“Mmhmm. And I’m guessing this has something to do with the upcoming move?”
“Mom, why don’t we get you settled in first before we go with the third degree?” I ask, sliding my arm around her and guiding her toward the hall where the bedrooms are. “I want to show you all the stuff we’ve got so far for the baby.”
That seems to work, the pivot in topic distracting her.
“That’s right!” she exclaims, clasping her hands together. “We’ve got a baby boy to prepare for. Is this new home going to have a nursery? What color scheme are we going with? And have you two settled on any names yet?”
I throw one last look over my shoulder at Jin, both of us amused and overwhelmed all at once. But it’s no surprise when it comes to Mom.
I’m just grateful to have her here as these changes in our lives come. If I’m going to take a leave of absence and move somewhere new for the rest of this pregnancy, at least I’ll have her and Jin to lean on.
13.Jin
I haven’t slept properlyin days.
The nightmare comes every time I close my eyes, playing on an endless loop I can’t escape. Monroe on the heated floors of my family’s old hanok, her throat torn open, her hand still resting on her pregnant belly that’s been mercilessly slit too. Our son, Jaden, sprawled among his toys, bathed in his own blood.
Standing over them, the masked figure.
The Black Shell.
I lie in the darkness of our bedroom, staring at the ceiling while Monroe dozes peacefully beside me. Her face is serene and blank, each breath drawn leisurely. She’s curled toward me, one arm tucked under her pillow and the other swathed over her ever-growing belly.
She’s always looked so… natural and beautiful like this.
But whereas in past times she brought me comfort and set my mind at ease, all I can think about as I glance at her beside me is the nightmare where she’s slaughtered.
Where she and our unborn second baby and our son all die.
If she knew—if I troubled her with these worries—she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep much either.
So I keep it bottled up. I resign myself to sleepless nights as the message from the mysterious Black Shell echoes in my mind.
The Black Shell sends his regards, Baekho-je Seo Jin-tae! It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. But never worry—you’ll meet again soon.
When the message was delivered to me outside the underground boxing arena, I had no clue what the fuck they were talking about.
I had never in my life met anyone with the moniker Black Shell. Yet the more I turn over the phrasing in my head and agonize over the nightmares, the more I wonder if I’ve been viewing the situation wrongly.
I’ve assumed the nightmare was some arbitrary reenactment of my childhood trauma. But what if it was my subconscious trying to tell me something? What if it was my mind bridging the gap between the past and the potential future?
The horrific evening so many decades ago where my family was slaughtered before my very eyes.
I was a very small boy at the time. I was three, maybe four, years old.
The evening had started like any other until my father grew tense. He seemed to realize danger was imminent. I was told to hide in the wardrobe and not come out no matter what happened.
The memory grows so fuzzy; I have no real recollection of what happened next.
Such a deep and disturbing trauma so early in life that my mind has consciously blocked it.
But, vaguely, I remember the inches of blood soaking the floor. I remember the screams and pleas for mercy.The cruel men that came to our home and changed the course of my life forever.
…maybe I even remember one of them—a man whose back was turned to me, who wore a mask and basked in the suffering he had caused.
As I zero in on this possibility, I strain the recesses of my memory to determine if it’s real. If I reallydidsee such a menacing masked man or if I’m only convincing myself I have now.
Still, what else could it be if not somebody from a past I don’t remember? Some bitter gangster with a score to settle with the son he didn’t kill?
