mistake of glancing at it and Heejin's contact photo smiled up at her. Fighting back angry tears, she hit the 'decline' button.

Her patisserie was silent for the first time in years. Sooyoung was nowhere to be seen. Jiwoo had considered heading to her house to check on her, but her anger at Heejin lingered in Jiwoo's mind. Jiwoo didn't want that anger to be directed at her.

So, she remained behind the counter, watching cars rush by on the street. People bustled by, knocking into each other and hiding under umbrellas from the dreary rain.

'Jiwoo,' said Chaewon.

Jiwoo startled. How long had Chaewon been there? The smudginess under her t-shirt stuck out like ink in water and Jiwoo wondered how she'd never noticed it before. The smudge was where she'd been stabbed and it remained on her faded person like a tattoo.

'What are you doing here?' asked Jiwoo cautiously. The image of Chaewon replaying her death like a broken record wavered in her thoughts.

'I came to show you it,' said Chaewon. 'Maybe if you see it, you'll understand.'

'Show me what?'

Chaewon said, 'Where I died.'

Later, Jiwoo found herself trudging along the smoky concrete of Paris, late-November mists creeping up buildings and painting the city grey. The city seemed harmless, dull even. She struggled to imagine Chaewon's death occurring here. Frowning, she tried to work out when it had happened. About 2 weeks ago, probably. When had Chaewon changed?

When Heejin left.

Originally, Jiwoo had chalked up Chaewon's dreariness as missing Heejin. With a shock, Jiwoo realised she remembered the day Chaewon must have died. The day before Heejin left. They'd been with her that afternoon, laughing at her crush. Jinsoul had been there too. Then they'd left, and that was the last time Jiwoo had seen Chaewon alive.

Where did she go that led to her death? Jiwoo supposed she'd find out as Chaewon led her past several designer stores and round a less-populated corner of the street. She could be taking you to die, hissed a small voice. Jiwoo stamped down on her newfound trust issues, following Chaewon down twisting corners and into grimy alleyways. Stay happy. Stay me.