Ferocious

by Paula Stokes

  “All right,” I say, even though I’m not going to do it. I shouldn’t have told her my name. Now she might tell the police. But it won’t matter. After this it’s back to the airport, where I will become someone other than Winter Kim. I’ll be gone before they can track me down.

  I take one of Jesse’s hands in both of mine. The monitor above his head blips and I glance up to see his heart rate jump from sixty to eighty beats per minute. “You know I’m here,” I say. “I wonder if you can hear me.”

  Eighty-five beats per minute.

  Jesse stirs beneath his blankets but doesn’t open his eyes.

  “God, Jesse. I don’t even know where to start,” I whisper. “Thank you, I guess, for risking your life for me. I wish you hadn’t done it, but I understand why you did. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” Leaning in close to him, I run a hand through his thick, brown hair. I trace the ridge of scar tissue that runs from his left temple to his jawline, my fingers pausing on a darkened area of skin, the bruising and swelling caused by me. “I’m sorry I blew up at you. That I … hit you. I was really angry, but I see now that my rage was misplaced. What you and Gideon did was wrong, but I know you did it for the right reasons.”

  Ninety beats per minute.

  “I need to go take care of some things,” I say. “Family things. But I’ll see you soon, if everything works out as planned.” I don’t tell him the chances of that are slim. Somewhere beneath the hospital blankets and the soft cloak of sedatives, he knows.

  Jesse stirs again. This time his fingers twitch. As much as I want to see him open his eyes, I can’t be here for that. It’ll make leaving him too hard. I turn toward the doorway and I’m outside in the main room of the ICU when I hear his weakened voice say, “Winter?”

  I hurry back to the waiting area. Hopefully he’ll think he dreamed me.

  Maybe he did. Sometimes I feel like I’m not even real anymore.

  CHAPTER 4

  When I arrive in San Diego, I grab my suitcase from baggage claim and head to the ground transportation area. Even though Jesse, Gideon, and I traveled quite a bit, I’ve never arranged for a ride before. It hits me that I’ve never done a lot of things I’m going to need to figure out on my own. I pause in front of the first desk with no line. I clear my throat and the clerk looks up at me.

  “I need to get to Los Angeles. What do you recommend?”

  “Depends on what you want to pay and how patient you are.” The clerk pulls out a brochure from beneath the counter. “We have this rideshare shuttle, which leaves from here four times a day. It’s cheap but crowded. Or you can buy an Amtrak ticket. Or, if you prefer to ride in style, you can charter your own car and driver and get up to L.A. much quicker for a few hundred bucks.” He points across the lobby at a booth called Executive VIP.

  Money feels like the only thing I have at the moment, and time is definitely of the essence. Executive VIP it is.

  “Thanks,” I tell the guy. “You’ve been a big help.”

  I cross the lobby to the executive limo place, where the guy behind the counter sniffs and plucks an imaginary piece of lint from his starched collar. “Can I help you … miss?” he asks.

  “I need to get to Los Angeles.” I slap my fake ID on the counter. “The sooner the better.”

  “The fee is five hundred dollars,” he says. I pay in cash. The man checks the authenticity of the bills with some sort of marker and then smiles tightly. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  I adjust the straps of my backpack. “Now would be good.”

  The man at the counter disappears into the back room for a few seconds and returns with a second man dressed in a black uniform with gleaming silver buttons. This man takes the handle of my suitcase and starts wheeling it toward the parking garage. “Where in L.A. would you like to be dropped off?”

  I give him the name of a business-class hotel in Koreatown, but I’m not actually going to stay there. It’s the kind of place where they’ll be expecting me to pay by credit card. Instead, I’ll find a smaller hotel or guesthouse, owned by Koreans. A place where I can be anonymous. A place where I can disappear without leaving a trail if I need to.

  I follow my driver down a darkened row of the airport parking garage. We stop in front of a big black car. It’s not quite a limousine, but it’s close. The driver holds open the door and I slide into the plush backseat. The windows are tinted. The driver starts telling me something about Wi-Fi and showing me a minibar full of water and snacks, but I’m kind of zoning out. It’s only lunchtime here, but it’s already been a long day for me.

  * * *

  It’s about three p.m. when we enter the area of Los Angeles known as Koreatown. K-Town is a mix of skyscrapers and strip malls, of BMWs and homeless people. I remember living in an apartment on the outskirts of this area with Rose and two other girls who worked for Kyung. I spent most of my days trying to sleep away the previous night. That or with my face pressed to the window, watching the Korean and Hispanic shopkeepers chatter to each other as they hosed down their sidewalks in the morning. Watching the sun rise hot and the tall palm trees sway in the wind. Wondering how California could be so beautiful during the day but so ugly at night.

  The driver drops me off at the hotel I mentioned to him. I slide out, tip him, and then head into the air-conditioned lobby with my luggage. A dark-haired woman behind the registration desk looks up as the door swings closed, but she quickly averts her eyes when I don’t stride directly toward her. I step out of the main traffic path and make a point of pulling a phone from my purse, looking down at it as if I’m planning on meeting someone. The airport car pulls away from the street in front of the hotel. I count to ten and then head back out into the warm sun.

  This block is packed with Korean businesses—restaurants, hair salons, and minimarkets selling kimchi and fresh seafood. It’s comforting being surrounded by Hangul after years in St. Louis, where there are fewer Korean businesses and most of them have English signs. I turn off the main street and find what I’m looking for a few blocks away—a small guesthouse with a vacancy sign in both English and Hangul. There’s a bright red-and-gold mural of a haechi—a mythical creature known for exacting justice and eating fire—painted on the side of the house.

  Inside, a Korean woman with a round face and a tight perm is curled up in a wicker chair reading a book. She licks her index finger and turns a page.

  “Jeogiyo,” I say. Excuse me. The woman doesn’t look up. I clear my throat. “Ajumma?” It’s a common way to address an older woman.

  She turns to face me, her book falling closed around one hand. She cocks her head to the side, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. We exchange greetings in Korean and then she tells me the house is empty right now except for one other boarder, so she can give me a good price.

  I pay in cash and scribble a fake name in her guesthouse registry. She goes to a desk at the far corner of the room and fetches a key from a drawer. It’s an actual metal key on a big wooden keychain, a duck carved from what looks like gingko wood.

  I drag my suitcase and backpack into the back hallway of the guesthouse. At my room I have to jiggle the doorknob a couple of times, but the key finally turns in the lock and the door swings open. It’s just a small square room with basic furniture. A doorway in the corner leads to a bathroom with a toilet and a shower. A set of taller doors along one side of the room opens into a wardrobe. I go to the window and peek out the blinds. The sun shines brightly on a deserted alley, empty except for a couple of derelict cars up on blocks and a roll of discarded carpet tossed to the side of a Dumpster.

  Turning away, I explore the rest of my cramped quarters. A painting of the Seoul skyline hangs over the bed. My eyes are drawn to the strip of shiny reflective buildings, to the mountain, Namsan, in the background and its distinctive tower that looks out over the city.

  Rose and I used to talk about going to the top of the mountain. Supposedly there’s a sculpt
ure where couples place padlocks to symbolize their unending love. Rose used to say we’d go there and place a lock for the two of us. Sisters, forever.

  Who knew forever could be so short?

  My chest goes tight as the enormity of what I’m trying to do crashes down on me. I could barely charter a car service. How am I supposed to rescue my brother without Kyung finding me first? How am I supposed to kill Kyung? Even if I’m willing to die to accomplish these goals—and I am—they still suddenly seem completely unreachable, like a fantasy. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to face Kyung without falling to pieces. What if I start to cry? What if I run away? I hate that such a horrible man has so much power over me.

  But that’s what happens when someone owns you, literally and figuratively.

  If my sister were here, rescuing Jun and killing Kyung would still be a massive undertaking, but at least it would feel possible. If she were here, she’d be telling me that very thing right this moment. I glance up at the painting again.

  “I’m going to do it,” I say. “For you. For both of us. He took away our forever. I’m going to take away his.”

  CHAPTER 5

  After the sun begins to set, I ask the woman who owns the guesthouse where to get some decent Korean food and she gives me directions to a restaurant a few blocks away. I order food and bring it back to the room, where I settle cross-legged on the floor. Most Korean meals come with several side dishes, or banchan, and in addition to my sesame chicken, this restaurant packed me five little to-go cups filled with kimchi, bean sprouts, potato salad, fishcake, and anchovies. I haven’t eaten anything all day, and I quickly devour most of the food, even the crunchy anchovies, some of which still have their tiny eyeballs intact.

  After I finish eating, I pace back and forth in the cramped room for a few minutes, threading and unthreading my fingers in front of my body. I need answers, or at least to feel like I’m actually accomplishing something. I slip on my ViSE headset and secure the blond wig on top of it. I might as well check out UsuMed tonight. I know there’s no hope of finding Jun in the dark on a Saturday, but I can at least get a feel for the area.

  * * *

  UsuMed’s Los Angeles headquarters is actually located in Santa Monica, just outside of the city proper. It takes me a short walk, two Metro trains, and a bus to get there, but about an hour and fifteen minutes later, I step out into the warm night just in front of the main gate.

  The corporate campus takes up several blocks and is surrounded by a six-foot-tall brick wall. I walk a loop around the entire complex, scanning for security cameras and recording everything I see. It’s about eight p.m., and the streets and sidewalks are full of people.

  I can only see into the UsuMed grounds through the main gate and a second, smaller gate located on the opposite side of the campus. There are several shorter buildings arranged to the left and right of a round glass tower. Beyond the round tower is a long, flat industrial-looking structure—almost like an airplane hangar. I walk another lap, noting the presence of several small cameras mounted along the top of the wall. Security definitely seems to be tight, but if there are only two ways to get in and out, I should be able to find Jun coming or going through one of the gates. Now all I need is a place with good visibility.

  I scan the area directly across the street from the main entrance. A pastel-pink apartment building looks over a strip mall full of cafés and coffee shops in front of it. A couple of the coffee shops aren’t horrible choices, but they’re all one story, and I’ll be able to see better if I can get up higher. I loiter around the entrance to the apartment building, pretending to be texting someone, until the door to the secure lobby opens and a lady dressed in hospital scrubs heads toward the parking lot.

  I catch the door as she hurries by without even glancing at me. Slipping inside, I pass right by the elevator and find a door at the end of the hall that leads into a dingy stairwell. I ascend the stairs to the top floor, checking both ends of the main hallway for roof access. There’s only one door that isn’t numbered like an apartment, but it’s locked. I dig in my purse for something I can use to pick the lock and come up empty. Then I remember my wig. Reaching up, I pull two bobby pins out of my hair and bite the plastic nubs off the ends. It only takes me about a minute to get the door open.

  It turns out to be an elevator machinery room, the gears cranking and clanking as I scoot around them. My hands shake a little. I have a phobia of elevators. Just thinking about them makes me a little nauseated. Averting my eyes from the boxy controller, I head to the far side of the room where a door leads out onto the roof, just as I hoped. I open the camera function on my phone and zoom in. I’m four stories up and the angle is just right to monitor the UsuMed main gate. I’ll have a perfect view of the driver’s side of cars entering the campus.

  I have four days before Kyung’s deadline runs out. I hope that it’s enough time to find my brother.

  * * *

  Back at the guesthouse, I imagine coming face-to-face with Jun. Will my mother have told him about me? Will he feel guilty about her giving Rose and me away? I can’t blame him for my mother abandoning us. He didn’t ask to be born. He didn’t ask to be male. He didn’t ask to be born male in a country that prizes boy children over girl children.

  Sometimes things just are what they are.

  I pull off my wig and adjust the prongs of my headset. Curling onto my side, I pull the sheet up to my chin and try to get some rest. But all I can do is think about what it’s going to be like to meet the brother I didn’t even know I had. What if he doesn’t know anything about me either? What if he doesn’t want to be part of my life? Or worse, what if it’s all a trick and he doesn’t even exist? Then I’ll be alone again.

  You’re not alone.

  “You don’t count,” I mutter. The voices in my head might give good advice, but they come and go as they please. I can’t rely on them. For a second I debate calling Dr. Abrams. I can rely on her, sort of. Maybe she’d be willing to do a phone session with me. Then I remember it’s Saturday night, and two hours later in St. Louis than it is here. Even if she were willing to talk to me, she’s probably asleep already.

  You can rely on Jesse.

  It’s true. I dig a burner phone out of my purse and stare at it for a few seconds. Then I dial Jesse’s cell phone. I’m not expecting him to answer. I just want to hear his voice mail message, the friendly greeting of someone who will always want to be part of my life.

  I am surprised when after three rings he comes on the line. “Hello?” His voice is hoarse.

  My heart catches in my throat, rendering me mute, my own words trapped somewhere in my chest.

  “Winter?” Jesse asks. “Is that you?”

  I still can’t respond, but I exhale a long, shaky breath.

  “We’re okay,” Jesse continues. “Baz and me. He’s going home tomorrow and I should be out of here soon too. The cops came around this afternoon but I was still kind of out of it so I didn’t say much. I didn’t get the feeling they were looking to arrest me, though. I think they’ll see it for what it was—Gideon’s employees protecting themselves against a home invader who killed their boss.”

  Another shaky sigh from me. I hadn’t realized how worried I was about what the police might do to Jesse and Baz. An anxiety farther down the list than what Kyung might do to my brother, but no less real.

  “I’m worried about you, Winter,” Jesse says.

  A tiny sob sneaks out without warning. Stupid body. Stupid emotions.

  “Please let us know you’re okay too. You can call back now if you want and I won’t answer. That way you could leave a message.”

  The tone of his voice rises just slightly. I know that sound—it’s hope. It cuts me, but I can’t leave a message, just in case Jesse is wrong about the cops and their investigation. Messages are forever. This call record is forever. I need to hang up.

  But I can’t. I can’t even move. I am paralyzed by Jesse’s voice. By his hope.

&n
bsp; “You came by my room, right?” he continues. “When I woke up, I thought it was a dream, but my nurse told me it was real.”

  “It was real,” I whisper. I pull my knees up toward my chin, tuck my body into the fetal position.

  “Winter!” Jesse struggles to clear his throat. “I am so glad to hear from you. Where are you?”

  “It’s better if I don’t say.”

  “Better for who?”

  “For both of us.”

  “Come home,” Jesse says.

  “I will, once I’ve taken care of some things,” I say softly. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Jesse.” I think of the bruises on his face, and worse, the injuries I can’t see. The ones caused by the cruel things I said.

  “Winter, you don’t have to—”

  “I should hang up now.”

  I disconnect the call before Jesse can tell me I don’t have to apologize for attacking him. I was out of my mind when I did it, but that’s a reason, not an excuse. I turn the phone off and slide it back into my purse.

  I try once more to go to sleep. But as soon as I close my eyes, my head is flooded with images of my sister—Rose smiling, Rose laughing, Rose bleeding, Rose dying. I hate that these memories are just fragments, moments out of order, snapshots out of context. Tears leak into the softness of my pillow. “I want to remember all of you,” I whisper. “I want the pieces to fit.”

  The voices in my head are quiet for once. Eventually the night is kind, stealing me into its dreamworld, where I get a momentary reprieve from the pain of not knowing.

  Until I wake up the next day, and I’m not in my bed.

  My breath sticks in my throat as my eyes flicker open. The surface beneath me is wet and cold, the lights bright but hazy. A soft pattering echoes in my ear like raindrops on pavement. I blink hard as I lift myself to a seated position. I’m in the bathroom, on the floor of the shower.

  Struggling to my feet, I reach out and turn the water off. Shivering violently, I reach for the nearest towel and wrap it around my naked body. That’s when I see the message on the mirror. Dark red letters: WE HAD TO SEE IT.