Work Text:
Where is the justice?
Cha Ji-An had held a gun numerous times before, but the weight was different this time. It was as if the charged rage inside of her wound itself around the pistol as it seeped out from the tips of her sweaty fingers. As if it were the gravity of the earth and her principles pulling the weapon and her hand towards themselves, holding back the little girl inside of her as she yearned for her father to return temporarily only if to clear his name.
It had been the weight of the accusations. Weight of the suddenness. Weight of the gazes. Weight of the pity. Weight of the doubts. From without, from within. Walking oftentimes had felt like trudging like a prisoner from the past, with a weight chained to her legs.
When she was a child, she could not grasp the concept of her father, so loving and supportive, freeing a … monster. He was righteous. Or had appeared to be – a doubt of the public that had, one way or another, housed itself within her through a hole in her conviction. (Who could do prevent that from happening now?)
Her moral compass never helped matters either. It only left a bitter taste in her mouth, and a strong sense of self-loathing in the weakest moments of her willpower. How could someone with a sound mind let someone as cruel as a serial killer free? How could it be that she happened to be his daughter? Did it mean that she could be as cruel in her thoughtlessness and greed as him? (Where was the justice to her lost time? Her fears?)
And during the times she felt stronger, and more confident in herself and her identity, she rejected the idea of her father conspiring with a criminal. Mostly, she rejected the idea of her father abandoning her. How could he ever leave her, after loving her so much? It must have been something so severe that it forced him into hiding. And that something must have been Lee Joon Young.
Yet even that sliver of hope of her father being alive often vanished when a bout of melancholy left her shivering in dread of the truth she so desperately wanted to deny.
Dead. Her father could only be dead. That was the only plausible explanation, if he were innocent. If Lee Joon Young was to blame, her father could have never made it out of there alive. This incessant jumping to and fro, from one possibility to the other and back again, made her restless and anxious. It had a way of chipping away at her resolve in her heights of loneliness, leaving her a crying mess in the vicinity of her home, clutching the frame holding her father and her picture. (How would she comfort the trembling Cha Ji-An now?)
So what was she to believe? A criminal of a father who was alive, or an innocent father who had been murdered almost years ago?
And where was his resting place?
And should she really know once and for all? Should she live in the hope of his being alive out there, knowing deep down he was no more? Live in a false dream, where she would go the little amusement park, make believe that the merry-go-round worked, and her father would come in a few minutes, two ice-cream cones in his hands, and an eager smile on his face?
Or should she see his body, cry her heart out, and move on, albeit a little tired, with little purpose to her life?
However, she had never pictured her reaction to it all when it would happen. She had never gone beyond that point of restriction. Considering it had been like considering life after death – or dying in a dream, which always jolted her awake.
Where was the justice?
But the answer came so clearly, it felt she had been carefully crafting it all this time. And the answer was heavy. It was an instinct she had tamed so well even she did not realize she would be capable of harbouring.
Her hand tightened and loosened around the gun.
(How was it fair?)
The distress of almost two decades piled up and crashed the next instant; the anger at the injustice of it all twisted her insides so tightly she could puke; the desire to remain righteous passed away in the moment.
Absolutely evil. Downright cruel. This was torture of its worst kind. Where was her hope? That was all she had wanted, all she had prayed for. Where was her closure? She could not find it, not in the storm of her emotions. Where was the justice?
(Where was the payment to her loneliness? The torment she had gone through? Was going through? Where was her justice? Who would clear her scars? Where could she find a childhood with her father? Where was her justice? Where was her justice? Where was her justice?)
All she wanted to do was shoot.
Kill him. Kill that son of a bitch. Kill him. I want to see him in pain. Lee Joon Young, you damned monster. You fucking monster!
Vaguely, she could hear someone get up as she walked out of the room.
“Cha Ji-An?”
Lee Hyun.
She stopped when he grabbed her by the arm. What was she doing, again? Oh yes, oh yes, she—
“I have been thinking what I should do with Lee Joon Young. Choice one: Kill him.” Her tone was steady. “Choice two: Kill him.” Her voice rose. “Choice three: Kill him. Choice four:” – and she was close to screaming – “Kill him!” She vaguely registered Lee Hyun pulling her to him and holding her as she yelled, “Choice five: Kill him! Choice six—”
“Get a hold of yourself, Cha Ji-An!” she heard Lee Hyun yell.
Get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of yourself. Cha Ji-An? Cha Ji-An?
“The answer is only that…” A tear of frustration fell.
His finger was gentle against her cheek as he wiped it away. “I understand, but there must be another answer within you, right?”
Another answer? The only other answer could be against the one resounding in her head. There was no other comprehensive answer.
Another conflict between two choices, wasn’t it? To kill or not to kill. To play the monster or let the monster be free.
Again, again, again, she was powerless, and the gun and her hand became heavier and heavier still. And she felt hopeless. Still.
Where is the justice? a meek voice protested. Cha Ji-An?