COLD CREEK

One: A Bad Monday

Neatly folded in an open drawer lay a button down shirt, several shades of khaki pants, and at least a dozen leather belts rolled up and tucked tightly between the surrounding apparel. A hand reached out to close the drawer, but before doing so, a white flash lit up the clothes and the sharp crack of the camera’s shutter broke the silence. The drawer closed and the drawer beneath was pulled open. In this one, various shoe boxes sat tightly abreast with the name RAIDEN MORITA labelled on the lids. Another flash brightened up the objects and the drawer was shut by the owner’s hand.

The camera was lowered and Raiden’s finger popped up from behind the device, tapping the power button off. The camera was sent sliding into a pocket and he hurried for the bedroom door. Before exiting, he stopped and smoothed his closely cut black hair in the mirror and then left the room. Raiden grabbed his computer bag on the way out and aimed for the front door. His feet came to a stuttering halt and, upon passing the dining room, he whipped out his camera and took a quick snapshot of the table and the furniture surrounding it.

Raiden pursed his lips in satisfaction and unlocked the front door. He backed out, sorting through his keys as he did. When he came upon the house key, he stuck it into the door and turned the lock. He jiggled the knob to make sure he had secured the entrance and sprinted to his car. He turned once more to the house and examined the positioning of the curtains in the window, then the angle of the garbage cans in front of the garage door, and lastly which way the latch to the front gate laid. It was down.

Raiden ducked down into his car and flipped on the ignition. In a methodical voice, spoken in well-learned English, he reiterated to himself, "Back door closed? Yes. Refrigerator closed? Baka." Raiden bit his lip again and his mind scrambled for the mental picture. A fist tightened in irritation and he pulled over on the side of the road. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his camera. Raiden scrolled through the photos until he came upon his marble kitchen. A relieved sigh came from his lips as he saw the fridge door sealed. "Refrigerator is closed." He tossed the camera into the passenger seat and entered the streets again.

Raiden slipped on a pair of sunglasses and turned the radio station to the Classics. A Led Zeppelin song drummed through the speakers and even though he didn't understand half of the lyrics, he appreciated them as the talented musicians they were.

As Raiden drove, the sunlight shimmered through the windshield and the bright summer foliage whirled past him like scenery painted with a smearing brush. The streets were clear as they usually were on an early Monday morning in the suburbs. He whipped his black Dodge Challenger around a curb as he one-handily sorted the objects stashed in his cup holder. He tossed wrappers in the small trash bag and separated the electronics from the loose change.

Raiden’s foot pressed on the brake as he struggled with a runaway coin. A rise of irritation stirred his insides up so much that he pulled over, turned on his emergency lights, and parked his car. He reached down underneath the cup holder and patted the ground in search of the quarter. When his fingers had found it, he picked it up gingerly and threw it in the cup holder that held all his change. His chest fell in contentment and a hand passed over the front of his shirt pocket, just for him to notice something was out of place.

Raiden reached over to his computer bag in the seat beside him and unzipped the smallest pouch. His hand dove inside and rummaged around for a moment until he came upon a thin plastic card. Raiden turned the card over and read the title alongside his photo.

RN

RAIDEN MORITA

SEVERANCE HOSPITAL

Raiden clipped the name tag on his shirt and patted it, securing its placement. He started up the car again and pulled out onto the street. Raiden cleared his throat a time or two and adjusted the rearview mirror so that the entire back window could be evenly seen. He checked his side mirrors for the third time and cranked the AC down four notches. Raiden flipped on the radio to another channel and kept it low enough so that he could hear the music, but not loud enough to where he could hear the speakers crackling. An orchestral song lilted throughout the car, soothing his nerves.

Raiden had a terrible case of obsessive compulsion, but he couldn't stop it and he didn't know why he had it. Some doctors said it was genetics, others claimed it was a habit worth quitting. Nevertheless, Raiden couldn't bring himself to let any organisation slack; he felt obscured and distracted when anything was out of place. And it wasn't just his belongings, he organised anything that could be sorted or placed straight. It bothered him like a thistle in the flesh -- he had to have things just right or his mind would go insane.

Right on time, Raiden pulled into his usual parking spot and collected his things. He placed his shades back in their holder and slung his computer bag over his shoulder. He popped out and locked his car twice. He smoothed his clothes out once more and ran his palm over his hair, making sure no stray strands came past his hairline. Raiden straightened his shoulders and walked towards the revolving doors. He was average height, but his slender frame and straight posture made him appear taller. He was only confident when he needed people to see him as such.

"Morning, Mr. Morita" came from the cold, professional voice of Karina Taylor, the company's American boss. Her shoulder-length blonde hair bounced around her strained neck as she cut in front of Raiden and opened the door first. She held it open for him, but just long enough for him to stop it in case it closed on its own. "I want you in my office, okay?"

The door clattered shut and Raiden froze. He could tell by the tone of her voice and the rushing of her movements, something was up. Only four days ago, one of their best nurses was told to leave for no supported reason. Raiden could already hear the career threatening words booming in his ears like a live grenade. He swallowed and responded in a collected tone, "Yes. Of course. I'll put my things--,"

"Bring your things," Mrs. Taylor said abruptly, disappearing onto the elevator.

Raiden's shoulders fell and beads of sweat began breaking from face. He couldn't have his medical career terminated; he had huge plans for himself. He exhaled a shallow sigh and made his way to the stairs. He opened the heavy wooden door that always required more of his strength than he would anticipate and trotted up at a reasonable speed. Dozens of scenarios played through his head, and each ended with his things being packed up in a large brown bag.

When he had made it to his floor, he headed straight to Mrs. Taylor's office. His hands shook furiously, hoping his nervousness would be gone by the time he saw her. He went up to the door, which was ajar, and knocked. Seconds after, the door swung open, releasing a cool breeze onto his face. Mrs. Taylor and several board members sat around her desk. Raiden, before anyone spoke, assessed the situation and knew he was being let go.

Mrs. Taylor, who read the expectation in Raiden's eyes, said bluntly, "Mr. Morita. Your work here at Severance Hospital has been honestly appreciated. But, we've had a few complaints on how strictly you monitor yourself and how," she paused to lower her intensity, "and how hard you push yourself. We think we need a person with lower expectations than yours."

Raiden gasped and a smile of astonishment quivered on his face. The stress grabbed him like unwanted hands on the shoulders and he began speaking to her in Japanese. She interrupted him in that cold voice.

"English, please, Mr. Morita. You should know how to speak to me by now."

Raiden bowed respectfully and apologised. He gathered his thoughts and spoke again, but this time in his slow, methodical English. "Are you saying the work I'm doing isn't suitable? Or that my work ethics bother you? What about the presentation?"

"I have someone else presenting for you, so, no need to insist on doing it. But yes, we just think we need someone with a more upbeat personality," Mrs. Taylor answered. She tilted her head in a way Raiden had learned not to argue with. "If you could leave before twelve that would be good. We have interviews lined up for other suitable candidates, and we don't think you should be here when that process happens."

"Of course, I understand." Raiden stuttered.

One of the men in the suits spoke up in an uncaring voice, "We'll send you paperwork as soon as possible. Have them filled and send them to us, and we'll remove you from the company. We promise to be a reference."

Raiden forced a smile and dipped his head to all the members. He departed the office and headed for his desk. He held the stress in his chest, straining the muscles around his ribcage. The thought of looking for another job and praying that he had enough money to pay the incoming bills weighed on him like bricks. He could already see the bills for rent, internet, phone, and insurance companies stacking up on his dining room table.

Once he had arrived at the office where the other nurses studied, he saw a huge brown bag sitting beside his pushed-in chair. A surge of violation overtook him and he rushed over to the bag and looked inside. All his belongings from his desk were thrown in haphazardly with heavy things on top and fragile items on the bottom. Raiden snapped his head over his shoulder and glared at the room he had just left. He hated them with every fibre of his being for handling his possessions. There was nothing he could do about it except pick up the bag and haul it out along with himself.

Raiden walked down the stairs, his head bowed and his steps heavy. He headed back out the front doors he had just entered and made his way to his car. He then carefully placed his things in the backseat and slipped into the driver's seat. He turned the key, positioned his foot over the brake and pulled the seatbelt across his chest. His fingers curled around the steering wheel, and he looked at the building he had been working in for two years. He couldn't believe it. He squeezed his eyes shut and creases formed on his forehead as he tried to tell himself that change would do him good. But it did nothing but pound him with the thought of building resumes, making phone calls, sweating in the middle of the night, and praying till he wondered if faith was any good.

A shuddering sigh escaped his lungs as he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror. He switched on the radio and cranked it up just enough to distract him from his thoughts. The announcer, in his robotic voice, chatted about a topic that didn't interest Raiden until the terrifying words were uttered.

"Saturday morning, a thirty-seven year old woman, Park Soo-Wan was found dead at two o'clock AM en route to see her family. It appeared to have been a hit and run."

Raiden flipped off the station and his heart began beating rapidly. His breathing faltered and a huge fear paralyzed him. He hated the thought of being vulnerable to that sort of danger. Raiden held his breath as he recalled the many close call car wrecks his father had almost had when picking him up from school. The sound of tires screeching, horns blaring, and the dark scent of alcohol haunted him every time a wreck was mentioned. He could hear his father’s voice yelling at him.

“Why is it so hard for you to pass a simple test? You’re supposed to be smart? Why did I end up with a stupid son? It’s easy, a five-year-old could pass this! You’re not going to be successful if you keep trying like this. Look at your brother and your sister, they’re geniuses!”

The memory became too much to bear. The rising anger he thought he had suppressed, came up like an unexpected wave. Raiden yanked the car over to the side of the street again, the wheels bumping up onto the curb. He sat breathing at a rate that would surely push him into a panic attack.

His fingers pressed against his opposite wrist to feel his pulse, which was palpitating at a precarious speed. Raiden sucked in a large amount of air through his nose and glanced up at the rearview mirror to examine the amount of sweat he knew was accumulating on his forehead. He turned around in his chair and checked the backseat, making sure no one had gotten in his car while he had been away. Seeing he was safe, he drove home with the radio off.

When he pulled into his garage and shut off the car, he heard the clacking of toenails on the hardwood floor above. He smiled, knowing the frantic rhythm could only belong to his eighty-eight pound German shepherd, Byeol. Raiden grabbed his bag and got out of the car. He closed the door, peeked at all the locks and closed the garage with the button he had custom-installed on his keychain. Raiden opened the door that led directly into his tool shed. The concrete mass of dark teal covered the entire floor up to the steps that led upstairs.

Raiden glanced up at the ceiling and found the thin cotton cord dangling in front of him. He pulled it gently, clicking on the light bulb. The bulb glowed in a dull yellow, giving him enough light to place his things down on a wooden work table. As he methodically laid his things out and loosened his collar, he heard Byeol baying miserably upstairs for his attention.

"I'm coming!" Raiden tossed his nametag into his bag and jogged down a large surface of the floor that was taken mostly up by storage boxes, and then took a sharp left down a tighter corridor that led straight up a flight of carpeted stairs. He looked up at the top of the stairs and saw the shadow of a powerful wolf-like creature come into view and two muscular paws flopped over the gate that separated the dog from the downstairs.

Byeol barked loudly at the sight of his master and his tail swooshed side to side, barely missing the fragile plant to his right. Raiden jumped over the last top steps and shut the door behind him. He cooed at the dog and nuzzled his nose against his companion's wet one.

"How are you, boy? Been good?" Byeol answered in two sharp barks and then hopped off the fence. He wiggled his whole body in excitement and jumped up, nearly knocking Raiden to the ground with his monstrous frame. He laughed and heaved the dog off of him. With a toss of his head, Raiden commanded him to go. Byeol made a low rumble in his throat and then scampered off to his end of the house.

Raiden chuckled and made his way to the kitchen where he craved a bite to eat. He cruised through the low supply of meats and cheeses and cringed at the bountiful amount of colourful fruits and vegetables. His face scrunched up in dissatisfaction and he swung the door shut. He puffed his cheeks out in a bored sigh and meandered to his bedroom. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his camera. He clicked it on and went over to his top drawer. He examined his undergarments and counted the pairs of socks and combs, periodically checking the photograph on his camera to see if they matched.

When he saw that nothing had changed since he left, a wave of comfort washed over him. So far, no one appeared to have come into his house.

The next room he checked was the bathroom. He counted the bottles and medical creams in the cabinet. He made sure his toothbrush was facing the right angle and that the bar of soap was still angled in the corner of the sink. After the bathroom, he checked the dining room and then the guest bedroom, and lastly the attic and basement. Raiden hated going up to the attic; the creaking and dead insects sent his imagination going wild. At some points, he swore he heard a human groan or even the opening of the attic window. But all they were were the boards creaking and the wind outside knocking the leaves against the glass.

Once the attic was combed through thoroughly, Raiden brought Byeol down with him in the basement so that he wasn't alone in case someone broke in.

Raiden knew very well someone wouldn't break in at eleven o'clock in the morning, but he was always open to the possibility, and he knew it could very well happen to him. And that was the thought that drove him into making sure his house was secure all the time.

Even if he was asleep, he made sure outside lights and a surveillance camera would turn on. He also bought Byeol as extra security, training him diligently to alert at any sign or shadow. Raiden did everything he knew and could afford to keep himself safe. But no matter how much he tried, the more he believed he was someone's victim.