BIA Ch. 28

“So, you don’t need to explain.”

Chester immediately closed his mouth at the sound of fatigue in his voice.

“Besides, can I go home now? My head hurts terribly.”

“Oh, yes.”

Perhaps it had been worth feigning a headache, as Chester readily agreed. Of course, it also seemed he had no intention of addressing his blunder.

“Manny!”

He called Manny, who was drinking a little way off, and spoke in a condescending tone.

“He wants to go home. Take him there.”

Even so, Manny was too drunk to drive, so all he could do was call a taxi.

“Here, use this card from now on. And don’t keep your phone on silent anymore.”

Manny advised Isaiah and closed the taxi door.

Having just experienced such a thing, the thought of returning to that house with the damned corpse was truly horrifying. But even if he wanted to go to Bran’s place, he would not know the address. In the end, Isaiah had no choice but to go to his apartment, as directed by Manny.

As soon as he arrived home, he went into the bedroom, trying his best to avoid the corpse in the hallway. He collapsed onto the bed, then sat up with a curse, bothered by the pistol in his back pocket. He tossed the pistol onto the floor and lay back down.

He felt awful. When he closed his eyes, he inevitably recalled what had happened in the garden. The sight of Gilman, ranting and raving with unspeakable curses, collapsing limply after being shot by Bran. And Gilman’s final expression, eyes wide open, staring up at nothing.

…No, that wasn’t it.

It had started with Gilman but ultimately, the image that remained was Bran. His movements as he casually placed his arm around Gilman’s shoulders, then aimed the gun at Gilman’s chest and his cold gaze as he looked down at the body on the floor. And…

‘Isaiah.’

The expression on Bran’s face as he had reached out his hand.

He could not bear it any longer. Isaiah got out of bed, left the bedroom, and went to the bathroom. He thought a shower might help him feel better.

But when he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he felt worse for a different reason. It was so strange. Everything from his skin color to his height, physique, and facial features felt unfamiliar.

Before he knew it, the eyes in the mirror were staring back at him. The pupils were unusually large and black. He suddenly remembered the last scene in the video Chester had shown him. Isaiah Cole’s eyes calmly gazing into the CCTV lens. Eyes so clear and beautiful that it was hard to believe they belonged to someone who had just killed three people. Just like the eyes in the mirror now.

…Damn it, this again.

He had not been in the bathroom long, but he suddenly felt dizzy. Isaiah turned the shower lever to the right. Cold water began pouring from the showerhead. He washed the mirror’s surface with the intensified stream.

Even after showering, he still felt no better. Isaiah lay down on the bed, his hair half-dried.

Perhaps the cold water had cooled his head somewhat. Now, when he closed his eyes, Gilman’s image would not appear. Instead, he thought only of Bran: the way he had so casually taken out the gun, aimed it, and fired, and his impassive face as he had looked down at his subordinate’s corpse.

He knew very well that Bran was a mafia member. Bran had pointed a gun at him before, and had demanded he fire a gun in a city apartment with no soundproofing. Unlike his elegant speech, Bran’s actions were coercive, and he was a man who gave orders more naturally than requests.

But…

‘Isaiah.’

Does he know what expression he wore when he offered his hand? He had been looking down at the corpse with such a cold expression. In an instant, his face became kind. Perhaps to calm the startled Isaiah, he called his name gently, his voice softer than usual.

Isaiah was supposed to be afraid, horrified by this man who changed his expression so easily, as if flipping his palm. But he wasn’t. Rather, he was happy. This man had just killed someone right before his eyes, his own subordinate, a cold-blooded, ruthless human being. And yet, he showed such kindness only to Isaiah. This fact brought him joy and relief.

That was what frightened him. It confirmed his suspicion that he wasn’t normal. Whether he was Isaiah Cole or Isaiah Diaz, he was certainly not normal. That was why he made expressions that didn’t match his actions, felt emotions that didn’t fit the situation. Like a psychopath.

But he had no intention of telling Bran about these abnormal feelings. What Bran needed was Isaiah Cole. A helpful, loyal Isaiah Cole. Even if Bran felt any affection for him, it would surely be directed at Isaiah Cole. The unhelpful Isaiah Diaz needed to disappear quickly.

So he wouldn’t act presumptuously. He wouldn’t be greedy. He just, just wished he could return to being Isaiah Cole quickly. He wanted to be useful to Bran. He hoped for that…

Sleepiness overtook him as he thought. Isaiah drifted into a deep sleep without realizing it.

In his dream, Isaiah was a child. He couldn’t tell exactly how old. He could only guess from the shoes he was wearing. They were well-worn, polished leather shoes. The buckles had ornate decorations. He had only owned such luxurious things when he lived in that house. Back when he was still called by the last name Cleveland, when his adoptive parents considered his very existence a blessing.

Young Isaiah was in the garden. He was squatting under a large tree, crying. Suddenly, something dripped onto his head. Was it raining? Isaiah looked up at the sky. It was clear. Unlike the child’s face, which was clouded with sadness.

Then another large drop landed on his forehead. He rubbed it with his hand. A sticky, golden liquid came off. He didn’t know then that it was sap from the pine tree he was leaning against. He thought it was honey. It had a pale golden color like honey, it was sticky, and when he touched it to his tongue, it tasted intensely sweet.

Only then did the child notice the honey dripping all around the tree. Half-fascinated, half-surprised, he nodded. So, that’s how honey fell from trees.

At the child’s feet, enough honey had pooled to form a tiny puddle. It was smaller than his palm, but its alluring sheen was enough to attract insects. Drawn by the sweet smell of the tree sap, they plunged into the golden pool, oblivious to the danger. The sticky resin clung to their legs. They began to struggle when they realized they were trapped, but the steady stream of new arrivals continued.

Feeling sorry for the tiny creatures fighting for their lives, the child dipped his finger into the puddle. One bug, desperate to escape, climbed onto his finger. Then another, and another. In the blink of an eye, a line of insects crawled up his arm, his neck, and onto his face.

His whole body itched. He tried to brush them off, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even speak. No matter how much he screamed, the sound was trapped in his throat, as if his vocal cords were constricted.

Help me. Please, someone help me.

He was still desperately trying to scream, though no sound came out, when…

“Hey.”

A touch on his cheek startled Isaiah awake. His vision, still unfocused, swam with a hazy golden light. It wasn’t the puddle from his dream. This was a deeper, richer gold. And trapped within it, struggling…

“Bugs…”

“Huh?”

“There are bugs in your eyes…”

Bran’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by Isaiah’s sleep-talk.

“That’s harsh.”

Then he smiled faintly.

“It’s just pigmentation.”

Bran said, brushing aside Isaiah’s bangs which were half-wet and stuck to his forehead.