Chapter 2: Watchful Eyes

“Ace? Zhong Sheng? Wake up!”  

“Go away… Wanna sleep…” Ace said groggily, pushing away the hands that were holding the sides of his face. The sharp tang of disinfectant engulfed his nostrils and roused him faster than he had preferred. The hands that were smacking him stopped for a bit.

For a moment, there was peace.

Then, his nose was pinched shut painfully.

“Wah! A-Pa!” Ace sat up abruptly, fully awake. A-Pa fussed over him and made sure his vitals were stable in typical Navy officer fashion.

“I’m really fine,” Ace reassured his father. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Good that you are feeling okay and no, I took leave. Urgent leave,” A-Pa replied. His tone grew reproachful, concern quickly leaving his voice. “How much did you drink last night?" 

“Er… Not much?”

“Not much?! Eh hello mister, you vomited everywhere! I had to clean up everything you had. The only clean thing was your bed!” A-Pa shook his head. “I was going to call the ambulance if you didn’t wake up.”

“But I really didn’t drink a lot!” 

“Drunk people don’t remember jackshit,” A-Pa scolded. “Haiya, at least you are better now. Made me so worried for you, I was afraid that no one would be around to take care of you…”

Ace tried to remember but drew up a blank. What confounded him was the fact that he was acutely aware of his reaction to alcohol. If he had too much to drink, he would break out with an embarrassing heat rash, which did not happen. Even so, he would have felt a bit sick from throwing up so much. A headache, or a sore throat at the very least. 

However, Ace felt good. Better than he had ever felt before in his life. It seemed as though a newfound energy was coursing through his veins, reinvigorating every cell in his body.

“Stop staring at your hands.” A-Pa snapped Ace out of his reverie. “Breakfast is ready. Come out and eat once you are done showering.”

“Yes sir…”

***

“Here, I made herbal soup to help with the nausea.” A-Pa set up the table, placing a large bowl of soup in front of him and two bowls of rice to go along with it. Ace scrunched up his nose at the bitter smell. 

“I don’t want to hear a word of complaint from you, I spent hours making this.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I saw the tip of your nose wiggle.” A-Pa dumped a hefty drumstick into Ace’s bowl. “By the way, good job on your exams. I saw your results slip.” A-Pa looked over at the altar where the picture of his mother was displayed. Ace followed his gaze and saw that his result slip was placed next to it. 

Whatever memories Ace had of his mother were A-Pa’s. He remembered A-Pa refusing to tell him about what happened to his mother and why he had a picture of her on the altar. When his grandmother came by for a visit when he was around five, Ace worked up the courage to ask his grandmother about it. Turns out, his mother died after childbirth. His grandmother kept him from babbling by stuffing him with chocolate ice cream, but looking back on his life, not once did A-Pa blame him for his mother’s death.

Ace returned his attention to his bowl and tore off a strip of chicken with his chopsticks. He had not acknowledged A-Pa’s affirmation. What could be the ideal response to someone who had expressed approval for only ‘not-really-sure-about-how-many-but-probably-less-than-five’ occasions in the past eighteen years of living?

The last time A-Pa had expressed approval was when he kissed him on the lips in front of everyone for topping the cohort for his Primary School Leaving Examinations, which was six years ago. He was very glad he did not see any of his old classmates in his new school.

“What plans do you have in mind?” A-Pa asked.

The inevitable question. Ace merely sucked on his chopsticks and shrugged off his question. He could sense A-Pa’s disapproving look lasering onto him. 

“I’ve always said that your life is your own. Do whatever you want, as long as it is not illegal.” A-Pa and set down his chopsticks. “That’s fine. You are a guy anyway, you have two years to sort out your thinking. Maybe firing some guns would jolt you awake.”

We don’t really click, do we? Ace laughed awkwardly and shifted his attention to his half-eaten bowl of rice. He had forgotten all about his upcoming enlistment. 

“I’m considering going overseas to study. Not too sure about it,” Ace said. “I could apply for a scholarship.”

The silence hung in the air. It was as if the air had been churned up with almost two decade’s worth of emotions and thoughts unspoken. The only thing that filled the silence between them was the quiet clinking of metal chopsticks against porcelain.

“Mm, good choice. You did very well. Should be able to get scholarships.” His father’s voice cracked towards the end of his sentence.

Ace lifted his spoon to take a drink of his soup but discreetly peeked at A-Pa. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes had deepened. His hair was thinner than it used to be, greyer even. His forehead had welcomed the addition of two new creases that ran across it. 

Ace drank down the last of his soup, along with the tightness that had gathered at his throat. Just as he was about to continue the conversation, something dark snaked around his father’s neck and disappeared out of sight. 

Ace’s body froze. He blinked hard, staring intently at A-Pa’s neck.

“Ahem.” A-Pa cleared his throat. The darkness disappeared in the blink of an eye. “I also threw out the hair dyes and the make-up. They were covered in vomit. I don’t think you need them in the future, judging by how you are growing that out.”

It’s probably the light. Ace breathed a sigh of relief as he raised a hand and twirled his fringe. Part of it was white, a birthmark, apparently. His father had it too. It had drawn the ire of his school teachers and self-proclaimed ‘discipline masters’, as well as unwanted attention from his classmates. Box dye was his saviour, and much to his relief, he had not gotten a bald spot from the harsh chemicals from the cheaply-produced dyes. If the birthmark in his hair was not differentiating enough, he had more splotches on his left arm, which he covered with heaps of concealer.

Whenever his father talked about his hair, he had to bring in his arm as well. “National service should get you tanned evenly on both sides as well. I’ll go get sunscreen if you want.”

“Thanks.”

“So any plans on getting a girlfriend?”

Ace rolled his eyes. A-Pa really loved changing topics like how he flipped prata. “No,” Ace laughed. 

“Like I always said-”

“If you are going to university, focus on your studies.” Ace deepened his voice in a comical fashion and stroked an imaginary beard.

“Good. You remember.”

“Then why’d you ask me if I'm going to get a girlfriend?!”

“So I can tell your mom in advance so she won’t have a heart attack in the Afterlife!”

“A-PA!”

***

“Where are you going right after lunch?”

Ace got up from the sofa, having finished tying his shoelaces. “Just a walk. Stay at home very boring,” he replied, patting the bag that stored his equipment. “Also wanted to take some pictures.”

“Don’t stay out too late again.”

Recently, Ace had gotten fond of the idea of exploring places that he had never really gotten the chance to visit. He planned to visit Fort Canning, somewhere he had gone on a field trip, but never really got to see. He scrolled through websites, skimming through write-ups. “Fort Canning Park, an iconic hilltop landmark, has witnessed many of Singapore’s historical milestones. The hill once sited the palaces of 14th century Kings and served as the Headquarters of the Far East Command Centre and British Army Barracks…” 

Interesting enough.

The place was a feast for his eyes. Ace let the image of each part of the park sink into his mind, taking occasional photos as keepsakes. He lost track of time and soon, the sun was setting.

Hmm… I think there’s still time to check out something else, Ace thought as he scrolled through the attraction’s website.

Ace came to the twelve gravestones that the park was also known for. The bodies had been long exhumed, but the gravestones were a sombre reminder of the lives that were. Twelve is such an odd number, he thought. Three times four, six times two, none of these numbers are nice.

“But it must be nice to be dead, free from the troubles of this world,” Ace muttered to himself as he lifted the camera to the gravestones. A walk in the park did help to lighten his spirit, but his worries still gnawed at him.

Ace bowed to pay respects. It was a shallow one, just enough to be polite, not enough for passers-by to think he was odd. When he turned to leave, a strange sensation brushed against his ears. It was like a whisper of wind, but colder, finer, threaded with something that prickled beneath his skin. It was as if someone had spoken his name without sound. He stopped short, breath catching. 

There was no one around. 

Shit, shit, shit! Ace picked up his pace, progressing from a stroll to a brisk walk. His heart was in his mouth, pounding furiously. Chills went down his spine, then up, as if a cold finger was dragged across his back. 

It’s probably nothing, there’s no such thing as ghosts. Ace looked around furtively, checking to make sure no one was following him. For every glance he threw over his shoulder, he took seven quick steps forward. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt and breathed deeply, puffing out his cheeks with each exhale. 

What am I even doing?! Ace halted. “Path behind,” he mumbled and turned back, “is clear. No ghosts, Ace. No ghosts. No such thing. N-nothing like that.”

Forwards… Should be clear too. Ace took a step forward without turning his head. He was alone in the park anyway.

Except Ace walked right into a wall that smelled like spiced vanilla.

For some reason, Ace freaked. He squeezed his eyes shut and started waving his arms about wildly. He screamed, karate-chopping the being that stood in front of him.

“Hey! HEY!”

Ace cracked open his eyes and regarded the obstruction. It was no ghost but a very unimpressed man glaring at him with his hand on his hip. The man tapped his foot and glanced down at the mess at their feet. 

“Sorry!” Ace crouched down hastily, and it just so happened that the man had the same idea. Both cursed loudly, with Ace rubbing the back of his head and the stranger nursing his nose. 

“Shit! Sorrysorrys-sorry…” Ace blubbered, unsure of whether to continue cleaning up his mess or to check on the man.

“No biggie,” the man sighed and took a step back before crouching. “It happens.”

Among the fallen items, there was a piece of paper with strange markings that glowed eerily. The man snatched it away before Ace could reach it and loudly drew attention to his ruined snacks, which he scooped up. He dusted them off before popping them into his mouth. 

Ace had to physically tear his judging eyes away from the man’s chewing mouth. He could see everything in it.

“Was there a need to scream? I’m not a ghost, geez,” the man remarked as they both rose to their feet.

Ace looked up and noticed the man had long auburn hair tied up into a neat bun with a hairpin supporting it. His bangs were swept neatly to the side, framing the right side of his face. Even the man’s eyebrows and eyelashes were of a similar shade of red. 

“What are you looking at? Is my hair that nice?” the man asked before he took a generous bite of his dirtied kueh.

“Kind of?” 

“Oh, your clothes. There’s a bit of erm... dirt on them.” The man inhaled the last of his food and offered him a piece of tissue. Ace noticed a vine of tiny roses tattooed on his right forearm; the tendrils snaking and wrapping tightly around it. Sitting on the thorny vines were three sparrows huddling together. 

Gangster, thought Ace as he eyed him uneasily. Noticing his stare, the man gave him a wide, close-lipped grin. Though the man squinted his eyes, Ace noticed that his smile never quite reached them. He quickly snatched the tissue without wiping the spot the man had pointed out.

Ace quickly got up to his feet, muttered another apology and went on his way. The incident with the passer-by had made him momentarily forget about what he was running away from. He hastened his footsteps, eager to head home. The last thing he wanted was to be possessed by whatever restless, and most likely hungry, ghosts.

***

Lady Meng picked up exactly after one dial tone. Her tired voice came over the line. “If this is about wanting to go back to the Sanctum to nap,” she said. “I’m not going to hear any of it.”

“I’ve got eyes on the prize,” Felix said simply.

Lady Meng paused. “What?”

“Leaky boy. The talisman glowed when he was near me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Seriously, you’re questioning my eyes? My eyes? All three of them?” Felix faked a sniffle. “You’ve been my frwend for twenty-two years and you…”

“You idiot! You found the Aberrant!” Lady Meng exclaimed. “Is he with you?”

“Nah, it looks like he’s on his way home. Definitely a daddy’s boy. Actually, I might as well call him ‘Splotchy Boy’ now. The baby-making machine must’ve run out of ink. That arm of his is quite special,” Felix rattled on. “The rest of him… The hair’s a bit untidy and has some white streaks in it. Average height, slouches a bit…”

“That’s not important!” Lady Meng lowered her voice. “Follow him! Where are you? I’ll come over!”

Felix was about to answer her question when he spotted a phantom lurching down the same path the boy had taken. He shook his head. The kid doesn’t even know he has powers and he has pissed off a phantom? 

“Change of plans,” Felix interrupted her mid-lecture. “Meet me at the Beacon at Harbourfront instead. Superior’s orders.”

Before Lady Meng could interject, Felix hung up on her. “Well, this plot convenience is much appreciated,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see what you can do, shall we?”