by Paula Stokes
There are no obvious signs of Kyung here. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this could be anyone’s room. A few scattered papers are strewn across the dresser. When I look at them, I see it’s just the boarding pass stub from his plane ticket and a few receipts from purchases. Nothing interesting—mostly food and drink. Set back against the wall is a small satellite alarm clock and a black circle that looks like a coaster—a wireless phone charger.
I pull open each of the drawers one at a time. The top one has a few bills and a handful of loose coins in it, as well as a paperback novel. I don’t recognize the title and can’t resist the urge to flip it over and see what it’s about. Apparently it’s the latest techno-thriller from one of Korea’s up-and-coming authors. It’s strange to me, imagining Kyung reading novels like a regular person. For so long he has been this almost mythical source of evil in my life. But here, now, it occurs to me that he’s just one man. Fallible. Mortal.
A chill crawls up my spine at the thought of coming face-to-face with him after all these years. Once again I question my ability to follow through with my plan. What if I freeze up?
We won’t let you fail.
Goosebumps rise up on my skin. I don’t want one of my alters to kill Kyung. I need to do it. I need to look into his eyes as the life bleeds out of him.
I hear Baz moving around in the living room and force myself to focus. The second drawer is full of socks and underwear. The thought of touching Kyung’s intimate apparel even while wearing gloves makes me cringe. I quickly check the rest of the drawers—empty. I turn away and go to the side wall, pulling open the accordion-folded door to reveal a long closet. Four suits hang in a neat row; beyond them are several button-up shirts and a hanger full of ties, most of them red.
For a second, the slashes of crimson fabric seem to come to life, writhing and twisting like a knot of bloody snakes. I shudder. Not real, I tell myself. I start going through the pockets of Kyung’s suits. I’m not expecting to find anything, but on the third suit I get lucky. There’s a scrap of paper in the coat pocket with three names on it: Cristian Rojas, Nai Khaing, Erich Cross. None of those names is familiar to me.
Baz peeks his head in the door. “Find anything?”
“Maybe.” I hand him the scrap of paper. “Have you heard of any of these people?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll check them all out.” Baz pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a photo before handing the scrap of paper back to me. “Be sure to put it back exactly where you got it.”
I slip the scrap of paper back into the pocket of the third suit. Baz pats down the rest of the suit pockets and then kneels down to look in each of Kyung’s shiny dress shoes.
“Any luck?” I ask.
“Nope.” Baz pulls Kyung’s empty suitcases back from the corner of the closet to expose a small safe. “Chances are, anything good is in there.”
“Can we get in?”
“Not without him knowing.” Baz hops up on the neatly made bed and inserts one of the minicameras into a sprinkler head right over the center of the room. Then he tucks the listening device behind the photograph. “Hong Kong,” he tells me.
“You’re quite the traveler,” I say.
“Yeah. I spent a lot of time searching for a place that felt like home.”
“Did you ever find it?”
“I’m not sure.” Baz smiles slightly. “Man, this room is freezing, huh? We should probably get going, unless there’s something else you want to check out in here.”
It is cold. I thought it was just my nerves, but now I realize this room feels cooler than the rest of the penthouse. Quickly, I peek under Kyung’s mattress and then do a quick check of the kitchen and bathroom. Baz is right. If there’s anything here worth checking out, it’s tucked away in the hotel safe.
* * *
We head back to our suite, on the other side of the top floor. I remove my wig and stop recording.
“Now to see if they work.” Baz pulls up a program on his tablet and Kyung’s bedroom appears in slightly blurry grayscale. He taps at the screen and it splits into four different feeds—living room, dining room, master bedroom, second bedroom. “There are four listening devices as well.” He taps the screen again and it flips to audio surveillance.
“Good job,” I say. “Can we put this on my tablet too?”
“Sure. No problem. Hopefully we’ll get lucky.”
“What if we don’t?”
“I’ve got Chung Hee working on a couple things. I might have some other ideas after I meet up with him tonight.”
“For a date?” I say, biting back a smile.
“You just aren’t going to let it go, are you? Don’t make me tell you all the things Ramirez says about you when you aren’t around.”
My eyes narrow. “What kinds of things?”
“‘I am so whipped it’s not even funny’ types of things.” Baz grins at me. “What’s it like to have someone in your life who will do absolutely anything for you?”
“I don’t think he would’ve agreed to a date with Chung Hee,” I shoot back.
“Touché,” Baz says. “There you go again, reminding me of Gideon.”
I perch on the arm of the sofa. “How did you two become friends?”
Baz goes to the glass doors that lead out onto the balcony. He stares off into the distance. “That’s not a good story.”
“Did you know him before you worked security for him?”
“Yes.” Baz turns away from the glass. “We should probably head back soon, before Ramirez wakes up and decides to destroy more pots and pans.”
“Do you miss him?” I blurt out. “Gideon?”
Baz stops short. His gray eyes shine in the sunlight. “I miss him every single day.”
And just like that, the two of us end up in an awkward embrace. I’m not even sure which of us instigated the hug. All I know is one second we’re looking at each other and the next Baz’s blond beard is scraping against my left temple, the muscles of his chest firm beneath my face.
“Thank you for helping me.” My words are mostly swallowed up by the fabric of his T-shirt, but he hears them anyway.
“Any day, kid,” he says. One hand rubs my back for a few seconds. Then he pulls back. “We’d better get going. Your boyfriend is probably getting lonely.”
* * *
Baz and I head back to Itaewon, where Jesse is once again making breakfast. Or has taken charge of breakfast, anyway. There’s a pot of freshly brewed tea on the stove and a platter of gimbap and scrambled eggs on the counter. Bacon sizzles in a pan on the stove.
“Did you make this?” Baz asks.
I grab a piece of gimbap and pop it in my mouth. The rice is moist, the vegetables crisp. “No,” I say.
“Hey,” Jesse says. And then to Baz, “I went out for a run and a lady was selling it on the street.”
“A run, huh? How far did you get?”
“Not far,” Jesse admits. “But at least I can go up and down stairs without huffing and puffing now.”
My leg is feeling better too. The scab is kind of crusty and ugly, but the pain is mostly gone and it’s not affecting my movement much anymore. “Ready for some rooftop sparring?”
Jesse brightens. “Maybe, if you go easy on me. But we don’t have any protective gear.”
“We won’t have any if we have to fight our way out of UsuMed either,” I point out. “Perhaps it’s time I learn to fight the way it’s really done.”
Jesse exchanges a glance with Baz, who shrugs. “Just don’t go overboard.”
“I won’t.” Jesse scoops some scrambled eggs onto his plate. “I’m still kind of beat-up from—”
“I wasn’t talking about you.” Baz winks at me. “Seriously. Go easy on him. He’s not much, but he’s all the backup we’ve got.”
“Hey,” Jesse says again.
“Ignore him,” I tell Jesse, reaching for more of the gimbap. “If it weren’t for you, I might still be sitting in that K-Town gues
thouse, trying to figure out what to do next. You saved me that day, you know it?”
“Glad I could help.” Jesse squeezes my shoulder gently.
We eat our breakfast in the living room, Jesse and Baz on the sofa and me on the floor again. Baz and I fill Jesse in on bugging Kyung’s room, and Baz shows Jesse how to access the recordings on his tablet.
“Oh good,” Jesse says. “I can make myself useful and go through these while you two are cruising around the city doing the real work.”
“We’re not leaving you behind on purpose,” Baz says. “But renting a car would be useless since we’d be constantly stuck in traffic.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you would help me get over my elevator phobia,” I say, thinking back to the conversation Baz and I had earlier.
“What could I do?” Jesse asks.
I look up at him. “Just be with me.”
His cheeks redden slightly. “Sure. If you think having me there will help.”
“Great,” Baz says. “While you two work on that, I’m going to meet with a guy about scoring some weapons, and then later I’m meeting up with Chung Hee.”
Jesse turns to me. “What should we do first? Sparring or elevator?”
I think about the last time I was in an elevator. I remember crying and begging Sung Jin not to pull me into the cramped compartment. I remember fighting, my bones rattling beneath my skin as the older man pummeled me.
And then I shot him. At least I think it was me. There were multiple voices in my head that day. You don’t have to kill him. Yes, you do. Lily … the name haunts me. I grow a little dizzy at the thought that I might have some rogue alter who kills people on my behalf. How many parts do I have? What happens if we all go to war against one another?
CHAPTER 24
I opt for the physical pain of sparring over the emotional pain of the elevator, and ten minutes later, I’m standing in the center of the roof, crouched low but ready to strike. Jesse stands about ten feet away from me. He rolls his head in a circle and then lifts his fists to protect his face and chest. Behind him, the city stretches out, people bustling in and out of buildings and shops, mountains on the horizon looking so out of place they might as well be mirages.
The last time Jesse and I fought, it was inside the penthouse, in my bedroom to be exact. I had just found out everything—that Rose had died years earlier, that Gideon, Jesse, and Baz had joined forces to trick me into accepting the fact that she was gone. Jesse tried to justify it by saying he truly believed Gideon could heal me.
I did not feel healed.
I felt severed, adrift, betrayed by the only people I trusted.
I was out of control that day. And even though I know this moment is different, I’m a little afraid of what might happen when Jesse actually strikes me.
I blink and he’s standing less than two feet away. He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “I could have knocked you out. What are you thinking about so hard?”
“Lily,” I say. “That day in the penthouse when I attacked you. I’m wondering if part of it was her.” I pause. “I didn’t black out or anything, but I remember feeling … powerless. Like I knew I should stop but couldn’t.”
“It’s okay,” Jesse says.
“It’s not okay, though. It’s not okay to attack someone who isn’t fighting back. It’s not okay to hurt you the way that I did.” I blink back tears. “It’s like I want an excuse for that day. But then even if somehow it was all Lily, she’s just a piece of me, you know? She’s me. It was me. Some part of me is capable of terrible things.”
“Winter.” Jesse cups my shoulders in both hands. “We’re all capable of terrible things in the right combination of circumstances. We all have days we want excuses for. I thought we agreed to let this go. I messed up. You messed up. I understand and I forgive you.”
“What if I need someone not to forgive me?”
“Seems like you got yourself for that,” Jesse says softly.
“I just worry that I don’t know what brings her out. What if you land a good hit and she emerges from some dark place inside of me and tries to push you off the roof?”
“That won’t happen,” Jesse says. “I’ve landed plenty of good hits against you in practice and you’ve never snapped on me.”
“What if I do?”
“I can handle myself,” Jesse says. “Even with Lily.”
I think of the guy with the blond hair lying dead on the floor of the guesthouse and I’m not so sure, but Jesse’s right about the fact that we’ve sparred against each other for over a year without incident. The same goes for Gideon. I’ve never lost it any time while working out with him, never exploded into psychotic rage. I’m just being paranoid.
“So are we good here?” Jesse asks. “Because if not, the elevator awaits us.”
“We’re good.”
Jesse steps back and then resumes his ready stance. Our eyes lock. We dance around an imaginary perimeter. I realize he’s going to wait for me to strike, so I move in and lunge at him. He ducks back, sidesteps, tries to attack me from an angle.
The edge of his hand makes contact with my jaw, but I can feel the energy stop as he pulls back. Rage sparks inside me. I need to be hard and focused, and Jesse is babying me. I attack full force and land him on his back on the cold concrete in a handful of moves.
His breath leaves his mouth in a puff of mist. His eyes widen. Clearly I surprised him by going for an early takedown. He lashes out with one leg, hooking it behind my ankle and making me stumble. Leaping to his feet, he kicks me in the midsection. I flail backward, but the attack leaves Jesse off balance. We both land in a pile on the roof, his body on top of mine, his face just inches away.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
There was a time that the weight of Jesse’s body, of any man’s body, would have terrified and repelled me. But all I can think about is how warm he feels, like a blanket protecting me from the cold.
I don’t want protecting.
I roll out from under him. “Again,” I say. “I know you’re going easy on me.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I really didn’t.” He points at his ear. “I took my hearing aid out, so I’m half-deaf.”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I said I know you’re going easy on me.”
Jesse snorts. “I’m going easy on me. I’m recovering from major surgery, remember?”
“No. I feel you pulling back when you make contact. Like you don’t want to hurt me.”
“Um … that’s because I don’t want to hurt you.” He clambers back to his feet and assumes an offensive stance.
“I know, but you have to actually go for takedowns. Otherwise this is pointless.” I advance on him, my fists raised.
“Sorry.” His chin drops a little. “I guess it’s just hard for me to touch you. Even like this.”
I stop, midattack. “Why?”
Jesse rakes his hands through his hair. “Because fighting can be … intimate. Touching you makes me want you,” he says. “And that makes me feel shitty. And sad.”
I’ve fought Jesse fifty times or more, and I’ve never really considered what that was like for him. “Why shitty?” I ask.
“Because I’m supposed to be helping you stay strong in case we need to fight our way out of a jam while we’re here. Not getting all … whatever because I’m close to you.” He looks away from me and sighs.
All … whatever. I remember the attraction I felt to Jesse when I was dressing his wounds, the way part of me wanted to reach for him on the plane. If it’s difficult for me to resist those urges, it must be hell for him. “Why sad?” I reach out and touch his arm.
He turns back, his eyes locking onto mine. “Because I totally blew it with you.”
His expression is neutral but his voice cracks open something inside of me. I think about the way Baz teased me earlier, how he wanted to know what it felt like to have someone who would do anything for me. Maybe it so
unds comforting to know there is a person out there who would risk his life to protect you—a person who would back off when you asked and then come to you when you changed your mind. Especially when that person is as kind and decent as Jesse. The truth is, it’s terrifying. It’s just one more opportunity for me to be a monster.
I want to tell Jesse that he didn’t blow it, that I just need time. That even if he can love me when I’m broken and full of hate, that I have to find peace with myself before I can find it with another person.
But what if I don’t manage to kill Kyung? What if I never learn how to live with my DID? Or what if I do, but my feelings never grow into the same thing Jesse is feeling? Maybe I’m wasting his time. Maybe it’s hurtful to give him hope. I don’t know.
I turn away from our practice area and walk toward the edge of the roof. The sky is a rainbow of grays, thick brushstrokes layered on rough canvas. The wind grabs pieces of my hair, twists them up and out, away from my face. Even without looking, I can feel Jesse approaching. I can feel him hesitating behind me. “Come here,” I say.
He comes to stand next to me. For a few seconds, we both stare out at the city. I want to do the right thing, but I have no idea what that is, so I decide to do the next best thing and tell the truth. I glance over at him. His eyes threaten to drown me. Maybe it’ll be easier to say it to the sky.
I turn my head upward, look for secret messages in the clouds. There is no guidance. There is only Jesse and me on a rooftop, almost seven thousand miles from home. We might as well be aliens on another planet. “I have feelings for you,” I say.
“Yeah, but not the same as I have for you.” Now his voice is light, almost carefree, like his emotions threatened to spill out a few seconds ago but he’s back in control. I hate that he thinks he has to hide his bitterness from me.
“Maybe not. I don’t know,” I admit. “Now seems like the wrong time to figure that out. But it’s hard for me to touch you too, all right?”