"Nara Song has been living under the alias of Alexis Lee Linser," Holly said it again. It wasn't any easier the second time. "She is the mother of the Naomi Lee Linser, who awaits trial in the death of the Councilman who was stabbed to death in that hostess salon in Koreatown."
Now, the Dumok seemed almost demonic.
"The child is dead!" he said with such savagery Holly let out an involuntary cry.
"She is alive!"
"The child is dead! I saw the graves!"
Then there was silence. Holly bolted up and watched in dismay as the Dumok stormed inside the house, leaving her alone with the moon and the crashing waves, her heart pounding. Finally, when he did not come back out, Holly went inside.
She found him on a different balcony overlooking the beach, with a thousand mile stare over the sand where the carcasses littered the sand, lost in the deafening crash of the waves. Holly stood behind him, wanting so badly to comfort him, to say something, anything, but there were no words. She reached to touch his arm when he turned, violently, wildly. Under the moonlight, he looked both like a man and a beast - his athletic form looming largely creating shadows on the half dark balcony. Then his hands were cupping her face, the largeness of his hands crushing her face as his mouth descended upon her lips, forcing them apart with his tongue and his teeth. Holding her face with one hand, his other hand reached for her shirt and tore it open. His hands were rough as he grabbed her, as if between his mouth and hands he would consume her whole. Suddenly, he pulled her away. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, like a white fire as his eyes searched hers, daring her to run away.
"Leave now or I am not responsible," His voice was a growl.
Holly did not go.
It was the touch of his hands on her body, the pull of his eyes, his need, her own need which made her stay, yet she found herself drawn to this other side of him, too, wild, savage and beastly. The Dumok grabbed Holly with one arm and threw her over his shoulder and found his way through the dark to the bedroom their bodies moved together, causing her to feel the enormity of the pain he carried, savagely until his emotional pain and her physical pain became one and she could feel no more.
It was only when he felt his blackness descend upon her, locking her, numbing her until their pain became one did he climax, then roll over to the side of the bed, his arms folded across his chest tightly, lost in an emptiness that Holly could not be part of even if she wanted to.
Holly dare not reach for him or cross over to where he lay. Holly watched him. They were only a few feet apart yet the chasm was too deep and far and she could not reach him. His body language made clear he did not want to be touched. Holly watched him as he slept, coiled tightly in a ball, totally spent.
At first light, disheveled and numb, Holly drove home. She had done exactly what he had asked of her, she had found Nara Song. And in so doing she had lost the Dumok to his daughter. All their closeness, their intimacy... gone.
Chapter 49
Two weeks passed and still there was no news from the Dumok. Holly went about her day, going to court, meeting clients, drafting motions, working out, getting her hair done and waiting for him to reappear. She liked being back downtown, the energy was better than walking around on tip-toes dodging Kate's stormy moods. Logan was happy, and promised to have lunch with Holly soon.
Then one day the Dumok just showed up. He was wearing his usual dark suit and white shirt with a muted tie. He sat calmly across from her with his hands folded in his lap. Holly had steeled herself for this day, how she would be calm and poised and not show her aching heart and burning cheeks. Professional, waiting for her cool and detached lawyer persona to kick in. So of course, the Dumok took her by surprise.
"Do you have a passport?" the Dumok asked quietly.
Holly nodded.
"Do you want to see the world only through books?"
Holly shook her head.
"Do you want to read, only, or do you want to experience the world first hand?"
"Experience the world first hand," Holly squeaked.
The Dumok's eyes flashed, dangerous, challenging, then they softened. "Then be ready after work. I will send a car for you. You will accompany me to Seoul tonight. I need my lawyer to witness something.”
Chapter 50
Although the Dumok had insisted Holly accompany him, the Dumok rarely spoke or acknowledged her on the nine hour flight to Seoul. His mood was somber, and he sat, with his arms crossed, and head bent, his eyes staring deeply into the chasm of a buried and dark past.
It was raining when they landed. They had coffee and a bun in the Seoul airport while the Dumok rented a car. Holly found that a little unusual, as he almost always had a driver. In fact, she had never actually seen him do anything, things in his world just happened, seemingly by the pure force of his will.
But the trip was sudden, and she didn't dwell on it. He stopped first to buy clothes and a shovel and some rain gear and rubber boots. He offered no explanation about these purchases.
Soon enough the highway changed to a country road. They were in a green and fertile valley and the terrain ahead was foothills with mountains behind. Finally they stopped with the Dumok holding a shovel, the rain, streaming like rivers down his face. He stared at Holly, as if he only just now realized she was there. What a sight she must have been, rubber boots, a clear plastic poncho, a soggy ponytail, make-up long gone, looking about twelve years old, not the savvy young attorney making her mark as she had imagined.
"Are you ready?" His voice was hoarse.
Holly had to half run to keep up with his long stride as he preceded her up the steep path. The path, such as it was, was steep, uneven and slippery. There were no guard rails or signs. Holly’s heart was filled with dread and anxiety. She wanted to break the silence, punctuated by the sound of raindrops on leaves, and the pinging and ponging off the metal of the large shovel the Dumok carried across his large shoulders.
At a rock he paused for a moment, stripped off his poncho and then his suit jacket. He pulled off her poncho, and helped her put her arms into the jacket and buttoned her up, trying to protect her shivering body, her cheeks and fingers white with cold and an existential dread she had never imagined. Yet there was an endearing intimacy in his action, a tenderness that was somehow surviving in him.
He put his own poncho back on, too. They continued up the mountain. Holly carefully placed one foot at a time into his muddy footprints, not wanting to slip, not wanting to fall behind, not wanting to be another burden to him.
Holly gasped when he stopped. Two little makeshift graves. They were far above the rich farmland, the ground here was rocky. Even to have dug them would have taken an astonishing labor.
Holly just stared as the Dumok paused to strip off the poncho and his shirt. Then he began to dig. Holly stood under a large purple maple tree shading the graves. It was the only maple tree in a forest of pines. Holly was exhausted, and there were rocks, but she did not want to sit, so she stood poker straight and watched. She was the sentinel on the frontier, the night-watch, the one and onely witness. Worse, she somehow had the voice of Logan Burg in her head, repeating “Exhumation requires a court order!” matched with the withering gaze he reserved for associates who were not quite getting it.
Ping, ping, ping, ping. The staccato sound of the rain as it hit the shovel alternated against the sound of the sharp metal as the Dumok methodically sliced open the ground and tossed the wet earth aside.
Ping. Ping.
Chunk. Chunk.
Thud. Thud.
The rhythmic sounds of the rain and the slicing and tossing of the wet earth seemed almost hypnotic. Holly could see the muscles of his back, his shoulders straining as he dug.
Suddenly he stopped. She heard a low gurgle, a guttural moan. It took more effort than Holly had ever made to take the few steps needed. The effort needed to stare into the grave. Empty. Again the Dumok did not pause.
Ping. Ping.
Chunk. Chunk.
/>
Shuck. Shuck.
Thud. Thud.
The second grave. Then a growl, half man, half animal, like the Dumok was about to turn into some mythic creature and merge into the forest forever.
She caught his gaze, he stared back, wildly, violently, backing up from the second grave, cursing his father-in-law the Ambassador of Korea as he fell to his knees. He was covered in rain and sweat and mud, caked on his face where he had wiped his brow. Against the drowning rain he stretch out his hands as he cursed the heavens shouting. There was a great flash of lightning and then, a breath and the terrifying crack of thunder.
"Who dared moved the graves and where is my baby girl?!" The Dumok raged into the storm.
Then he broke down and wept. The little pile of bones, his only refuge from the world, was gone.
Who would move graves? Holly wondered. Her eyes floated up to the maple leaves blowing roughly above her and tried to imagine a greater or more profound cruelty, but she couldn't.
Maybe the Dumok had been right after all. Maybe she was not ready to leave her own water-colored world. She stood, helpless, doubting, wondering, utterly silent, but with tears falling and mixing with the rain as Holly stood on the violated earth.
Holly went to him, finally, inevitably. The Dumok collapsed as he reached for her, awkwardly, his great shoulders resting against her.
Holly felt the spasms of grief and fury move through his frame, his forehead against her shoulder and she felt shudders convulsing through his body at the realization that he had a wife and daughter he had not known existed, that he had been lied to with the most profound cruelty and that his daughter was charged with murder. Somehow, the Dumok gathered his strength. Somehow, he took her hand and led her away from the empty graves, away from the abyss and down the mountain.
Thump.
Slosh.
Thump.
Holly tried to keep up, as he led her down the mountain, clinging to his powerful hand against the icy cold rain. Strangely, down was almost as hard as up, because it was so slippery.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
The rain hit the shovel. And then they were off the mountain. Later, all Holly remembered of the climb down the mountain was that all the way he had held her hand.
Chapter 51
Holly woke wrapped in immaculate white sheets and a white duvet that seemed to float above the bed. Through a large window she could see daylight, a rich green pine forest, its infinite silence comforting. It looked like afternoon outside, by the way the shadows fell from the trees. Shadows. That meant the rain had stopped.
A wood fire crackled and snapped in front of a long couch, someone had perhaps tended it in the night and she had not even known. She stretched her body, feeling very relaxed then bolted straight up and looked frantically at the bed but the sheets on the other side were still tight and untouched. She looked around the room but there was no sign of the Dumok. Anywhere. Then she remembered the mountain.
They had come down, finally, to the car and driven only a short way. The Dumok had stopped at what looked like an inn. Stepping through white pine doors to a hot spring, the tranquil beauty of the spa waters had sparkled invitingly. The steam from the natural spring waters curled and disappeared. Holly remembered him murmuring something like orders to the women at the front. They had taken her through some doors and clucked disapprovingly over her before telling her to undress. She had wanted a towel but there were none. She lay down on a table and while the ladies poured buckets of warm water and lathered her, she fell asleep. Holly remembered being woken up and taken to her room.
"Good night," he said. Holly turned to him and in the doorway, their bodies met. He kissed her and his kiss was so smooth and sweet she felt if she kept kissing him she could drink him whole and consume him. She closed her eyes heightening each sensation, the touch of hands on her body, the taste of his mouth, the scent of his cologne, and the pressure of his body against hers.
She lifted her eyelids and looked directly into his gaze as his hands ran over her breasts, lightly, deliberately and slowly. As she looked into his eyes she felt her body opening up, exploding and crashing like the high waves against the warm sands. The feel of his hands exploring her body, his mouth tasting her, exploring her warmth and her desire excited her as he went down on her. The look of his face, the smoothness of his skin and the pressure of his body on top of hers made her arch her back to receive him. He teased her, toyed with her, and touched her and when her body was ready to receive him, he suddenly stopped.
"Why, why are you stopping?" She was breathless, her back arched, aching for him. He grazed his body against her, pressing hard against her, wanting her, teasing her senses, but restraining in the end.
"No?" Holly could barely speak.
"No," he growled again. "Not tonight." The Dumok kissed her mouth, stroking her hair gently. His eyes flashed darkly.
"Sleep now," he said. And he was gone.
Holly had slept like the dead, but now she left the warm but empty bed and went to the couch in front of the fire. Her legs ached even walking those few steps. She wrapped a plaid cashmere throw over her shoulders and drank hot barley tea. This inn was magical. Where the fire and tea had come from she had no idea. As she thought of the mountain and what they had done she felt shivers and suddenly felt very, very small. As horrible as it had been, the idea of the Dumok having to do that alone was worse. She stared into the fire.
That night she ate alone in her room. The next morning a driver appeared and took her to an hotel in Seoul. At the front desk she was given a note from the Dumok which asked if she could have dinner with him that evening.
Chapter 52
Holly and the Dumok ate on the roof of the hotel from where they could look down at a black-tie party disbanding in the terrace garden below.
The Dumok showed no physical signs of what they had done except where the palms of his hands were red and blistered from the shovel. Otherwise he was immaculate and showed only concern for her.
"Have you quite recovered?" the Dumok asked, quietly.
"I slept well at the inn," Holly answered, regretting instantly having mentioned the inn. Her tone was formal to conceal the akwardness. Exhumation requires a court order. The voice of Logan Burg still echoed in her head.
"Perhaps I should tell you the rest of the story." His mouth was a tight thin line, his hard eyes caught the glint of the light from the window.
Holly nodded somberly with a calm she did not feel. But she was physically rested and smiled encouragement.
"I was told - late in the pregnancy - that Nara chose to terminate but it was too late. No doctor would agree. Nara was furious. She sought out the village medicine man and traded jewelry for a potion that would kill the baby. But it didn't work. The potion burned Nara's inside but the baby held on for three months, fighting for life. The baby refused to die, instead kicking horribly while Nara was bedridden. I was told Nara suffered terribly and died while giving birth. The baby held on, refusing to die inside the poisonous prison of her mother's womb. My baby held on, choosing to die after she was free from the womb. The grave sites we visited were where I believed mother and daughter were buried," the Dumok revealed. "I've lived the last 20 years in the fires of hell tortured by my own imagination. Not a day has gone by where I didn't think of my child, burning, helpless, hot and trapped inside, the womb - while I was in Taiwan, at dinner parties.” The Dumok spit out the words “dinner parties” as if nothing were more vile.
Holly listened, afraid to speak.
"All these years, I imagined that my daughter would be alive today if I had just gone to the village, taken a knife and ripped my wife open and pulled out my child with my bare hands." The Dumok stopped, his voice dropping as quickly as it rose.
"All these years I thought Nara had died a kinder death than she would have had at my hands. I was told my baby who fought and kicked for life in the womb chose at birth to die," he stopped. "And now I lea
rn the stories that have tormented me were all lies, fiction, artifice to some unimaginable purpose," he clenched his fists, his face contorted.
He turned to Holly, savage and animalistic. "Why all the lies? Why?!" There was a bitter growl in his voice as he turned to Holly, slowly, his face changing with a look she had never seen.
"Now, we are back at the beginning," the Dumok stated, leaning back in his chair with exasperation. A man who has just realized that he was played and turned into Sysyphus. "You tell me my wife Nara Song, the Ambassador's daughter, is alive, living a life under the alias of Alexis Linser. My daughter is locked up, not in a poisoned womb, nor in a coffin, as I thought, but in a prison cell - a coffin of a different sort - awaiting trial for murder. I understand murder for I have blood on my hands, too. All this," the Dumok spread his hands, a gesture to convey the enormity of it all. “All this…”
They sat, silent for a long time. Finally, Holly was the first to speak. "The tree," Holly said, abruptly, her brow furrowed.
The Dumok looked at Holly.
"At the grave site - that beautiful red maple tree - you planted it, didn't you?"
"Yes." His voice was hoarse.
The rushing sound of the waterfall was soothing as Holly and the Dumok made their way made across the lobby towards the elevators. Holly forced a smile and said good night as she fumbled with her room key, then showered and crawled into bed, exhausted. Outside the city had barely paused, even though it was three in the morning. Her thoughts tumbled together and as she lay on the white sheets she couldn’t help but think about Naomi in her hard, cold cell. How frightened she must be.
She could help the Dumok most by going back to Los Angeles to help Naomi before it was too late. Something told her she had to hurry.
Chapter 53
Neil Cooper adjusted the knot in his new tie. He loved an audience and had one now with Kate and Holly sitting across from him. Holly had gone straight from the airport to the restaurant with no time to either shower, change or see the newspaper headlines.
The Virgin Whore Trial: A Holly Park Legal Thriller Page 18