“You will regret it someday, my child,” her father said to her the day before she left for America. “Nowhere in the world is better than your own home.” It was strange that a strong-minded man liked her father would love his poor and boring home so much.
She almost regretted her action when she struggled to make ends meet the first year. Without money, life in America could be worse than it was in China. To be able to buy a brand-name shirt, she had to skip dinners for weeks, whereas in China, there wouldn’t be such a shirt to tempt her. To pay for her tuition, she had to suffer, beaten up and ordered around by Coffin Face whereas in China she could go to college for free—her parents would pay for it. Never in her dreams had Yi-yun prepared herself for such a hellish life.
It all came to an end when she married Fang Chen, who supported her throughout the years when they were together until she was caught by the cross fire of love. Because of love, she walked away from her good fortune. Because of love, she went back to work and took pride in living on her own. But what did she get from her love? Nothing but a broken dream.
Her heart ached so painfully that she had to bend down, dropping her head into her hands. What could she do now? She cried. Where could she go?
Slowly, she got up and walked toward the old dresser that sat in the corner of their bedroom. In one of her drawers, she kept a few letters her parents had written to her. In one of them, they asked her to come home for a visit. “Bring Tom along,” her mother wrote. Because of the growing economy due to Deng Xiao Ping’s open market policies, they could afford to buy two international round-trip tickets for her, their beloved daughter, and her future husband, the talented musician.
Tears rolled down one after another as she read and reread the letters. Poor Mama and Papa, they would be heartbroken if they knew what had happened to their daughter. Yes, she could always go home; she would be welcomed and embraced by her parents no matter what, but she couldn’t. She could never go back as a failure. What would other people say if they knew? What would her friends say? She would rather die than face the humiliation.
Her heart sank when she thought of death. It might be the only way out if she didn’t want to go back to where she started because even if she got an abortion, she still had to pay her lawyer to clean up the legal headaches. Yes, she could work full time and make enough money to pay for all, but then what? She couldn’t live with Tom anymore after knowing he had never loved her and would never love her. She couldn’t go back to Fang Chen because she had burned her bridges. Could she support herself? Yes, but did she want to do it all over again? No. She hated the job; she took it the second time only because she had a purpose. When the purpose was gone along with her dream, it would be unbearable.
She shuddered.
If she moved out now, there would be no helping hands from anyone, definitely not from Tom who didn’t even pay for her clothing after she lost them because of him. It took her more than three months to replace half of her necessities. Oh God, how could she have been so blind?
The sun had moved into the living room. It was almost eleven in the morning. Hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday at China Dragon, Yi-yun was lightheaded and painfully hungry.
It would be such a relief if she could just die. The afterworld couldn’t be worse than the world she was living in right now. She returned to the dresser and took out the revolver Tom kept in one of his drawers. The gun was cold when she held it in her palm, not much weight either. She slowly popped open the safety. Tom had showed her how by accident.
“Don’t touch it,” he screamed when he saw her pulling at it. “There are bullets in it!”
“Why do you keep the bullets in?” she had asked.
He shrugged after he pushed the gun back under his underwear. “My father knew I would never put the bullets in, so he gave it to me fully loaded.”
“Will it go off by itself?” she was nervous then.
“Oh, no, as long as the safety is on, nothing can go wrong.”
But it would go wrong now because she had no intention of letting him off so easily after he had deliberately ruined her life. If she died because of him, she wanted him to be punished as well. She sat there, thinking hard. If she planned it carefully, she could deliver a huge blow to the bastard. It might not kill him, but it would surely ruin his career, which he milked so shamelessly out of her love. Without her financial support, he could never have gone off to attend the competition, let alone get a prize. She should make sure no one would hire him in the future. Let him go back to his old way of living, working several jobs, this time for life. She smirked when she imagined what he would do if he was forced into playing at the bars and clubs again. “Serves him right” was all she could say.
To pull it off though, she would need a partner in crime. She needed someone she could trust, someone who would do anything for her, and someone who would understand. She went into the living room and picked up the phone. Half way through dialing, she stopped, hesitating for a second, then put the phone back on.
Epilogue
Fang Chen was numb with exhaustion by the time the judge had declared a mistrial. After several weeks of deadlock among the jury who couldn’t agree on the second-degree murder charge, it was finally over. Even though he preferred a guilty verdict, he had to admit it was a better outcome and a bittersweet relief. For what he had done, Tom Meyers had gotten what he deserved.
“I want him to suffer as much as he made me suffer,” Yi-yun had told him on the phone.
“I’ll do my best,” he had promised.
He almost didn’t pick up the phone when it rang because he was ready for his lunch, but as soon as he heard her voice begging him to hear her out, he gave in. He didn’t think he could ever drop the phone even if he had tried. She apologized for what she had done in tears and told him she had regretted it ever since. “I’m sorry,” she was sobbing over the phone, which instantly melted his heart, “if I hurt you. Do you hate me?”
No, he could never hate her, he said, because he couldn’t stop loving her. He heard his voice crack with pain.
“Oh, if only I knew,” she moaned.
“It’s still not too late if you want to come back,” he said a little hesitantly. He could see the two of them being together again, maybe not as happy as before, but they would get along. He doubted that he could forget everything, but he would try.
She broke down. “It’s too late now,” she cried. “If you knew, you would never take me back.” He didn’t know what she meant by that.
She was quiet for a few seconds to dry her tears, he guessed. When she started talking again, she was rather calm and confident. “It’s all over now. You’ll be happy to know that I have a plan to avenge our common tormenter for good.”
He stiffened. “What do you plan to do?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone, but you will find out when you come to my apartment. You have to come immediately. You only have thirty minutes, and I want you to be here between one to one fifteen.” Her voice became stronger and icier.
“Okay,” he said rather uncertainly.
“You need to bring a pair of gloves and a small duffel bag. I will leave my apartment door open, so don’t ring the bell. Just come in, and make sure to wear your gloves first.”
“Yi-yun, you aren’t going to do something stupid, are you?” he was alarmed.
“No, nothing stupid. For once, I think I’m good. I will tell you all about it when we meet again.” She stopped, then asked softly: “You still love me, don’t you?”
“Yes, I will always love you,” he said fervently.
“I will too after today,” she said. “Now please write down my address. See you in thirty minutes.” She hung up the phone without saying good-bye.
He rushed out of his office and drove home, taking a pair of gloves from the kitchen cabinet and a duff
el bag from his closet. He parked his car at the back of the street where she lived. Her building was extremely quiet at that hour of the day, and nobody was around. He put on his gloves and pushed her apartment door open.
The living room curtains were half drawn, and the midday sun was just touching the legs of the dining table. He saw her lying on the floor with a gun next to her and the pillow on top of her. There wasn’t too much blood as if she had kept her neatness even in death. Her face wasn’t changed at all, still beautiful but rather pale, as of sleeping on a sick bed. She had left a note on the dining table addressed to My Dearest Fang. He put it in his pocket without reading it as he suddenly realized what else was in front of him.
The pregnancy was obvious. He could see it with his inexperienced, naked eyes. Poor Yi-yun, no wonder she knew it was too late. She finally tasted her own medicine and knew there would be no way out. He understood then what she had planned and why she did it. She had to die because she couldn’t face the harsh reality. If her death was ruled as a suicide, everyone in the community would know, including her parents. But if it was a homicide, her parents wouldn’t be humiliated at all, and she would be remembered as a nice girl who was killed by a scoundrel. Not many people would pay attention to her pregnancy when a killer was in the picture; instead, they would concentrate on the crime and punishment.
He carefully left her body untouched, taking off the gloves on her hands and picking up the gun and the pillow. He couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that she had so calmly planned everything including the last detail before she killed herself.
The gloves prevented him leaving any unwanted fingerprints, and the duffel bag hid the pillow and the gun. He had worn a baseball cap so nobody could tell who he was even if he ran into anyone near the building. The timing was good; nobody was around the neighborhood.
He took everything home first, then went back to his office. Around midnight, he left his apartment and drove to the Charles River, which was dark and quiet under the new moon. He walked up the BU Bridge and dropped the gun, which didn’t even make a splash. Then he put the two pairs of gloves together meshed with leftovers in a plastic bag and dropped it inside a big trash bin. Next day, he put the duffel bag into the washer and casually dropped the pillow in one of the open trashcans in her neighborhood because he wanted it to be found so Tom Meyers would be surely brought in as a suspect.
He got rid of everything except the note, which made him cry every time he read it. He eventually burned it after the visit of Detective Winderman, who seemed to have some suspicions about the entire case. Fang Chen was alarmed when the detective mentioned the possibility of a suicide while looking at him oddly. By then, he had memorized every word in the note.
Dearest Fang,
Please forgive me. I know I’ve hurt you immeasurably, but I could do nothing now but beg for your forgiveness. Oh, how I regretted to leave you, you of all people, who loves me dearly and wholeheartedly.
My heart is full of gratitude and love when I’m writing this. Thank you for helping me one last time.
Please take the gun away, and throw it in the river or somewhere nobody can find it. The missing gun should connect him to me—I told Ann about the gun, so she would tell the police if being questioned. I want him to pay for his cruelty. Yes, he is a heartless man who you knew before I did. I was so blind that I didn’t even see when all the evidence was staring at me. For my naïveté, now I have to “drink the bitter wine,” as the old Chinese saying goes.
I will have to use a pillow so my neighbor won’t hear the gun shot. Please be careful and discreet when you get rid of the evidence because I don’t want you to get into trouble.
Good-bye, my dearest Fang!
Love with all my heart. (And she literally drew a heart next to the sentence.)
Yours forever,
Yi-yun
Staring ahead, Fang Chen smiled with tears in his eyes. He remembered the time when Paul Winderman brought up the topic of testing the gunpowder on her hands, which tickled him to no end. She was wearing a pair of gloves when she did the deed. Such a smart cookie, she had planned her revenge perfectly.
So Tom Meyer would be punished, mistrial or not. From what he heard, the BSO had put him on a long-term leave without pay as soon as he had been charged as a murder suspect, and Fang Chen doubted they would extend his contract when his original one ended. After all, who would want a criminal in their rank when there were so many talented pianists out there who could play as well as he did? Served him right!
When the news of mistrial reached Paul Winderman, the detective was sitting in his office, reading an autopsy report of a recent murder case in the city. He looked up from his desk at the deputy who brought him the news without any expressions. After a second or two, he nodded and dismissed the young detective.
Only when the deputy left, Paul Winderman breathed a sigh of relief and took off his reading glasses. The sun had been shining brightly through the window and reflected on a file cabinet sitting at the corner of his office. Three drawers of the steel-framed cabinet contained all the cases he had been working on since he started his career as a homicide detective.
Slowly, Paul opened the top drawer labeled “Case Pending” and took out a file. From it he took out a sheet of paper and folded it twice before putting it into his pocket. Prior to moving the file from “Case Pending” to the bottom drawer, he wanted to make sure his assumption wasn’t just a speculation. He owed it to himself as a detective.
Fang Chen was surprised when he answered the knock at his office door and saw Paul Winderman. “Can I come in?” the detective asked with a smile.
Fang Chen hesitated for a few seconds before holding the door open for the detective. Paul Winderman walked in and dropped into the chair opposite to the desk. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket after Fang Chen sat down behind his desk. “What do you think about the mistrial?” he asked casually.
Fang Chen shrugged. “Disappointing but justice is justice.”
Paul Winderman gave him a knowing smile. “Yes, justice is justice,” he repeated the words in a way that made Fang Chen look up sharply. “But the mistrial makes my job much easier.” Which was true; in fact he was rather relieved that he didn’t have to show his hands. As much as he hated to see a murderer go free, he equally hated to put an innocent man in jail, no matter what a lousy creature the man was. Knowing there was no possible way he could use a payphone record to force a confession without an eyewitness, he was nevertheless anticipating he might have to try.
Fang Chen looked at him searchingly and their eyes met just for a second.
“Now I still have a question to ask you,” Paul Winderman said slowly, looking down at the paper in his hands. “Do you want to tell me who called your extension around noon the day your ex-wife died?”
Paul Winderman could see the muscles on his face were tightened when Fang Chen answered him after a full minute. “I get numerous phone calls every day, how can I remember?”
Paul Winderman put the payphone record on his desk and said: “If you need a reminder, it was ten minutes past twelve, right before you left your office.”
Fang Chen looked at him vacantly; not a muscle on his face moved. “Can’t remember,” his voice was calm and indifferent, “could be a call from one of my students.”
“I doubt it,” Paul Winderman said; his eyes had never left Fang Chen’s face. “It was from a public payphone two blocks away from your ex-wife’s apartment building.”
“So?” Fang Chen shrugged. “Anyone can call me from a public payphone. In fact, several of my students live in that area. Don’t forget, Mr. Detective, that area is heavily favored by college students.”
“That’s true,” Paul Winderman nodded with a smile. “But I just found it very strange that you would get a phone call that day from that area because most of the college studen
ts would be on campus at that time.”
Fang Chen looked at him blankly. “What’s your point?” he asked unconcernedly.
“Well, just that a murder case could turn out to be a suicide case,” Paul Winderman said with a sigh and stood up. He had expected the firewall, but he had to admit the nerdy professor was a cooler customer than he thought.
Fang Chen followed him to the door. Before he opened the door, Paul Winderman said offhandedly without turning his head: “You know disposing of evidence in a murder case is a Federal crime.”
“I fully understand,” Fang Chen said mildly.
“Good-bye, professor,” Paul Winderman said with a smile.
“Good-bye, Detective.”
Paul Winderman found himself humming a toneless tune as he stepped outside. He smiled. He could never hold a tune, no matter how hard he tried but he couldn’t help it when he was extremely pleased with himself. He was humming all the way to his office.
When in it, he put the sheet of paper back in the case file and dropped it into the bottom drawer that labeled “Case Solved” in his file cabinet.
That’s that. He sighed and sat in his chair, looking down once again at the new autopsy report he had been reading on his desk.
G. X. Chen, The Mystery of Revenge
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