Just Because You Look Sick Doesn't Mean You Are

"We got a report! Open this door, right now!"

It was the first time a door shut that tight had ever felt like despair. Somebody had to help. Who in the world would do a thing that horrible?

The door wouldn't open. I was getting frantic, and the call with the reporter came back to me.

The voice had been calm, with strain running under it. Even then I could tell, carefully, that this was no small thing. I told the rookie to start the car, grabbed my gear in case, and got here fast.

If someone had been abused badly enough to bleed from the mouth, I couldn't begin to guess the pain. The urge to get them out burned in me, and the door, contrary to all of that, stayed locked hard.

"This isn't working. Prepare to force entry."

"Sir? But we don't even have a warrant."

"I'll take all of the responsibility. Prepare to enter. Now."

The rookie and I finished getting ready to go in, and I was steadying myself, when the door that hadn't looked like it would ever open began to swing, slowly. A girl one step from collapse leaned her face into the gap and looked at us.

"Um, what's going on?"

Had she just walked out of being abused? If we'd arrived before she died, did that count as lucky? I thought it over as I stepped closer and spoke.

"Police. We're here on a report."

"What? A report?"

The girl tilted her head and started staring at me with a face that said she had no idea what any of this was.

"Yes. I can't tell you who reported it, for the caller's protection, but a crime is suspected, so we came. Please cooperate."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think there's anything here you'd call a crime."

No crime? She looked about to die. She looked like she needed help. What was this girl saying?

"For now, we'd like you to come to the station with us. Would that be possible?"

"No. I didn't do anything wrong, so going to the police station is a little..."

She refused, fear all over her face.

She looked as if something in her had been wrecked, badly. Afraid of retaliation? From the circumstances, she must have reported it herself, and it hadn't been properly taken. So the abuse had gotten worse. Which meant that, for now, this girl needed someone to protect her.

"I didn't do anything wrong... I really didn't..."

To steady the girl shaking with fear, I stroked her hair and went on.

"I know. Even so, will you come with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us? There's something we need to confirm."

"...Okay."

She seemed to give up. She climbed into the back seat of the patrol car.

What the hell is this?

Why had the police come to our house, and why were they trying to take me in? Had I committed some crime I didn't know about?

However I turned it over, there was nothing. The nearest thing was walking out of the Gukbap House, the soup-rice place, as if I'd flung the money down on my way out—and I had paid, so it couldn't be called a crime.

"Wait. Don't tell me the Gukbap House reported me? I left the money on the table. They couldn't have missed it, could they?"

The doubt stayed with me, but the officers kept pressing me to open the door, so I set the thought aside and opened it, carefully.

"Um... what's this about?"

"Police. We're here on a report."

"What? A report?"

Who on earth had reported me? I couldn't get any sense of where the call had come from, so I just stared at the officer, and he shut it down, firm, as if there wasn't a chance he'd tell me.

"Yes. I can't tell you who reported it, for the caller's protection, but a crime is suspected, so we came. Please cooperate."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think there's anything here you'd call a crime."

Four days. That was all I'd been here. Three of them I'd spent in the hospital, and the other one I'd lived at a run, like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was being chased through the streets. In short, nothing I had done had anything to do with a crime.

But the officer dropped his voice, as if he meant to take me with him no matter what.

"For now, we'd like you to come to the station with us. Would that be possible?"

"No. I didn't do anything wrong, so going to the station is... I didn't do anything wrong... I really didn't..."

I absolutely did not want to go. I hadn't done anything wrong, so why a police station? The officer coming closer scared me before I knew it, and the words came out like I was about to cry. They didn't land in the slightest.

"I know. Even so, will you come with us? There's something we need to confirm."

Looking closer, it wasn't even the sharp manner you'd use on a criminal. Fine. I'd go along for now. If I hadn't done anything wrong, what was there to be afraid of?

"Okay."

I got into the patrol car, and the moment we reached the station the officer hurried me off somewhere inside. The first thing waiting for me there was—

"Porridge?"

Porridge. And of every porridge in the world, the most tasteless kind: plain white rice porridge. I looked at the officer with the question still on my face, and he, of all things, looked back with warm eyes.

"You must be hungry. Eat, and then we'll talk."

"Do police stations serve porridge for meals these days?"

I asked it with my eyes on the bowl in front of me, and he answered as if I'd questioned something obvious.

"Usually we order whatever you want, but your stomach's bound to be a wreck, so we prepared porridge. If it doesn't suit you, shall I bring watery rice instead?"

"I'll just eat this."

White porridge or watery rice, tasteless was tasteless. He clearly had no intention of ordering anything else, so I was better off eating. Still, the portion was more than the hospital had given me. I could feel myself filling up, but the taste was, sure enough, the taste of nothing. They hadn't seasoned it at all. As I started in, spoonful by spoonful, the officer began watching me with a pleased, almost fond face, and that look started to weigh on me hard.

"Um... I'm sorry, but this is a little uncomfortable."

"Sorry. I'll step outside, then. When you've finished, would you call me?"

"I will."

The moment he was gone, my stalled brain slowly started working again.

Think. Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was I at a police station? There was still a little time before lunch, and yet the second I arrived they'd had plain white porridge ready, as if it had been waiting. If the owner of the Gukbap House had filed a complaint, the person in front of me wouldn't be tasteless white porridge. It would be the owner. So the reason I was here was completely different from the one I'd imagined.

"Then why the hell am I here?"

In that instant, the delivery man's words cut through my memory.

"Don't tell me he decided I needed help and called the police?"

The moment I thought it, every piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The police trying however they could to drag me to the station. The pity in the way they'd looked at me. The white porridge set out before anything else. All of it had happened because the delivery man and the police had mistaken me for some wretched victim of domestic violence, or of abuse.

"I need to correct this. Fast."

I stood up to set the record straight and went to the door. It opened, and the officer I'd been talking with came in.

"All finished?"

"Yes. But I think there's a big misunderstanding."

"It's all right. Investigate, and it all comes out."

I'd meant to correct his serious misunderstanding in a hurry, and in that hurry I made the mistake of saying domestic violence when what I meant was abuse.

"This isn't domestic violence. For one thing, I don't even have a family—"

In that instant his face went cold, as if something had just occurred to him, and he called someone.

"It's me. I think we've got a fix on that bastard's location. Delta Region. If we surround it now, that should do it."

"What? Wait, I chose the wrong words..."

"It's all right. Wait here, and everything will be resolved. I've got a quick job to see to. Please wait here a moment."

With that he ran out the door. I stared after him and said, hollow,

"Fuck. I'm screwed."

At that same hour, in the Delta Region.

"The fuck is wrong with these bastards? Why's the lockdown this tight all of a sudden?"

I had killed three women in the Alpha Region and wiped the evidence clean on top of it. The Beta Region had felt dangerous, so I'd put real distance between us on purpose and come to the Delta Region to line up the next target, and somehow the air was wrong.

"It was a perfect murder. Was there a witness?"

No way to know. The police always hide how an investigation is going from ordinary people. Maybe they'd picked up something I hadn't been careful about. But the real problem, right now, was that the officers were grabbing passing civilians one by one and searching them.

"Disgustingly upright bastards... Couldn't even one of them refuse and run?"

A checkpoint, of all times, when I'd come out carrying the "tool." This was the worst situation possible, no question. And one officer started toward me.

"There'll be a search."

"A search?"

"Yes. A tip came in that a violent criminal is in the area. We'd appreciate your cooperation with the investigation."

I smiled as hard as I could, played dumb, and backed away. As things stood, getting caught meant death, and running meant death. So I chose the one with even a slightly higher chance of living. I ran.

"...Target spotted. Requesting backup. No—should I shoot to kill?"

At the same time I could hear him on the radio, right beside my ear.

"...Fuck!"

Bang! Bang!

I tried to bolt into the alley, but he drew without a moment's hesitation and fired. Two rounds buried themselves in my leg. The instant the pain left me unable to walk, he was already on me.

"AAAAAGH!! Fuck!!!!"

"The one who raped and killed three women in the Alpha Region. That's you, isn't it?"

"If I said it wasn't... cough... would you believe me?"

"Hard to say. If you were so sure of yourself, you wouldn't have started by running."

He smiled, cold, and put one more round into my gut.

"You... fucking... bastard...!"

"Me, I hate criminal scum like you so much it makes my skin crawl. I'd love to put a few more bullets in you and send you off slow, but there's an autopsy to do, so I don't have a choice."

He leveled the gun between my eyes and went on, as if he were enjoying himself.

Bang!

I felt the next round punch in between my eyes, heard him reporting over the radio, and my consciousness slipped away.