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墨書 Inktalez
The buzzing of the convenience store's freezer suddenly stopped. I curled up in a pile of moldy cardboard boxes, staring at the photo on my phone where the edges of a burning business card curled into ash, the phone number secretly written by the female officer twisting and distorting in the flames.
Blood seeping from the cold storage pooled around my ankles, crystallizing into pale pink ice in the cracks of the tiles.
“Cargo got away?” A man's low, furious shout came from outside. The sound of Gold Watch's chain scraping against the rolling shutter door was like nails on a chalkboard. “Xia Wenjuan, you’re asking for death!” The sound of Mother's high heels retreating in panic collided with the shelves, knocking down several bags of expired shrimp chips.
I felt around for the Cutter hidden beneath the cash register. The blade was stained with rust and embedded with dried Bloodstain, making a tearing sound like a ripped scar as I sliced through the lining of my Sweatshirt.
Fragments of old newspapers from twenty years ago fluttered down from the compartment, the lead type of a social section headline glimmering green under the emergency light: “Enthusiastic Citizen Mr. Wang provides crucial clues.”
Suddenly, there was a sound of chains dragging from the Ventilation Duct. Stepfather's leather shoes crunched on melting ice shards, and the smell of whiskey mixed with rust seeped through the gaps in the shelves.
A toppled instant noodle bucket rolled to my feet, splattering pickled vegetable juice onto my phone screen, blurring the close-up of the man’s Serpent Tattoo on his wrist.
“Little Bitch!” The chain struck violently against the glass of the milk fridge, and shards flew past my earlobe.
Stepfather's bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, debris from the attic wall clinging to his Belt Buckle. “Did you think you could escape like that bitch?” As he snapped the iron chain around his neck, fresh claw marks appeared just below his collarbone—identical to the bruises on Mother's neck from last night.
The emergency light in the cold storage suddenly went out. I burst through the back door into the alley, rotten vegetable leaves oozing pus-like juices underfoot.
Across the street, I saw a man shoving Mother into a black sedan, the cold light reflecting off her newly added Cartier bracelet on her wrist.
In that instant, as the trunk slammed shut, I caught sight of my backpack lying inside, its zipper stained with blood.
The sound of sirens echoed from three blocks away. I clutched the Cutter and rushed toward the Fire Escape, my frozen fingers scraping against the iron railing, producing a sound that made my teeth ache.
My Stepfather's maniacal laughter reverberated through the cracks of the building as he kicked over a trash can, startling a horde of feral cats whose green eyes glowed like ghostly flames in the night.
"Do you really think that female officer can save you?" A chain wrapped around the third step of the Fire Escape, sparks flying as they hit my scabbed burn on my calf.
The speed at which my Stepfather climbed was like that of a venomous snake, his gold tooth clenching a half-burnt cigarette. "The last call she took yesterday was from the Traffic Accident Handling Center."
The wind at that height whipped icy particles down my collar. I felt the melted chocolate in my Pants Pocket, its sticky texture reminding me of the blood seeping from the cracks in the attic floor.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated; an unfamiliar number sent me a screenshot from surveillance—on that day in the Mediation Room, a Black Snake was coiled on the female officer's Uniform Epaulet.
The Fire Escape abruptly ended on the tenth floor. The cut edge of the Safety Rope revealed a clean severance, steel fibers standing out like surgical stitches.
From below came my Mother's sharp laughter; she was lighting a cigarette for a man, the flame of the lighter illuminating the red stamp marked "To Pay" on the Delivery Receipt.
"Jump!" My Stepfather's Belt Buckle snagged my ankle, and as the chain wrapped around my neck, memories of hidden words on the Prenatal Checkup Form suddenly exploded in my mind.
I turned and plunged the Cutter into his Femoral Artery, warm blood spraying onto the Water Tank on the rooftop, melting ice mingling with droplets of blood that fell into my Pupil.
The Safety Rope dug deep into my palm, leaving blood marks visible to the bone. I hung at the edge of the Thirteenth Floor billboard, a Neon Tube illuminating the window of the hotel across—there was a man pressing my Mother against the glass; her newly done Crystal Nails traced ten lines of blood in the mist.
The sound of breaking doors came from the Fire Escape as my Stepfather limped through the Fire Door, holding a dripping bloody chain.
The fierce wind lifted the hem of the school uniform, and the old burn scar on my abdomen blossomed with tiny beads of blood in the cold. I gazed down at the flashing police lights and suddenly caught sight of the tattoo on the man's neck—a faded "Black Snake" at seven inches, concealing the three characters "Wang Jianguo," identical to the signature of "Enthusiastic Citizen Wang" from twenty years ago in the newspaper.
"What do you think you can prove?" my Stepfather suddenly eased his grip on the iron chain, raising his phone screen that was recording. "Your mother just received two hundred thousand as hush money."
In the video, my Mother was counting stacks of cash, with a dismembered Stuffed Toy lying at her feet—that was the birthday gift she bought for me when I turned six.
The broken steel rebar of the Fire Escape suddenly pierced the Water Tank. Ice water mixed with rust poured down, drowning out the sirens blaring from my Stepfather's phone.
I released my palm, raw from the Safety Rope, watching as the ashes of the Prenatal Checkup Form swirled together to form a fragmented outline of a baby. The moment I felt the weightlessness of falling, the hum of the convenience store freezer restarting pierced through my eardrums.
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