The City Where Gray Rain Falls Chapter 28

The cigarette in his mouth slightly muffled his pronunciation, but perhaps because of that, the laugh he tacked on afterward felt all the more chilling.

“Hngh…”

He didn’t know whether the young man was crying because of the bleak future awaiting him, or because of the present pain and betrayal. He didn’t need to know. So instead, he focused on striking a damp match from the matchbox, cupping his large hand around the flame so it wouldn’t go out, and lighting his cigarette.

The tiny flame, no bigger than a fingernail, briefly illuminated the cold face before dying out. Whoosh, the smoke that had swept through his lungs filled the small room with an acrid haze.

“So you can’t very well say you don’t know either, can you?”

“…”

“Because until I hear the answer I want, you won’t be allowed to die easily.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Even if he hadn’t known him for very long, Vincent was, of all the people Isaac had ever met, the most mature and the most trustworthy.

The man who had tapped his aching knee yet still moved his feet diligently, afraid of being a burden to his partner. The man whose attitude had never changed, whether he knew Isaac’s circumstances or not. The man who had revealed secrets that could cost him his head if others found out, and who had stepped forward to help even at the risk of his own safety. There was no way that man had deceived him.

Even now, he could hear Vincent’s awkward chuckle, saying he was grateful that someone like him, an old-timer, had been paired up with him. He could hear his voice, buoyant with hope, saying he thought he might finally be able to get his wife to see a doctor next month. He could even hear the sound of him sniffling quietly to himself, mourning the comrades he had let go.

Perhaps Vincent had had circumstances he couldn’t speak of. Perhaps he, too, had been falsely accused, or threatened, and had had no choice but to give Isaac the wrong information in order to save his own life and his wife’s. Or perhaps he truly hadn’t known.

If that were the case, there was nothing Isaac couldn’t understand. Vincent had never been obligated to risk himself to help another. It had only ever been goodwill, a kindness extended to a clueless young man.

He decided to believe that. Because if he didn’t, it would be too hard to forgive his own foolish self for being used, for being taken advantage of. Because the resentment would surge up first, and he’d find himself blindly suspecting Vincent—without knowing anything of what had really happened—wanting to hurl curses at him.

“Hngh…”

The Chief of Security, having vented his anger with a few beatings, left the room with the words, “Think it over carefully.”

Left alone, Isaac wanted to sob out loud, using the sting of his split, beaten mouth as an excuse if nothing else. But though the corners of his eyes, long since stiff and dried out, grew damp, the tears wouldn’t fall freely, streaming down in a release.

The moment he had faced Samuel’s icy gaze—devoid of even a shred of pity, directed at someone bound to a chair—Isaac had realized anew just how merciless a man he was, and how utterly powerless he himself was.

When that man opened the door and came back, if Isaac couldn’t produce the information he wanted, all manner of torture would follow, just as promised, to “keep him from dying easily.”

There was no way Isaac could know the kind of pain that would surpass what he felt now. The stories about the basement that the drunken Misters from the rebels used to ramble on about now swarmed his ears, as if they had been waiting for this moment.

An eerie place where ghosts seemed likely to appear. A prison where screams rang out at all hours. A space like a pigsty, the stench of excrement stinging the nose.

Had any of those men, spitting and raving on the spot, ever actually been here? Did those Misters know that this was a place where you waited for death in silence, strapped to a cold iron chair, not even knowing how many days had passed?

Every fear he could imagine crashed over him at once, and a chill seized his entire body. He trembled so hard his teeth chattered audibly—he couldn’t stop it.

“Hah…”

The only way to escape this extreme terror was to bite off his own tongue, but the odds of actually dying that way were exceedingly slim. He had thrust his tongue between his chattering teeth again and again, chewing with all his might, but all he had managed was a raw, stinging wound.

He wanted to die, but he had neither the courage nor the strength to do it. He suddenly found himself in awe of those who had reached death by their own hand and preserved the dignity of life. Isaac could never do that. It was utterly impossible.

Having realized he couldn’t die by his own power, the next question was obvious. Did he really want to die? No. No matter how much he thought about it, the answer was the same. I want to live. I want to live and see you again.

Even now, he was terrified of dying, of being killed. He was terrified of rotting and crumbling away in this damp, musty basement without ever meeting Asel again.

He would go from being a person to a lump of meat oozing blood, to unappetizing, decaying garbage, to something torn to shreds, rotted beyond even serving as fertilizer. He wasn’t ready to imagine that far—he didn’t dare.

Beneath the flickering light, a hell had been prepared for Isaac. His own personal hell smelled not of brimstone but of mold steeped in moisture, and its warden was a white-clad devil wearing human skin, prowling the corridors without a sound or a whisper.

Isaac lifted his head and stared wide-eyed at the light shining down on him. The feeble bulb flickered, lighting up for an instant before going dark again, over and over, leaving black perforations across his retinas. The dots became stains, and the stains took the shape of a face, until at last they turned into an angel with curling brown hair.

A phantom, hovering above his head, beating beautiful wings. It looked as if the boy who had gone before had come out to meet him.

“Hngh. Asel, Asel. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

The words—whether atonement or the regrets murmured at the very edge of life—rang out like a confession, then were swiftly devoured by the sobs that followed hard upon them. The shadow cast by the lampshade flickered, seeming to speak to Isaac.

‘Isaac, you think too much. Without me around, you’d just fill your head with useless thoughts, wouldn’t you?’

You’re right, Asel. Even now.

‘Acting like you’re the only smart one all by yourself.’

Without you, I’ve become an idiot. What do I do? What do I have to do to see you again?

‘Who knows. I don’t know either. But finding me has always been your job, hasn’t it?’

Ever since they were children, it had been Isaac’s specialty to find Asel whenever he had hidden himself away tight—whether because he’d been scolded, or grown sick of the endless chores, or been picked on.

Until Isaac came to find him, Asel would stay curled up wherever he was, waiting quietly.

‘See? I knew you’d come.’

Clench. Strength surged into the gaps of his teeth, which had been playing their own discordant tune, and his jaw ground down with a sharp, grating sound. His jaw joint throbbed, and a tingling pain spread through the surrounding area, but Isaac finally felt as if his head had cleared.

When he closed his eyes, he saw that boy, wearing a baggy t-shirt, running barefoot straight through the puddles pooled in the gray city.

Yes. This had always been an extension of the hide-and-seek just the two of them played. Asel hid, and Isaac sought.

So there was no way he could die pointlessly in a place like this. That boy was surely waiting for him somewhere in the city.

∞ ∞ ∞

A self-mocking smile hung at one corner of the Chief of Security’s lips as he stood, leaning one hip against the desk in his office.

His brows were drawn tightly together, and the furrow between them, stark and plain, betrayed that his mood was far from good—yet it was hard to dismiss it all as mere anger or irritation. At a glance, he even seemed faintly, subtly flushed.

This time, the fault was undeniably the new Chief of Security’s own blunder. Not only had he failed to recognize the ‘Head’ of the rebels, but even after the man had stolen the old blueprints and walked right out on his own two feet, the Security Department had sat idle.

Countless people, the Party executives chief among them, were waiting for nothing more than Samuel’s downfall. If they learned the full details of this incident, they would be tripping over themselves to have his head.