Ferocious

by Paula Stokes

  CHAPTER 6

  My heart thrums in my chest. At first I think the message is written in blood, but as I get closer I see one of the tubes of lipstick I bought back in St. Louis sitting on the edge of the sink. My recorder headset sits next to it.

  “See what, Rose?” I murmur. “What did you do?” I take the headset back into the main room and quickly pull on sweatpants and a T-shirt. I double-check that the door and windows are locked. Then I recline back on my bed and play the ViSE. I fast forward through about an hour of peaceful darkness before I get to the start of the action.

  I sit up in bed, my feet sliding around to land on the hardwood floor. I go to the wardrobe and change from my pajamas into one of the dresses I bought at the mall. The soft fabric caresses my skin. I grab the blond wig and go to the bathroom. Flicking on the lights, I slip the wig on over my headset. I study myself in the mirror for a couple of moments and then reach for my bag of toiletries. I fish out a tube of lipstick and an eyeliner pencil.

  “Seriously, Rose?” I mutter. “I’m not sure now is the time to be going out clubbing.”

  After applying a bit of makeup, I grab my purse and keys from the dresser and head for the door. Outside, the night air is surprisingly chilly on my bare legs. The branches of a nearby plum tree swish against each other in the wind, casting wavering shadows on the pavement.

  I cross the street and turn left at the corner, swearing under my breath as the heel of my boot gets caught in a sidewalk crack. The sound of a car braking cuts across the night, startling me. My heart accelerates in my chest. I pause, looking back over my shoulder, looking left, looking right. There is only silence and the overlapping darkness of houses and shops stacked close to one another. I start walking again, heading for a larger intersection a couple of blocks away.

  I have no idea where Rose is going, but I’m not surprised where she ends up.

  A red-and-green gazebo rises up before me, illuminated slightly by streetlights. The painted latticework blurs before my eyes. Beyond it, a steel-and-glass hotel stands twelve stories high. No one is coming or going at this time, but light emanates from the first-floor lobby and I can see the movement of staff or guests beyond the wall of glass.

  My heart sinks low in my stomach. I should fast-forward this. I’ve already remembered my sister’s death. I watched Sung Jin stab Rose like it was happening. I killed him for it. I don’t need to go back to that place. I should put it all behind me.

  But my alter is right. I have to see the elevator.

  I cross the street in front of the hotel, pausing in the middle for a car to go past. It’s black and sleek. The kid behind the wheel doesn’t look much older than me. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second and then he looks away. I turn my attention back to the hotel.

  I can’t help but wonder if there are girls inside this hotel doing what I used to do. The thought sickens me.

  I step into the revolving door and out into the lobby. My boots make a soft clicking noise against the marble floor tiles. I stride right past the desk clerk as if I already have a key. There are two elevators located at the back of the building.

  I can’t remember which one it happened in. Both of them make my heart climb into my throat. Both of them make me think of tombs. For years I’ve been afraid of elevators, but I only recently realized why—because I watched my sister stabbed to death in one.

  I press the button to summon the elevators, backing away slightly as the red numbers count down toward one. When the first one opens, it’s the same size as I remember, but different paneling, different floor tile. Even different buttons. I wait for the second elevator, but it’s also been remodeled. I stand still for a moment. Then I turn and head back out into the night.

  As Rose retraces her steps back to the guesthouse, a wave of emotions rushes through me—relief followed by confusion followed by despair. I don’t know exactly what my alter wanted, if some part of me was hoping to actually stand in the place where my sister stood. See things through her eyes. Feel her pain. But whatever I went looking for, I left without it.

  There were no answers.

  There is no closure.

  It’s like a part of my history has been erased.

  * * *

  On Monday, I wake up early so I can take special care disguising myself before returning to UsuMed. My blood courses with anxiety as I work my legs into a pair of panty hose, my fingers shaking as I affix my headset to my skull and clamp it tight. I slide the reddish-blond wig over the top and adjust tendrils of hair around my face until everything looks natural. Heading into the bathroom, I apply some pale pressed powder, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. I blink at my reflection. Even I can barely recognize myself.

  This level of disguise is probably unnecessary, but in the unlikely event I cross paths with Kyung or someone from my past, I want to be certain they don’t recognize me. Cold fingers rake down my spine at the thought of coming face-to-face with the man who bought me like a slave and sold me like a product, the man who was responsible for Rose’s and Gideon’s deaths.

  I take a taxi to a coffee shop two blocks away from UsuMed, arriving just in time to see the sun start to rise over the city. I pay the driver and slip into the shop, buying a small green tea to soothe my nerves and a ham-and-cheese sandwich to eat later.

  After I’ve relaxed a little, I duck out of the shop and head for the apartment building where I’ll be keeping watch. I loiter outside again, pretending to be looking something up on my phone until I’m able to slip into the building when a resident leaves. I pick the lock to the elevator machine room and find the spot on the roof where I have the best view of the UsuMed main gate.

  Traffic into the campus picks up around seven thirty a.m., and the cars come in steady for the next two hours. There is also a stream of employees entering on foot, most of whom come off the bus that stops right in front of the gate. Additional people enter the grounds sporadically until around ten. Then there’s no action at all for the better part of an hour. I pull my wrapped sandwich out of my purse and choke it down without a drink. It manages to be both soggy and dry at the same time.

  Around eleven thirty, a few cars start to pull out, probably to go to lunch. Clusters of people walk through the gate on foot as well. No Jun. I grow restless as the afternoon drags on, doing some stretching and push-ups during the slow period. I’m trying to ignore the possibility that he’s not employed here, that maybe he works for Kyung in some other capacity, like as a landscaper or delivery boy, or helping out with his human trafficking side business. If I can’t find Jun by staking out UsuMed, I’m going to have to meet with Kyung, give him the disabled ViSE tech, and go from there.

  But I know sometimes laborers work twelve-hour shifts, so I’m not giving up yet. I pull Sung Jin’s phone out of my purse and skim through the pictures Kyung sent to me once again.

  Movement on the street below attracts my attention. A dark-haired woman is walking down the sidewalk, the fingers of a school-aged girl clutched in her hand. My eyes trace the curve of the woman’s pregnant belly and a memory flits into my head.

  I’m sitting on the hardwood floor of a small house, holding a wrapped package. In the background, Christmas music is playing. My mother walks into the room with my sister beside her. I flip my gaze to my mother’s stomach as my sister says something about a baby. My mom smiles and pats her belly.

  I look back at the pregnant lady on the street, trying to decide if the memory is real or fake. She and her daughter step inside the coffee shop. I wonder if I ever went to a coffee shop with my mother. Why don’t I know more about my childhood? If I have a brother, I should remember him, shouldn’t I?

  There is a mass exodus from UsuMed around six p.m. and then a few more cars start to trickle out between seven and seven thirty. Just as I’m starting to think about leaving, a bus pulls up to the stop just down from the main entrance. A few people get off and start heading in various directions. I don’t pay them any attention until I notice one of the
m approaching the UsuMed gate. It’s him—the boy from the picture.

  CHAPTER 7

  Maybe he’s on the night shift, sorting mail or working as a janitor. If he’s really my brother, he’s only sixteen, or barely seventeen at most, so there aren’t too many jobs he could be working at in a place like this. I watch him until he disappears from view, trying to see myself or my sister inside his stocky build.

  If he starts work at eight p.m., he might get off as early as four, or as late as eight the next morning. I make a plan to return around three thirty a.m. tomorrow so I definitely won’t miss him.

  With a start, I realize my cheeks are wet.

  Blotting my tears with the back of my hand, I abandon my spot on the roof and return to the sidewalk below. I catch a cab to the Metro station and take the train back to K-Town. I lie on the bed in my little rented room and replay the footage. I watch Jun get off the bus and enter the UsuMed campus over and over. Could he really be my brother? If he is, it would change everything. It would give me a reason to try to heal myself.

  It would give me a reason to live.

  * * *

  Tuesday, I rise before the sun and dress in the closest I can come to jogging apparel—sweatpants and a hoodie—because I feel like exercising is one of the least conspicuous things a person might be up doing before sunrise. I take a cab to the same coffee shop as yesterday and then jog toward the campus right at four.

  I pause just past the bus stop, like I’m catching my breath. It’s still pitch-black and I can feel the UsuMed gate guard’s eyes on me. I take off running again, down to the end of the block where I’m out of sight. I linger in that area, pretending to be sending a text message. Then I go for another short jog and turn back the way I came, checking the bus stop in front of the main gate regularly for any sign of Jun. At seven thirty, things get crowded at the gate again. As the moments tick down to eight a.m., I worry that somehow I missed him.

  But then, at 8:06, he comes strolling through the main gate, stopping just outside to check his phone. He takes a seat at the bus stop.

  I wait until I see the bus approaching from down the block and then cross the street. I stand a few feet away, peeking at him out of the corner of my eye. It’s definitely the same boy from the photos that Kyung sent to me, but is he really my brother? I feel like that’s the sort of thing I should know intuitively. Then again, I felt that way about Rose being dead, and I could not have been more wrong. The only way I’m going to know for sure if this boy is my brother is to talk to him.

  But not here.

  When the bus arrives, I get on after Jun, flailing in my pocket for cash as he ambles down the aisle. He leans back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles. I pass by him and take a seat in the very back.

  When I see him reach up to pull the stop-request cord that runs along the windows, I follow him off the bus. On the sidewalk, I let a couple people get between us to reduce the chances he’ll realize I’m following him.

  It turns out I don’t need to worry. The only time Jun looks anywhere but straight ahead is when he pauses to stare into a store window for a few seconds. I glance over as I pass by. It’s a music shop with a couple of electric guitars and a drum set displayed.

  Jun lives in a run-down three-story brick building. I follow him inside, pausing by the mailboxes to check out the names of the building inhabitants. There are only six units. Five of the mailboxes are labeled, one with the name Song—my real last name.

  My heart starts pounding against my ribs. Song isn’t a common surname like Lee or Kim, and the boy looks the right age. I race up a flight of stairs to his apartment. He doesn’t answer the door when I knock. I stand in plain view of the peephole and knock again. And again.

  Finally, a sleepy voice calls, “Who is it?”

  “I just moved into the next building,” I say, hoping the next building is apartments and not a nail salon or a car wash. I was so excited while I was following him that I forgot to pay attention to my surroundings. “I think I have some of your mail.”

  The boy opens the door and peeks out. He sees my empty hands and a look of confusion crosses his face.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say. “Inside.”

  And now he looks suspicious, like he thinks I’m a tax auditor or an undercover cop. He starts to close the door.

  I jam my foot into the crack before he can finish. Lowering my voice, I say, “Please. It’s an emergency. It’s about your family.”

  The boy blinks rapidly and his jaw drops a little. He opens the door wide enough for me to stride past him into his apartment. Then he pushes the door closed behind me and affixes a dead bolt and chain lock. I glance around, wondering what he has that he’s so diligent in protecting, but all I see is a sparsely furnished studio apartment with fast-food wrappers and dirty laundry strewn about.

  He stands awkwardly in the center of the room. “What about my family? Did something happen?”

  “Are you Jun Song?” My eyes search the clutter for some clue that we might be related.

  He doesn’t say anything. Then he nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Taebaek,” he says. “But I grew up in Seoul. Why?”

  I can’t imagine my mother living in the city. Maybe she went there to be close to us, so she could still see us from time to time, even though she couldn’t care for us.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” My eyes do a second lap around the room, looking for family photographs. There is a picture of a Korean girl tucked into the side of his dresser mirror—a girlfriend, probably—but that’s all.

  He pauses for a moment. “Who did you say you were again?”

  “I didn’t say. Brothers or sisters—just tell me.” My voice is pleading.

  “I know I had two older sisters. My mother was forced to give them up for adoption after our father died.”

  I have no memories of my father. Growing up, I wasn’t even sure if Rose and I had the same dad. She never liked to speak of the past, encouraging me instead to focus on the possibilities of the future. Easier said than done.

  I focus all of my attention on Jun, on the way his hands are folded in his lap, on the sound of his voice, the frequency of his blinking. “What are your sisters’ names?”

  “Min Ji and Ha Neul.”

  A tremor races through my body at the sound of my real name from this boy’s lips, but I’m still afraid to believe. “Let me see something with your name on it,” I demand. I swallow a lump in my throat.

  Shrugging, Jun removes a California provisional driver’s license from his wallet and holds it out toward me. A tear leaks out of my eye as I rub one finger across the black printing. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I am Ha Neul.”

  “What?” Jun’s voice rises in pitch. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “I’m your sister.” I finger the snowflake pendant that hangs against my throat. “I don’t have ID with me, but I can show you some legal documents. Papers with my full name.”

  “Nuna?” Jun’s eyes widen as he addresses me by the polite title for elder sister. “This is—I mean—I can’t believe it’s really you.” He glances down at the floor, his cheeks coloring slightly.

  I step forward to hug him, flinching from the heat of his skin. I’m still not used to touching people. But this is my brother, my family. My blood. I wrap my arms around the middle of his back and give him a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

  Jun pats me awkwardly on the shoulder and then disentangles himself from my embrace. “Sorry. I think I’m a little in shock. How did you end up in the States?”

  I lean back against the wall. “It’s a long story. What about you? How did you end up here? Do you still live with … our mother?” There is no sign of a female presence in this apartment beyond the picture of the girl in the mirror.

  Jun pauses for a moment, an uncomfortable look flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, nuna. Our mother
committed suicide shortly after I was born. I was actually raised by my—our—aunt.”

  “Suicide,” I repeat. “Why?” Perhaps my mother was depressed. Perhaps some of my own psychological issues stem not from the things that happened to me when I was younger, but from genetics.

  “I don’t know,” Jun says. “I was just a baby and our imo doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “I don’t remember my mother having a sister.” I know I should feel some kind of sadness at learning my mother is dead, but she’s been gone from my life for so many years, in a way I think I have already grieved for her.

  “Imo is ten years older. I believe the two of them were estranged for quite a bit of time.” Jun cocks his head to the side to study me and there’s something so Rose-like about his gaze that my lips slant into a half smile despite hearing that my mother is dead. “What brings you to L.A.?” he asks.

  I’ve become so giddy at the thought of having family again that I almost forget the reason I’ve been looking for him in the first place. “I came here to find you to warn you that you’re in danger. You need to stop working for UsuMed.”

  “I don’t understand.” Jun sits on the edge of the bed and gestures at a chair tucked under a desk in the corner of the room. He taps one foot nervously. “I need that job to pay for school.”

  I pull the chair close to Jun, take a seat, and lean in to him. “What school?”

  “I’m starting at UCLA in the fall.”

  “How can you be starting college when you’re not even old enough to have finished high school?”

  “I got my GED back in Seoul and then came here to go to college, but I need to establish residency and save up some money for living expenses first.”

  It’s an ambitious plan. I’m impressed that he’s younger than I am but so much closer to living a normal life. “All right, but there are plenty of other jobs. Can you find something besides UsuMed? One of the executives there threatened your safety. I have something he believes belongs to him. If I don’t give it to him, he might hurt you.”