Chapter 21: Restricted Area, The Attic
“It was really big, with a bed, a desk, a bookshelf, a clothes rack, and there was even a bulletin board on the wall with a ton of stuff written on it.”
“A bulletin board?” Muru asked.
“What was written on it?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Hey!” Hosik shouted.
“That’s the one thing you should have checked!!”
“I confirmed there was no gold bar and no lover hidden up there, so I just closed the door! Aren’t you, as a cop, supposed to protect a citizen’s privacy?!”
He wasn’t really in a position to say that. Anyway, it was now certain: Park Tarim was definitely the type to tightly guard and hide away his private space.
Just then, footsteps came down from the stairs, and soon Park Tarim entered the living room. He was towel-drying his wet hair, looking paler than he had three days ago, probably just out of the shower.
Everyone greeted him warmly.
“Wow! Tarim, you’re alive!”
Lee Gyeom opened the still-unopened pizza box and patted the seat next to him. Hosik, who had brought three whole pizzas for just three people, waved his arms enthusiastically.
“Ah, I can finally breathe again.”
Tarim, sitting down, devoured a slice of pizza in seconds. Muru asked worriedly,
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I got plenty of rest.”
His cheeks still looked a bit sunken, but his eyes sparkled brightly again, making them all feel relieved. While they almost cleared all three pizzas, Tarim kept talking to Muru.
It was obvious he still felt bad about that day when he first got sick. Muru knew how he felt, so she just chatted along as if nothing happened.
What did you do yesterday? What are you doing tomorrow? Are your novels going well? Oh, totally stuck on that one. When’s the postponed shoot? Casual questions back and forth. But honestly…
“Are you guys doing some kind of update talk show right now?”
“Is this a variety show or what?”
Hosik and Lee Gyeom teased them with bright laughter. The two awkward people quickly froze mid-conversation. Muru was just explaining where she’d go tomorrow.
“I’ll take you,” Tarim said.
“No, it’s okay. I can just take the bus.”
“I’m free tomorrow.”
“It’s not even out of town.”
“Still, I’d like to…”
“Really, it’s fine.”
The endless push and pull was settled by Hosik.
“Ah! Just go with Tarim’s car already!!!”
Lee Gyeom clapped in agreement.
“Well said. That’s the most satisfying thing I’ve heard from someone else’s mouth.”
Hosik went to the kitchen, grabbed a plate, saved two slices of pizza separately, and covered them with plastic wrap. The two people, who had basically gotten through two stages of a relationship proposal, just sat there feeling awkward.
* * *
Her mother’s last known address.
2 Taeyang Villa, Apt 102, 36 Beon-gil Haemalkkeum-ro, Buk-gu, Junsan City.
Now fully recovered from the flu, Tarim cheerfully drove. From Hwaran House in the south to the complete opposite side of town, they had to cross all of Junsan.
The weather was clear, and Muru’s mood lifted too. Normally heavy topics felt a bit easier to talk about today.
“Anyway… I couldn’t bring myself to ask my dad about what happened when I was a kid.”
“Yeah… I mean, he must have worked hard to keep you from finding out.”
“So I figured it’d be better to ask my mom. I only know she’s in Junsan, and since I don’t even remember ever meeting her… somehow that felt easier.”
Muru absentmindedly fidgeted with the family register document she was holding.
Born in 1972, Lee Suyeon.
Her mother’s name on the document felt unfamiliar.
“I have so many questions.”
“Like what?”
“Well, remember… one of her past addresses was Hwaran House. It’s not like it’s a big deal, but I still want to confirm it. And more than that…”
“You want to see her, right?”
Again, Tarim read Muru’s heart. She just nodded once instead of answering.
“When did your mom live at Hwaran House?”
“Well… the timing…”
Muru re-read the document carefully.
“She lived in her childhood home until she was 24, married Dad, and immediately moved to Hwaran House. Tarim… when did your mom come to Hwaran House?”
“Uh… she said she came to Junsan at 30, pregnant with her first daughter, bought the pharmacy, and lived in the back room behind the shop until after the baby was born… let’s see… moved to Junsan in 1996, gave birth in ’97, then bought the house around the baby’s first birthday… yeah, it was 1998 when she bought Hwaran House.”
“My mom moved into Hwaran House in 1996.”
“Did my parents buy Hwaran House from your family, then?”
“They could’ve been tenants.”
“That’s kind of funny.”
“What is?”
“Well, your parents started their married life in Hwaran House… and now we live there too.”
“Yeah… true.”
Muru smiled quietly. She still couldn’t define exactly what she and Park Tarim were. Too scared to give it a label, she just quietly read the air between them.
“Did they move to that other house we visited, right after leaving Hwaran House?”
“Seems like it. I lived in that villa until I was 11…”
The disappearance… that happened while they lived there.
Muru swallowed her words.
“They moved to the place we’re going now in 2008.”
The jeep left the quiet national road and entered a small residential area by the roadside. Being on the outskirts of Junsan City, the neighborhood was surrounded by rice fields and mountains, filled with small apartments and old villas.
“My parents divorced in 2008.”
Tarim parked in front of a small, old villa, following the GPS navigation. Unlike the house they drunkenly visited a few days ago, this place was much smaller.
The parking lot wasn’t even filled with cars; instead, there were wooden benches covered in vinyl sheeting. Two elderly women sat there, sharing steamed sweet potatoes in a glass bowl.
Tarim decided to wait in the car, letting Muru go in alone. Figured a mother-daughter reunion after so long would take time. Camera in hand, he strolled around the neighborhood.
The empty, aging playground offered some nice retro shots.
The two elderly women, curious about the young man with the camera, asked him,
“What are you doing, going around taking pictures?”
Tarim approached them with a kind smile.
“I’m a photographer. Just came to visit someone here, but the neighborhood is so charming I had to take some photos.”
“A photographer? Do you do exhibitions too?”
“Of course! May I take a photo of you ladies? You sitting here like this looks really beautiful.”
“Oh my! What’s there to see in two old ladies like us!”
Yet they quickly adjusted their hair and straightened their clothes. Tarim took out a small mirror and lip balm from his camera bag and offered them—his go-to trick to easily get consent when photographing strangers unexpectedly. He also handed them his business card.
After dabbing on some tinted lip balm to bring a bit of color to their cheeks, Tarim took several shots: their wrinkled hands peeling sweet potatoes, the floral scarf around one neck, their gentle faces looking up at him… Though he often photographed celebrities and models for work, Tarim always loved capturing faces that held real time and story.
“So, who are you visiting?”
“Over there, Unit 102.”
At that, the elderly women’s faces immediately darkened with suspicion. A complete shift from the sweet potato-sharing mood just moments ago.
“…Are you the son?”
Their tone… almost like fear.
“No, no. Just… someone I know…”
Which was true, technically. Someone he only knew on paper.
“I was just wondering how she’s doing.”
One woman lowered her voice.
“…If you happen to be a relative or family… could you… maybe help… with the house…”
The other nudged her sharply.
“Stop saying unnecessary things.”
“What’s unnecessary about it? They should clean up the house or move out already! Leaving it like that… it’s crawling with cockroaches. Ugh. You’re living right upstairs, aren’t you? You get the worst of it and still put up with it.”
“My husband even texted that person’s sibling, asking to clean up the place.”
“Did the sibling even reply? Even when she was taken out on a stretcher, no one answered, just left without a word. Still no contact, right?”
The woman who lived upstairs at 201 hesitated, unable to answer properly.
“You’re too soft, letting it go like this. How long are you gonna live like this?”
“It’s not because I want to. I’m scared, that’s why.”
At that, the scolding neighbor fell silent, clicking her tongue in frustration.
“Well… after all those years of constant disturbances…”
Tarim quietly listened to their rambling stories. He knew better than to jump in and ask clumsy questions like, “What do you mean?”—that would just make them clam up. It was a skill he used often when shooting unfamiliar subjects with no prior info: just nod along like you already knew everything, build trust first.
So Tarim casually said,
“I’ve been worried too… Sorry for the trouble she’s caused you all this time.”
Finally, the tension in the elderly women’s voices eased.
