I move toward the closet, drawing it open and stretching on tiptoe to reach the only box of Jin’s past that he keeps.
The only reason I know about it is because I accidentally came across it when we moved in together.
The contents are sparse and heartbreaking in their simplicity.
A few old family photographs, faded with age, showing faces I don’t recognize but can guess at—his parents and other relatives lost to the violence that claimed them.
Some documents written in Korean that I can’t fully decipher. A child’s drawing that’s bright and colorful and has wrinkled over time.
I’m not even sure what I’m looking for as I dig inside and admire the only mementos from Jin’s past that still exist.
It’s as I rifle through more documents that Icome across a small address book tucked between a stack of papers. I flip through the pages until something catches my eye.
A phone number and address for Auntie Yong-sun in Taiwan.
The same woman Jin had once almost sent me to live with; he’d told me about how she was an old family friend. She’s one of the few connections to his family and can possibly tell me more about this threat from his past Jin’s so concerned about.
I use my phone to take a photo of the page, then carefully return the box to its hiding place. I’m just as cautious on my way out, making sure I’ve left no hint that I stopped by. Jin will never know I came by the place we once called home together.
Once I’m outside, I release a deep breath I’ve been holding since I’ve arrived. I’m no closer to any real answers just yet, but hopefully that’ll come soon.
The call to Auntie Yong-sun was awkward and stilted, conducted in a mixture of English and Hangugeo as I tried to explain who I was and why I was reaching out. She remembered me—or at least, she remembered Jin mentioning an American woman he cared about—but she was reluctant to speak about the past.
It took some prompting to get her to volunteer any information. Although she did let it slip that recently Jin had done the same.
Apparently he was looking into his family’s past too.
She gave me a name. Some man named Baek Dok-su. An old associate of Jin’s father who might know more about the people responsible for the massacre. She warned me to be careful, sounding terrified as she murmured that the kind of trouble Jin’s dad was mixed up in is nothing to take lightly.
It’s only a day after my call to Auntie Yong-sun that I wind up outside a dingy hole-in-the-wall bar in Jangnim-dong, working up the courage to head inside.
The neighborhood is gritty and rundown, a far cry from the polished streets of Namcheon-dong or the bustling energy of Seomyeon. It’s probably not the safest place, and if Jin knew I’d gone so far as to venture to these parts alone, he’d probably be pissed.
But I’m my own woman, and we’re no longer together; he has no right to dictate what I do.
The bar itself is wedged between a shuttered pharmacy and what might be a massage parlor, its windows grimy and sign so faded I can barely make out the name. Not exactly my kind of vibe, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
With a deep, calming breath, I push at the door and step inside.
The interior is exactly as depressing as the exterior suggested—dim and flickering lights, sticky floors, and a handful of tables occupied by men who look like they’ve been drinking since noon.
The air smells like stale cigarette smoke and spilled soju, and the bartender behind the counter is a grizzled old man with a leathery face and watery eyes.
At a glance, he matches the exact description of Baek Dok-su I was given.
He looks up as I approach, his expression morphing from bored indifference to wary suspicion as he takes in my appearance. I probably stick out like a sore thumb in here—young, female, obviously foreign, medium-brown skin, and tight curly hair, clearly out of place.
“We don’t serve tourists,” he grunts in Korean, turning away dismissively.
“I’m not a tourist,” I reply in the same language. “I’m looking for information about the Seo Jung-hoon.”
He goes still except for his gaze, which swivels back over to mine. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” I slide onto one of the barstools, projecting as much confidence as possible. “I think you knew Seo Jin-tae’s father, and you know what happened to his family. I just want to understand?—”
“You need to leave,” he snaps harshly. “Before you bring trouble down on both of us.”
I consider my options for a moment, deciding if I want to take this out, or if I want to stay put and maybe finally learn more about Jin’s past.
