Time moves slower when you’re trying to avoid something. I find myself far too rattled to focus on my work, and I can’t give any time to Zhulong’s case as I am now or I’ll go ballistic again.

It’s been six hours since Zhulong was told to get out, and I’ve made zero progress. If things keep moving at slug speed, I may have to resort to more unsavory methods of acquiring information. Especially when it concerns Kiranovic.

Like asking Kait for his assistance…

I sigh and hunch over my desk with my arms over my head. The silence is a welcomed calmness for about five seconds until it too, begins to gnaw at me. I really don’t want to ask Kait for a lead because his terms and conditions are so dependent on his fluctuating mood. One day, I’ll be in his good graces, and the next, I’ll have my throat cut for coughing in the wrong direction.

And yet, his methods are thorough. He’s one of the few elites that happily resides in our district of his own free will. Or should I say ‘former elite’ now bona fide sex tycoon? What would you call a man that hires other men with a knack for ‘customer services’? It doesn’t matter. In any case, he’s just as crazy as the rest of the aristocrats that let money get to their head. He’s just more transparent about his degeneracy, and I’d like to avoid him as long as I possibly can.

“Boss, what happened?” I freeze up at the sound of Seito’s voice. He must have knocked several times only for me to ignore him. I’m bad with apologies, so I don’t even try to bother. Seito is one of the few that understands this about me better than anyone. I don’t apologize if I don’t feel sorry.

“I kicked a barking dog. Nothing more.” he’s not a man that likes to pry for information, and he knows how much I hate holding a conversation when I’m upset. It’s no surprise that he’s given me time to cool off before inquiring about the incident. Six hours was a pretty generous estimate as well. I must have really snapped for him to be gone that long.

“You don’t typically raise your voice, let alone get physical. What did he say to cause such a response?” I don’t know. I’m normally level-headed, but something about the way that man speaks to me makes me so unreasonably angry. It’s like he thinks I have no clue what I’m doing, or that I need to be guided to the answer like an idiot. Even trees know to grow in the direction of sunlight to survive. Am I less capable than a tree to him?

What the hell am I thinking? 

This unruly puppy is going to drive me straight into an asylum.

“Nothing…” 

“Shall I bring you some tea?” I chuckle. What is he, a maid? I’ve never once asked him to do such domestic favors. Would he don the outfit as well if I pleaded?

“Bring me a hug instead.”

“From whom?” And here I was praising you for reading the room…

“Nevermind,” I laugh it off and push myself off my chair. “I’ll take a nap in the dustbin. If I don’t get up in an hour, wake me. If I still don’t answer, kick me. If none of that works, just put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. You have my blessing.”

There’s a room on the far left that used to be a closet, but the previous owner ripped the door off its hinges and turned it into an alcove. He used to store his old books and other trinkets in the back, alongside an old bedframe that never got thrown away. I haven’t mentioned it to Seito, but I use it as a bedroom instead of renting a nearby apartment. Why should I pay rent when I can stay here? I practically live here anyway with how much I work. But if Seito found out, he’d probably invite me to spend the night with him.

I won’t deny the fact that it’s been a childhood fantasy of mine to have a secret base that only opens when you trigger a certain mechanism, so that definitely played a part in keeping me here. In this case, that mechanism happens to be the bookshelf adjacent to the corner of the room.

The alcove was nothing but a crawlspace, but I’ve made good use of it. The bookshelf on my left slides to the side just enough to let a person through once you step on the lever near the bottom-drawer. It isn’t completely obvious that it’s a lever, since it looks like a book that’s tipped on its side, but it releases the locks on the wheels so the case can move freely. Once the room is not in use, I can slide the bookcase back to hide the gap. Simple, but effective. Although, if there’s ever a fire and the bookshelf gets jammed while I’m still inside, I’m fucked. 

Oh well. I’ll worry about that if it ever comes to pass and I ever come to pass away with it. If I don’t live through it and just die, then that’s just as good– not my problem. Problems are for the living.

“Boss,” Before I can head past the bookshelf, Seito pulls me into his arms and offers me that hug I was asking for. Okay, he’s redeemed himself. I’m not as miffed as I was when he tried to be cheeky with me. “-rest up. I’ll call you in an hour.”

“Call me?” I struggle to turn my head to look him in the eye. I’d say he was doing it on purpose if I wasn’t so accustomed to his strength.

“I have somewhere I need to be. Keep your phone on hand and don’t turn it off.” His sentiment should sound ominous, but it’s just routine at this point. What doesn’t align with his pattern however, is the time of day.

“You’re leaving at this hour? Is it urgent?”

“I’ll tell you once I know the details.” It’s not the first time he’s walked off and disappeared, but it’s been so long I just expected him to stay here.

“Alright. If anything comes up, text me. And if it’s urgent, call me.” He softens his grip around my shoulders and pulls away.

“Will do, Boss.” I’m a little disappointed that he’s just going to leave, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit I’d like some company. Or God forbid, snuggle together because the office is so damn cold all the time.

“Hey,” I call out to him before he gets past the door, and he turns his head to look over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“....You don’t have to call me ‘Boss’ when it’s just the two of us in the office.”

“...Understood.”

Yeah, he’s not going to listen.

There’s a faint echo as the door closes and Seito departs for the night. He leaves me behind so I can find a solution to all of the problems I’ve created for myself. No one else is responsible for this mess, so why does it feel so wholly unfair?

There’s no lightsource in the closet, so all I can do is leave a gap between the bookshelf and the wall to make sure the interior is still somewhat visible. 

“Finally…” I sigh and throw myself down on the bed with my eyes pointed at the ceiling. The mementos of long buried skeletons rest over my head in the form of a morbid collage. Articles, court records, confession letters, pictures of specific targets- the list goes on. I may as well start extending this gore-tapestry down the right-side wall if I run out of space. When I just started the hunt, I’d hesitate far too much. I wanted to believe in repentance and forgiveness. 

It didn’t take long for all those childish ideas to wash away with the morning tide. I’ve had more regrets than I’ve had meals– all because I go soft when I shouldn’t. I haven’t had the misfortune of being shot, but I’ve been stabbed, cut, tossed, raped, and sold for money before. In a twisted way, the people who used me were also used by me in the end. Seems like one of life’s many ironies. They treat me like a servant and pay me pennies while I’m young, and I grow up to chase them down a path of misery so thoroughly they’ll voluntarily jump into hellfire to get away from me. 

I came to hope for reform, in spite of the evils committed against the people around me. I wanted to see it all return to balance with my own hands.

I never wanted to end up as someone’s lapdog whore when I was barely the age of eighteen. I didn’t exactly choose to grow up without an education because I was lazy or incapable of learning either. None of the victims in those articles had any say in their fate either.

Life just comes at you without bias, reproach, compassion, or well-wishes. It wants no good and it does no good either. It gives nothing and asks for nothing. It raises no favorites, and it takes no prisoners.

It’s humans that do.

It’s people that betray, hurt, use, abuse, torment and haunt every waking moment of my client’s lives. 

Of mine. 

And those that hurt us like to blame it on life being unfair. Life is as life is- neither fair nor unfair. The people who are fortunate enough to have a cushy life always find ways to make life difficult for others. Sometimes, it’s by accident. Sometimes, by choice, design or happenstance. 

But most times, it’s malicious.

The pictures glued to the ceiling remind me exactly where compassion, love, and empathy belongs in this world for criminals with no soul.

Out of sight, out of mind.

A thief will continue to steal your precious belongings even if you offer him your money. A predator will continue to hunt even if you offer him a consenting body. 

People never change– but I don’t need or desire change.

I just need them to stop ruining the world around me. Beyond that, I couldn’t care less about their individual thought crimes.

I don’t care if someone pretends to reform and gives up a life of crime for the wrong reasons either. As long as they don’t make my life a living hell or turn other people’s lives into a shitshow, I say hallelujah and rest easy with my head on my pillow. Do they believe what they spew? I don’t give a shit. I don’t believe empty words and promises of change– that’s why I will only believe in atonement if there’s a tangible result. Plenty of the local mafia kill during the week and go to church on Sunday to be forgiven by God. As if that means anything. 

Why would it be difficult for God to forgive someone for wrongdoings they committed towards someone who can experience loss and grief? The forgiveness they need to earn is of the people they hurt- something far more difficult than sneezing at Sunday service and clapping your hands in prayer. That is how atonement and repentance should work.

But no one truly wants repentance or atonement. 

They want to shed their burden and lay it in someone else’s hands, and they expect those hands to wash them clean of sin. People like that will never change. The pictures on the ceiling are of such people. Stagnant, simple, and predictable. But more than that, what seals their fate is the fact that they are content. 

A thief doesn’t just want money, he wants more than what money can offer. Just as a predator doesn’t want just any given body– he wants unchained power over a defenseless body. They don’t desire change because they are content with their choices. Their depravity. The pain they bring others is secondary, if not also tied to their desire.

A murderer like my father doesn’t want joy or love from a woman like my mother. He just wants a thrill.

“Deplorable…” I hate the very fact I’m his offspring. If there’s any comfort in this for me at all, it’s that I’m glad the psychopath’s lineage ends with me. 

I turn my head and grab my pillow from the corner of the bed and hold it close to my chest.

I wish I remembered what she looked like.

Maybe then, I could have painted a portrait so I’d never forget her. All these dark thoughts of cold cases, old murders, and past regrets has made me ill with cynicism. I want to believe in something good again. I don’t want to accept the idea that my mother’s love was just an anomaly in this world. I want to believe that others can be kind and fair in the face of injustice. I’m aware that life will never be pleasant or simple for people like me.

But at the very least, is it possible to get a hug at the end of the day so my body doesn’t turn cold? 

At times, it feels like these aching bones will tear skin with their rattling; as if to shed this ugly confinement that is supposed to harbor my soul. Stay isolated from the good of mankind for long enough, and the apathy takes root in your heart and envelops each and every nerve like poisonous vines. Your senses dull, you grow weary, and no matter how much you sleep, you’re never rested.

Perhaps this feeling called ‘love’ that my mother was so fond of was like a drug that could rid bodies of these corrosive thoughts. Maybe it could make others feel like there’s something to look forward to each day, no matter how small or insignificant it may be.

For life to mean something again would be truly wonderful.

And for it not to remain a fantasy, I’ll need a miracle only a fantasy could bring me.

My biggest fortune in life is that I still remember the way she used to say my name. If I have to guess what the sound of ‘love’ would be; it would be the lighthearted and reassuring voice of someone special doing something menial and mundane– like calling my name.

No matter how many times I repeat her words in my mind, I feel like the memory of her is slipping farther and farther away with time. When her voice finally sinks into the abyss of translucent memories…

Where will I find myself standing? Right where I started? Or, will I be stranded in the abyss until I, too, turn translucent and melt into the river of Styx? 

I hug the pillow tighter and bury my face in it for warmth. Nobody has to know what happens in this room. This place is like a rift in time to me. It doesn’t exist, and for just a moment, neither do I.

I won’t allow anyone else to call me by my given name.

I don’t want to forget the sound of her voice, too.

With thoughts rooted in turbulent nostalgia and regret, I close my eyes and try to catch the sandman before he starts his shift.

The silence that drops in the room moments before my consciousness wanes is eerie and deeply unsettling.