Park looked around his aunt’s home. Somewhere in his still clouded mind he knew he should be grateful for her help. She got him out on bail, secured a lawyer, let him stay in her house. But there were restrictions. She’d said,
“Best if you don’t go out.”
What kind of sentence was that?
It wasn’t just flouting grammar. Worse, it was as if she didn’t even care. He said aloud,
“They have to care and they will . . . care.”
The policewoman,
Ridge?
She danced before his eyes like words he couldn’t articulate. And he knew all words needed to be articulated, otherwise they atrophied. She’d mocked him, mocked grammar, and, with malice aforethought, deliberately mangled and mutilated the most basic rules of common speech.
She’d sneered,
“You’ll get your due.”
. . . Due to
. . . means caus
