Bad Things (Ryeji Au)

11

Thinking over his words for a minute, Yeji finally gives her parents a reluctant nod. "I still want to drop by my house. Everything I have is there. It's my property, the police have to let me in..."

Her parents agree, relieved that they will be able to watch over their little girl once again. The broken family steps out of the station and enters the car, driving over to the house that she shared with Ryujin.

Due to the yellow "POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS" tape that stretches across the yard, they're forced to park on the street.

There are four police cruisers parked in the grass. Several officers scour the outer area of the house, a few shoo away reporters who stand on the other side of the tape, and the rest must be inside.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Yeji says, "I need to do this by myself."

Seulgi opens her mouth to protest, but In-yeop holds a hand up to his wife to stop her from arguing. "Okay, Yej. We'll be out here if you need anything."

She exits the car and ducks under the tape, crossing the yard to the front of the house. An officer who stands on the steps that lead up to the entrance crosses his arms. "This is a crime scene, ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"This is my house. I need to get my things," Yeji tells him blankly.

"You're Hwang yeji?" he asks. She nods and watches him mutter something into his walkie talkie, then hears a muffled response from the small device.

"Alright, I'll need to escort you throughout the house though. Policy. Can't have you touching things that interfere with the investigation," the officer informs her.

It's not ideal, but hopefully he'll have the decency not to try to make conversation with her.

It feels as if she hasn't stepped foot in this building in ages, although it's only been a few hours. Strange how a person's perception of time changes during traumatic events.

The place that she called home just yesterday now feels alien to her. Most of the detectives and police officers occupy the basement area.

A few wander around the first level, and she can hear footsteps coming from the second floor. On top of the counter sits several items in plastic evidence bags, including the pan she bashed against Ryujin's head.

Sticky notes mark several locations that are to remain untouched-one resides on the wall that is stained with blood from their fight.

Pushing away the better memories that happened inside of each of the rooms Yeji is forced to walk through, she heads up the stairs.

Glancing into the guest room, she wonders how her life would be if curiosity had not gotten the best of her.

She'd probably be finishing up the wedding invitations with Ryujin right now, and they'd be trying to figure out what to eat for dinner.

She wonders if it would have been better for her to stay blissfully ignorant of the horrors that had happened inside of this house.

Maybe Ryujin wasn't lying when she said that she really was in love with Yeji throughout this whole mess.

Maybe they would have lived their life out like they planned-they would have gotten married, possibly moved to California, had some kids, and lived an excruciatingly average, normal life.

The officer escorting her through the house clears his throat, reminding her of his presence. A surge of annoyance rushes through her. Can't they understand that she needs some time alone to process? Why can't anyone seem to comprehend the concept of personal space?

Yeji enters the bedroom that they shared together. The queen sized bed is still unmade, neither of them bothering to tidy up the room after some morning sex.

The area appears mostly untouched, as a pair of Yeji's panties lays on the floor beside the bed. She can't help but feel slightly embarrassed and wonder if any of the officers have encountered the lingerie on the ground.

This is going to be particularly difficult if she allows the strange mix of emotions rushing through her head to control her.

She needs to turn off her thoughts, and focus at the task at hand: gathering her belongings. When she opens the closet to retrieve her suitcase, she tries her best to ignore the sight of Ryujin's clothes.

Reaching in to grab the handle of her suitcase, a black dress of Ryujin's hanging in the closet brushes her arm.

Thoughts intrude in her mind-dark thoughts that she never wanted to imagine or ever consider. But turning her feelings off has never been her forte.

I wonder if she killed Lucy while wearing this. No. She can't do this to herself right now. Pull the suitcase out of the closet, close it, and pack.

She creates a mental list of things that she absolutely needs to retrieve from the house. Clothes, makeup, and certain toiletries. Her goal is to finish packing as quickly as possible.

First, underwear. The drawer is divided; on the left side is Yeji's clothes, and on the right is Ryujin's.

This should make things a little easier. She sifts through her drawers, throwing her various bras and panties into the suitcase.

She purposely doesn't pack the lingerie that Ryujin bought for her as a gift, or Ryujin's favorite underwear for her to wear.

Tops. Bottoms. Socks. Sweaters. Jackets. Accessories. It's a long, slow, and painful process, but Yeji manages to tough it out and gather all of her articles of clothing into her suitcase.

She does this by retreating into her fantasies. Fantasies full of fairy dust and fairy wings, a childlike space in her head where nothing bad happens.

This is where she would go to escape reality in high school, where she never felt like she fit. It's no permanent fix, but it's enough to help temporarily.

After she packs a couple necessary toiletries and her makeup, yeji zips the suitcase shut and takes one last look at the bedroom.

Her eyes are drawn to the collage of polaroids behind the bed. The polaroids range from their first few dates to their most recent Jeju trip where Ryujin proposed.

No unsuspecting person would ever believe that one of the girls in these photos was a serial killer. No one.

"I'm done," Yeji stands up and turns to the officer. He offers to help her with her suitcase, but she firmly declines, carrying the heavy bag down the stairs with a shaky arm.

Without looking back, she hauls it out of the house and into the trunk of her parent's car. They ask her if she is okay and several other questions, but she simply sits in the car in silence.

She dreads what will happen when they arrive back at her childhood house. This feels morbidly familiar.

*****