The Man at the Door
He was coming.
Hyeseon walked back with the unsteady gait of someone on the verge of collapse. Junhee wanted to support her all the way, but she refused so vehemently that he let her go. After all, he was a stranger to her now. Their divorce had been finalized long ago; on paper, they were no different from two people who had never known each other. Still, Junhee could not tear his eyes from his departing mother-in-law. A strange, sticky unease clung to him.
She vanished from sight. Junhee, who had been craving a cigarette for some time, dug through his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it. Pale smoke curled upward in lazy tendrils. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs, trying to soothe the chaos in his chest. It did not help. His thoughts remained tangled, refusing to settle. He exhaled one heavy sigh after another, yanked off his cap, and scratched furiously at his messy hair.
That was when he saw the man.
At the entrance to the apartment complex stood someone vaguely familiar. The distance blurred his features, yet the clothes were unmistakable: the black clerical attire worn by priests or pastors. It had to be the young priest—or pastor—he had seen outside his building before. Junhee exhaled a sharp, irritated burst of smoke and frowned. A peculiar feeling prickled across his skin. Why was the man here? Had he followed him? Junhee shook his head, telling himself it was ridiculous. What possible reason could there be? Yet the discomfort refused to fade.
He stared at the figure for a long moment, then blew out another lungful of smoke. For some reason he could not name, he did not want to cross paths with him. The urge to pretend he had seen nothing and simply walk away grew overwhelming. Without finishing the cigarette, he stubbed it out and shoved the butt into his pocket. As he moved on, he glanced back once more. The priest was still standing there, gazing blankly toward the complex.
“What the hell? There was someone else?”
Beside the priest—who Junhee had assumed was alone—stood another figure. This time it was a woman. Even at a distance she commanded attention, her silhouette long and elegant like a model’s. She appeared as tall as the priest, perhaps slightly taller. Oversized sunglasses hid her eyes, while her coat and handbag screamed luxury. The two of them seemed deep in conversation.
Junhee felt an unwelcome spark of curiosity—directed far more at the woman’s striking figure than at the young priest. Then reality crashed back in. This was no time for such distractions. His ex-wife was missing, and here he was letting his gaze wander. He shook his head violently, forcing himself back to his senses, and quickened his steps toward home.
There was nothing else to do but wait. The police would likely come by later, so it made sense to return and keep watch. Besides, unlike with Sohee, they might locate Soyeon quickly. With that thin hope, he trudged on.
He never noticed the young priest and the model-like woman watching him leave. Their eyes followed him until he disappeared completely from view.
“Aaaah…”
Junhee woke with a gasp, chest heaving. He could not steady his ragged breathing. His eyes darted around the room. The monitor in front of him displayed the document he had been writing before sleep claimed him. Beyond its glow, everything was swallowed by darkness. Night had fallen heavily outside the window. Had he really dozed off? He had been running on fumes all morning, and with so much weighing on his mind, exhaustion must have finally won.
He shook his head and reached, out of habit, for the coffee cup beside him. It was already empty. He had lost count of how many cups he had drained today alone. Even so, the drowsiness kept crashing over him in waves. The deadline was closing in fast. At this rate he would miss it again. The thought of his editor’s inevitable tirade made his skin crawl. He needed to write at least a few more lines—yet the words would not come.
His mind was simply too cluttered. The nightmare had been the same one that kept returning: Sohee and Soyeon. Sohee was crying. Soyeon kept calling his name, begging for help. But even in the dream he could sense it—they were not truly themselves. Something, or someone, was imitating them. The realization had kept him frozen, a strange terror rooting him in place. And then, as always, Soyeon’s face would twist and she would lunge at him like a beast.
This time he had reacted quickly enough to slam the door and lock it. But the sound of her fists pounding, her voice calling his name in that unnatural tone… and Sohee’s wails, so piercing they felt like they would split his eardrums. The memory alone sent chills racing down his spine.
Junhee let out a heavy sigh. He had no idea how much longer he could endure these nightmares. The fear they left behind only deepened his exhaustion. He rubbed both hands down his face, knowing that if he stayed at the desk he would simply nod off again. He rose and shuffled into the living room.
In the kitchen he prepared another pot of drip coffee, using far more grounds than usual. Two full cups, at least. He would need the caffeine if he was going to pull an all-nighter. Yawning so widely his jaw cracked, he fought back a wave of dizziness and finished brewing. As he sipped the hot, bitter liquid, he reached automatically for his phone.
It was nowhere in sight. After searching for several moments, he remembered the jacket he had tossed onto the sofa. Of course. He had slipped the phone into the pocket and forgotten to take it out. Another sigh escaped him as he trudged over and rummaged through the garment. He found the device, but when he tried to wake the screen, nothing happened.
The battery was dead. Again. The phone was old; the battery had been failing for months. These days it barely lasted a single day. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and carried it back to the bedroom, plugging it into the computer’s C-type cable. The screen finally lit up, confirming the total discharge.
“Sigh…”
When he finally had some money, he really ought to replace it. Of course, he had been saying that for over a year. Every time he resolved to buy a new one, some unexpected expense would swallow the funds. And though prices were not as outrageous as they once were, the purchase still felt impossible to justify. With a long exhale, he sat back down in front of the monitor.
He had managed perhaps one page’s worth of writing today. Compared to his usual output, it was pitiful. He scratched roughly at his scalp, then placed his fingers on the keyboard once more. The words refused to flow. His mind remained crowded with thoughts of Soyeon and Sohee. Where could they have gone?
Sohee was a child. Children went missing more often than people liked to admit. But Soyeon… According to his mother-in-law, her mental state had been poor lately, yet she was still only in her mid-thirties. Even if she were unwell, she could not simply vanish without a trace. She would have had her phone with her.
What troubled him most was the call. Soyeon had supposedly answered Sohee’s phone. That made no sense. Would Soyeon have bought an expensive smartphone for a young child? No matter how well she earned, it seemed unlikely. Then how had Sohee managed to call her? From whose phone? Or—most disturbing of all—was it even truly Sohee who had called?