I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

As I unfold the letter, my eyes immediately catch on the signature at the bottom - it's from the old nun I met at the church.

The letter is a mixture of gentle persistence and barely concealed desperation. The nun writes of the church's open doors, of a standing invitation for my grandmother to visit. It's clear from the tone that this isn't the first such letter - there have been others, all seemingly unanswered.

But why? Why is this nun so eager for my grandmother to visit? And why has my grandmother been ignoring these pleas?

I fold the letter carefully, slipping it into my pocket. There's only one way to get answers - I need to ask my grandmother directly. But it'll have to wait until morning.

I settle into one of the chairs, prepared for an uncomfortable night.

The soft sounds of my grandmother moving about the kitchen wake me. Sunlight is just beginning to filter through the windows as she spots me.

"Minjun?" she exclaims, surprised. "What are you doing here? Have you been here all night?"

I stretch, wincing at my stiff muscles. "I came by late and didn't want to wake you," I lie smoothly. "Thought I'd help you open up before heading to work."

She shakes her head, concern etched on her face. "You should go home, get some proper rest."

"I'm fine, Halmeoni," I insist, already moving to help her with the morning prep.

We work in companionable silence for a while, falling into the familiar rhythm we established years ago. I wait, biding my time for the right moment to bring up the letter.

As we're setting out the banchan, I casually mention, "Oh, I noticed you had some mail piled up. I hope you don't mind, I sorted through it for you."

My grandmother nods, not looking up from her task. "Thank you, that's kind of you."

I take a deep breath, then plunge ahead. "There was a letter from a church. From a nun, actually. It seemed like she's been trying to reach you for a while."

My grandmother's hands freeze for a moment, then resume their work. But I don't miss the tension that suddenly appears in her shoulders.

"Oh?" she says, her voice carefully neutral. "I must have overlooked it."

I press gently, "The nun seemed quite eager for you to visit. Do you know her?"

There's a long pause. When my grandmother finally turns to face me, there's a mixture of sadness and resignation in her eyes that makes my heart ache. Continue reading at m|v-l'e -NovelBin.net

"Minjun," she says softly, "there are some things from the past that are better left there. Some doors that shouldn't be reopened."

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I can see the pain in her eyes, the weight of secrets long held.

"Halmeoni," I say gently, "what aren't you telling me? What's your connection to this church?"

She sighs deeply, her shoulders sagging. For a moment, she looks older and more vulnerable than I've ever seen her.

"It's a long story," she finally says.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This can't go on any longer. The weight of secrets and half-truths is too heavy to bear.

"Halmeoni," I say, my voice quiet but firm. "I need to tell you something. I know about my parents' death. I know it wasn't an accident. I know about my father's real job, that he was undercover. And...

I'm investigating what really happened to them."

My grandmother's face pales, her eyes widening in shock. For a moment, she seems frozen, unable to speak. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, composing herself.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she says, her voice wavering slightly. "Your parents died in an accident. That's all there is to it."

I can see the pain in her eyes, the struggle to maintain the story she's held onto for so long. But I can't back down now.

"Halmeoni, please," I plead. "I know it's difficult, but I need to know the truth. About my parents, about the church, about everything."

My grandmother turns away, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. "Some things," she says softly, "need to stay buried in the past. For everyone's sake."

I feel a surge of frustration, but I push it down. Instead, I step closer to her, my voice gentle but determined. "I understand that's how you feel, Halmeoni. And I respect that. But I can't let this go. Not for myself, and not for my parents.

They deserve justice, and I'm going to find it."

She turns back to me, her eyes searching my face. After a long moment, she sighs deeply. "I was like you once," she admits. "Determined to find answers, to understand what happened. But it only brought more pain."

I listen intently as she continues, "The church... they reached out to me when I was struggling. The nun, she was kind. She offered spiritual comfort when I needed it most. But now... now it only brings back memories I'd rather forget."

I absorb this information, my mind racing. "So you've cut ties with them? With the nun?"

My grandmother nods. "I thought it was best. To move on, to focus on the living." She looks at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. "I wanted to protect you from all of this."

I take her hands in mine, squeezing gently. "I understand, Halmeoni. I do. But I need to see this through. For mom and dad, for you, for myself. I promise I'll be careful."

She studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "You're so much like your father," she says softly. "Just as determined, just as brave. But please, be cautious. The truth... it can be dangerous."

As I pull her into a hug, I can feel the weight of unspoken words between us. There's still so much I don't know, so much she hasn't told me.

My grandmother's words echo in my mind: "The truth can be dangerous."

***

I sit in my car, parked outside the restaurant.

My grandmother's words, the church, Choi, Lee - there's a pattern here, I know it. But every time I think I'm close to seeing the big picture, it slips away like smoke through my fingers.

Suddenly, Bundy's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Well, this is getting rather boring, isn't it?"

Anger flares in my chest. "Boring? This isn't some game, Bundy. This is my life, my parents' lives we're talking about."

Bundy's tone shifts, becoming apologetic. "Ah, my apologies. I didn't mean to offend. It's just... well, there doesn't seem to be much room for my particular expertise anymore."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "If that's the case, then just... be okay with it. This isn't about you."

"Fair enough," Bundy concedes. Then, after a pause, he adds, "But you know, it seems to me that the church, especially that old nun, holds the key to all of this. Not that I'm particularly fond of the place, mind you, but perhaps another visit is in order?"

I hate to admit it, but Bundy has a point. The church keeps coming up, again and again. The old nun, her connection to my grandmother, her apparent knowledge of the past - it all points back there.

"You're right," I say reluctantly. "I need to go back to the church. Dig deeper."

"Not to be a wet blanket, detective, but what exactly is your grand plan here? You can't just waltz into a church and demand answers. These religious types can be frustratingly tight-lipped when they want to be."

I can't help but smirk. For once, I feel like I'm a step ahead of the voice in my head. "Actually, I do have a plan," I say, reaching into my pocket with one hand while keeping the other on the steering wheel.

I pull out the letter from the old nun to my grandmother, holding it up as if Bundy could actually see it. "This invitation wasn't meant for me, but I'm going to take it anyway."

"Oh?" Bundy's interest is piqued. "Do tell."

"The nun has been reaching out to my grandmother, practically begging her to visit," I explain. "So I'm going to show up instead. I want to see how she reacts when it's me walking through those doors instead of my grandmother."

Bundy chuckles, a sound that always sends an uncomfortable chill down my spine. "Clever, clever. A bit of psychological warfare. I approve. But what if she simply turns you away?"

I shake my head, determination setting in. "She won't. She's too invested in whatever this is. If she's been trying this hard to get my grandmother to come, she'll take what she can get. And that's going to be me."

"And then what?" Bundy presses.

"Then I start asking questions," I say firmly. "About my grandmother, about Choi, about the church's connection to all of this. I'm done with half-truths and cryptic hints. It's time for some real answers."

Bundy's voice takes on a note of what almost sounds like pride. "Well, well. Look at you, all grown up and playing hardball. Just remember, detective, in games like these, the stakes are often higher than you realize. Be careful."

As Bundy's presence fades, I grip the steering wheel tighter. He's right about one thing - this is a dangerous game. But I'm all in now. No more hiding, no more running from the truth.