completely naïve and have a can of pepper spray in my bag. My cell phone is at the ready in my pocket, with my thumb hovering over the speed dial for emergency services.
It’s not enough. A phone call won’t stop a knife or a gun.
Or a man capable of smashing glass with his bare hands.
The fragile peace of mind gives me the strength to keep walking, though. It isn’t long before the distinct shape of the Paper Crane comes into focus. Shadows drape the broken storefront along with ribbons of bright yellow caution tape that glow in the light of a nearby streetlamp. Before I even reach the front door and tug on the handle to find it locked, I know Mr. Zhang isn’t here.
Disappointment gnaws at my stomach. Or maybe it’s more like desperation?
What am I even doing out here? I should leave. Go home. Search through the local job listings.
Instead, I turn on my heel and find myself wandering down the block in another direction. The events of the day unfurl in my mind, and one tidbit of information stands out. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m already typing what little I remember into the search engine on my cell phone.
The address turns out to be on the other side of town, nestled among a bunch of abandoned warehouses. I think it’s near Fisherman’s Wharf, but this area isn’t dominated by the glitzy markings of a tourist trap. I don’t know what to expect when I approach a building with graffiti scrawled across its brick façade. A glass door only reveals a shadow-covered hallway beyond, but it’s unlocked, and a smell like wet metal itches my nose when I cross over the threshold.
“H-Hello?” My voice travels on a seemingly endless echo. A dead end? This place is abandoned, obviously. I start to turn back just as someone answers from the darkness.
“…I’m trying,” a woman insists, though she isn’t speaking to me. Her voice is soft, betraying her age. Young. Early twenties? “But you don’t know what it’s like. It’s not like I can just walk away.”
“Why can’t you?” a gruffer voice replies. Rafe. “Just turn the bastard in for prostitution, and break whatever fucking hold he has over you. You said he texts you? That’s evidence.”
“It’s not that easy,” the woman says. “I’m sure he uses a burner, especially now. After what you did… He’s fucking insane. I have no idea what he’s going to do now. They all probably know I’m the one who—”
“You did the right thing. That’s it.”
“Did I?” the woman questions. “I can’t hide from him forever. Whether or not you want to play the role of hero, I have to go.”
Light footsteps start in my direction too quickly to evade. Up ahead, a slender figure rounds an unseen corner. Dark hair spills down her shoulders, obscuring the neckline of her tight, pink minidress. Smoky makeup enhances the shadows that shroud her face, and the only detail I can make out clearly is a sparkly bit of material glinting in her hair. A hair clip?
The closer she comes, the clearer it is to make out—a tiny silvery butterfly.
“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” she calls back to Rafe, eyeing me up and down as she walks by. “It looks like your next damsel in distress is already here.”
She leaves as I struggle to place her. She’s familiar, but how?
I don’t have long to contemplate. Low with impatience, a voice calls from deeper in the building, “In here.”
My heart races as I fumble forward and feel along the wall for another door. It opens easily onto a hallway where a pool of yellow light floods from a doorway a few yards down. Soon, my surging pulse is the sole sound I can hear above my footsteps. Thump. Step. Thump.
Observing my surroundings provides a minimal distraction from the building fear. The walls are a faded cream, and a flickering fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling barely casts enough light to illuminate half the room.
But a thousand faces stare back. Most of them gawk from various pieces of paper in all sizes affixed to the wall. Lined paper. Faded parchment. Canvas…
Drawings. They take up nearly every inch of available space like windows into a twisted psyche. One that views the world in vibrant shades of light and shadow. The artist’s style is distinct with bold, sharp lines and painstaking detail.
As much as I cringe from the descriptor, my brain keeps cycling back to one