The sudden shock made her left ankle twist in her heels. She almost fell backward but managed to stabilize herself in time by gripping the sink. She grabbed her forehead, gasping for breath. After calming down, she went to pick up the envelope she had thrown on the floor in fear.
She very calmly held the envelope and began tearing it to pieces. Her eyes stared dead into the eyes of her reflection as she shredded the paper.
"You're dead, Yoon-a. You can't torment me anymore."
She threw the pieces in the bin, patted down her suit, and exited as if nothing had happened.
Back at the press conference, there was a noisy clamor in the room. Everyone was asking the same questions: Who was the young man? Where was he? And more importantly, did he murder Yoon-a?
Ryu Hye-ji slipped back in and assumed her mask of grief again. A staff member approached Lim Ji-won and whispered something in his ear.
"I've just been informed of a recent development. I'm afraid I can't continue this press conference any further. I want to thank the people of Korea for mourning with my family in these difficult times. There will be justice for Yoon-a," he said and stepped away from the podium. He gave a deep bow and walked off with his entourage. The journalists all stood up and ran after him like flies.
...
Han Bo-young sipped from the coffee mug as she stared at the screen in the precinct showing Senator Lim leaving. Her face was expressionless. She'd thought the Senator would take a shot at Ryu Hye-ji, but it seemed Ryu Hye-ji was a lot more difficult to deal with. Showing the public this side of Choi Geon-woo would make the case a lot harder to solve.
"Song Min-ho," she called.
"Sunbae?" Song Min-ho answered behind her. His eyes were also glued to the screen.
"Get to Choi Geon-woo. Nothing must happen to him," she simply stated.
Song Min-ho nodded, grabbing his jacket and leaving. Han Bo-young's eyes squinted when the camera caught Ryu Hye-ji. She noticed her picking at her cuticles, just like she'd done at the station.
Who had she met? Who had she spoken to? What happened?
There were many questions with no answers, but she remained calm and continued to sip the coffee.
She exited the precinct and got into her car. The agency had given her a new vehicle; driving this sleek, newer model felt good. She was reminded of the car crash. The original driver—if there was one—had not been found. It really did seem like the construction worker wanted her dead. But why?
She sighed and turned on the radio to some K-pop.
Last night, while going through Yoon-a's hospital records, she'd found something unusual in her history. On two occasions, Yoon-a had been brought into the hospital for unexplained neurological symptoms. Han Bo-young had documented those symptoms and sent them to her hacker friend, Jeong Eun-woo. After a long, thorough search with those exact symptoms, he had found some possible victims.
She was on her way to one of the victims, Ha Tae-ri's residence in Seoul. Ha Tae-ri was a 39-year-old woman with a 12-year-old son. She was a minimum-wage worker and lived fairly decently. It was a long drive from Gwangjin-gu to Eunpyeong-gu, where Ha Tae-ri ran a hair salon.
She parked a few meters away from the salon and surveyed the movements in and out of the store. It didn't seem to get many customers, or perhaps today was just a slow day. Han Bo-young mused as she sat watching for about thirty minutes. Then, she stepped out of the car and walked into the hair salon.
She already knew what Ha Tae-ri looked like; in those thirty minutes outside, Ha Tae-ri had come out twice to bid her customers farewell. Han Bo-young casually sat in a chair in front of the mirror, her black jacket, jeans, and aura giving her a careless, teen vibe.
Ha Tae-ri turned. "Oh." Her face beamed at the presence of a customer.
"I'm looking to go a bit shorter, and maybe some brown dye on the ends," Han Bo-young explained, sounding like a condescending, spoiled brat.
"Of course," Ha Tae-ri said, her smile constant despite Han Bo-young's attitude as she went to prep her things for the trim.
...
"How short do you want it to be?" Ha Tae-ri asked, her teeth showing through her smile.
Han Bo-young pointed to where she wanted her hair cut. It wasn't a significant length, just a few centimeters. Ha Tae-ri nodded and began trimming. Han Bo-young pulled her phone from her inner jacket and started playing one of Yoon-a's songs. She started lightly humming the lyrics; she'd learned them beforehand.
"Are you a fan of Yoon-a?" Han Bo-young asked.
"Oh, my dear, I'm not. But I heard she recently passed."
"She did. I've been sad for days, listening to her songs back-to-back and on repeat," Han Bo-young said.
"It'll be fine," Ha Tae-ri absentmindedly reassured her.
"Do you know Yoon-a's father is Senator Lim Ji-won?" Han Bo-young said and stared closely at Ha Tae-ri for any micro-movements. She caught them. Ha Tae-ri's right hand visibly shook at the word 'Lim'. "I only found out about that this morning when he held a press conference in honor of Yoon-a. Do you know him?" she asked, intentionally dragging out the last sentence.
Ha Tae-ri seemed uncomfortable. She dropped the scissors and bowed to Han Bo-young. "Please excuse me. Nature calls." She fled as if she were being chased.
Han Bo-young sat in the silence for a few seconds before she stood up. Her steps were deliberate and slow, like a predator's. She opened the door to the inner room of the salon—the one Ha Tae-ri had fled into.
She stood by the wall, her hands in her pockets, as she watched Ha Tae-ri try to chug down some pills with shaking hands.
"Isn't having to live like this pathetic?" she asked, her tone condescending.
Ha Tae-ri laughed. "What do you know about life?" she asked instead, her shaky hand finding her mouth.
"How did you become a test subject?" Han Bo-young asked.
"I'm safe now. That's all that matters. It's been nine years. I'm safe now," Ha Tae-ri replied as she took another pill.
"There are 24 hours in a day, 365 days in a year. Tetrodotoxin-S1 was to be taken three times per day. Imagine just how many people have been taking these dosages for the past nine years. Do you not pity them? Do you not pity yourself? Do you not crave to have your sanity back?" Han Bo-young probed.
"I have a boy; he's twelve. If you were a mother, which you obviously aren't, you'd understand why I choose to remain here where it's safe. Where it's safe for my kid. I want him to grow up normally, unlike myself," Ha Tae-ri said, her voice hoarse.
"What do you mean 'grow up normally'? You didn't grow up normally?"
"What a gift, to be abused by your own mother," Ha Tae-ri said, a smile of self-pity on her face.
Han Bo-young paused. Ha Tae-ri had been a victim of abuse, too?