FILE 4: THE CHILD PART 1

A woman was working in her office before it was six am. Her long black hair was tied in a bun, her dark eyes frowned, and her lips were pursed.

A red top was worn with a brown skirt and high heels. The declared average-looker, Park YunHee, started working early each morning.

After receiving the tube H-35, they could finally make some progress. At least that was what she thought. But it went slower than they expected.

Her boss was a very patient man, but it could only last so long that she needed to move faster before he became agitated. 

She stood before her chemicals, some extremely dangerous, some having as much effect as water on the human body. She wore her overalls and goggles as she slowly poured chemicals into an empty tube. 

Watching the chemicals change colour, she waited anxiously for the result. She let out a frustrated sigh as it was another bust. They were unable to replicate the H-35.

"YunHee." If only the scientists hadn't burned the evidence, they would've made progress by now.

"YunHee!"

"Huh?" YunHee was startled out of her reverie. Her only friend and co-worker, Janett Grace, appeared before her.

A foreigner from Ireland, her short red hair curled around her pale face with freckles, and her brown eyes were soft and gentle.

"You must have been lost in your own world. I called you several times," Janett teased.

YunHee shrugged and answered irritably, "I'm just concentrating hard. Is there anything you want? I'm a little busy right now."

"Ooh, scary," she laughed. Only Janett was allowed to tease YunHee. No one else had the courage. "I heard you went to a detective to retrieve the vial.

I was wondering if you still have his number," she asked in discomfort.

"Yes, I do. Why?" YunHee replied cautiously. Janett peered at her desperately. "My daughter needs his help!"

She gazed at the anguished woman and nodded. She gave her a business card. Janett inspected the card, which read:

'Otherworld Inspector Nathan McNeill

We resolve all cases that cannot be solved in this world.

Please call XXX-XXXXXXXX

Address: xxxxxxxxxxxx'

 *

I was before a family home in the town of Yeongdo-gu in Busan. It looked comfy, like a retirement home for my parents.

Before knocking, I quickly sprayed my cologne and inspected myself. It was two weeks after New Year, and I was back to wearing my usual clothes with a dark winter coat.

At home, I had to wear a lot of blue since my mom loved seeing me wearing blue.

It was a nice family vacation. My parents were happy to see me and Mars in one piece. They kept asking questions about my life in South Korea.

I gave my Chronicles to Dad since I didn't want to narrate every single detail over dinner. 

"You brought this with you over Christmas?" he asked, dismayed. I sipped my wine.

"Yeah, well, I thought it was better than shipping it. You never know whether they'll arrive safely," I replied lazily.

Dad, who was an older replica of me, flipped through one file. He groaned, "Can't you tell the difference between a personal diary and a report?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This is too personal, Nathan," he complained. He continued to grill me on how to do proper reports. As if I was going to listen. I have too much fun writing down my thoughts. 

As for my mother, she thought it was funny. Her long brown hair fell around her shoulders in thick bundles, her green eyes glistened with life, and she was very beautiful. She patted her sides as she laughed.

Shaking myself out of my pondering, I rapped on the door. It was opened by a redhead with lots of freckles.

She was cute, but I had to remember that she was married. I bowed, "My name is Nathan McNeill. I'm here because you called about a case?"

I barely finished my sentence when she pulled me inside. "My daughter, my daughter!" she breathed. Okay?

"Calm down, Mrs. Grace. What about your daughter? Please tell me what's going on." I tried to calm her. She stopped tugging at my coat and inhaled deeply.

"I'm sorry. I lost myself for a moment. Please take a seat, and I will tell you everything."

She didn't even serve me tea as we sat in her living room, I thought begrudgingly. Dejectedly, she said, "We moved here a year ago for my job.

It's only me, my husband, and my daughter. We moved here from Ireland and settled into the house without a problem. Sarah, my daughter, got adjusted to her new elementary school and made friends. For several months, life was great."

She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed, "But in the last month, everything changed! My daughter changed!

She stopped playing with her friends, avoided the sun, stopped speaking to us, and barely ate her food. She's become a zombie!" She grabbed me by the hand, nice.

"We took her to doctors, specialists, even a priest! No one could figure out what was wrong with her! Please help her, Mr. McNeill," she burst into tears.

I patted her hand sympathetically.

"Take me to her, and I'll see what I can do," I replied softly. She nodded and we stood up. We trod up a small flight of stairs and found ourselves before a pink door with the nameplate

"SARAH'S ROOM" hanging above it. After receiving no answer when her mother tapped, I opened the door. It was dark. I felt my hackles rise as I felt the ominous atmosphere.