A Voice in My Head

Six years later...

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as I step out of my small apartment, adjusting my crisp, blue police uniform. The weight of the badge on my chest serves as a constant reminder of the promise I made all those years ago, the day I discovered the truth about my parents' murder. It hasn't been an easy journey, but I've never wavered in my determination.

I couldn't get into the prestigious Korean National Police University, my grades from high school a painful reminder of the years I spent lost and directionless. But I refused to let that stop me. I studied harder than I ever had in my life, pouring over textbooks and police manuals late into the night. I pushed my body to its limits, training until my muscles screamed and my lungs burned. And when the time came to apply for the entry-level police officer position, I was ready.

The selection process was grueling, a gauntlet of physical and mental challenges designed to weed out all but the most dedicated and capable recruits. But I refused to give up, refused to let my dream slip through my fingers. And when the final results were posted, my name was there, shining like a beacon of hope amidst a sea of uncertainty.

Now, as I make my way to the police station for another day of work, I can't help but feel a sense of pride. I may not have the fancy degree or the high-level position, but I'm exactly where I need to be. Every day, I have the chance to help people, to make a difference in my community. And every day, I get one step closer to finding the answers I've been searching for.

As I walk through the doors of the station, I'm greeted by the familiar buzz of activity. Officers hurry past, their faces set with grim determination as they head out to patrol the streets or investigate crimes. I make my way to my desk, a small, cluttered space in the corner of the bullpen. It's not much, but it's mine, and it's where I do my best work.

I sit down, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. The case files stacked on my desk are a reminder of the work that still needs to be done, the mysteries that still need to be solved. But there's one case that always sits at the top of the pile, one that I can never quite seem to put out of my mind. My parents' murder.

I've spent countless hours pouring over the evidence, searching for any clue that might lead me to their killer. But the trail has long since gone cold, and sometimes I can't help but feel like I'm chasing a ghost. Still, I refuse to give up. I owe it to my parents, to myself, to keep searching until I find the truth.

*** 

The small police box in northern Seoul, where I've been assigned to work, is a far cry from the bustling, crime-ridden streets of the city center. It's a sleepy little area, where the most exciting thing that happens is a lost dog or a minor parking dispute. The higher-ups deem it a place devoid of any "big cases," and they're probably right. But I don't mind. I knew I was going to be dispatched here, where the chances of major promotion opportunities are about as slim as a supermodel's waistline. But I'm not disappointed. I'm determined and hardworking, with a fire in my belly that won't be extinguished until I have enough power to reinvestigate my parents' case.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the phone shatters the monotony of the day. It's a case, and I jump to answer it like a dog to a bone. On the other side of the line is a woman, her voice trembling with fear. Someone is trying to break into her apartment, she says, and my heart races with a mix of excitement and concern. I do my best to calm her down, gathering her information with the precision of a surgeon, and report it to my senior officer. The senior, a grizzled veteran with a beer belly and a perpetual scowl, looks about as thrilled as a kid on a trip to the dentist. His nap time has been interrupted, and he grumbles under his breath as he tells me to get ready so we can go and check.

But I'm excited, my blood pumping with adrenaline. It's my first case, and the woman might be in great danger. We better hurry, I urge, bouncing on the balls of my feet like a boxer before a fight. After what feels like an eternity of the senior's procrastination, we finally arrive at the woman's home, a dilapidated old apartment building that looks like it's seen better days. We push her doorbell, but no one answers. We try again, and after a while, the woman finally comes out, looking about as frazzled as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

She looks okay, though, and says the stranger has disappeared. I'm disappointed and relieved at the same time, like a kid who's just found out that the tooth fairy isn't real. Is my first case really this simple? But it's good that she's safe, I remind myself. I tell her to ring us if anything happens and leave the apartment, my senior complaining constantly next to me like a broken record.

And then, all of a sudden, I hear a voice in my head. It's like a whisper, but it's insistent, nagging at me like a pebble in my shoe.

"Are you sure about just leaving like this?" it asks. "You better go back and check on her again."

I pause, the voice in my head growing more insistent by the second. I turn to my senior, a quizzical look on my face. "Did you say something, sir?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He snorts at me, his eyes rolling so hard I'm afraid they might get stuck. "No, rookie. Why, are you hearing things now?" He continues his way down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

I look around, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow, but there's no one else here. Just us, and the eerie silence of the old apartment building. And then, I hear it again. The same voice, whispering in my mind like a ghost from the past.

"You better go back and check now, before it's too late."