Chapter 4

Dan's suitcase lay wide open on the polished tile floor. All anyone could see were a few ordinary changes of clothes. In one corner sat several bottles of men's cologne and skincare products, as well as a thick stack of handwritten medical notes.

The crowd burst into raucous laughter at the sight.

"That's it? Triggering the biohazard alarm for this? The guy's a lunatic!"

"Talk about being dramatic! It's obviously just normal luggage, yet he insists on framing the guy."

"How vicious. A pathetic excuse for a man like him belongs behind bars."

Eager to put an end to the commotion so she could leave with Dan, Judy turned toward the airport security officers and yelled, "Don't listen to him. Just arrest him already."

"There's something wrong with my husband here," she continued, pointing to her head as her face twisted with disgust. "Mental illness runs in the family."

Her words drove into my heart like a rusty, blunt knife. When my father betrayed my mother years ago, he'd publicly accused her of being mentally ill, too. Driven to despair, Mom had jumped from the 18th floor and died on impact.

That remained a bleeding wound deep inside me, something that no one was allowed to touch.

Judy clearly knew all about it, yet, to protect her ex-boyfriend, she didn't hesitate to plunge a knife right into that very wound.

"Look at you, acting all hysterical right now. How are you any different from your mother who jumped off that building? You're as insane as she was."

The tone of the crowd shifted. The sneering laughter turned into fear.

A few travelers standing nearby instinctively backed away, as though they were afraid I would suddenly snap and attack someone.

A mother with a young child pulled the child behind her protectively.

"Where's security? Get this man out of here quickly. What if he hurts someone?"

The security officers exchanged glances, then began closing in around me.

"I'm not insane, and my mother wasn't mentally ill either," I said, lifting my head.

My voice was shaking, but I forced myself to enunciate each word clearly.

Nobody listened to me, though. They started shoving roughly, trying to drag me away by force.

"Get him out of here! Stop making a scene at the airport!"

In the chaos, I was shoved violently to the ground. My lower back slammed against the base of the guardrail, and an excruciating, tearing pain exploded from my spine. Cold sweat instantly soaked through my clothes.

I instinctively grabbed the hem of Judy's pants.

"Judy, the back injury I got from saving your life all those years ago…" I started, my voice shaking. "It's really opened back up."

But Judy didn't lean down to help me. Instead, she kicked my hand away, pure revulsion in her eyes.

"Joel, even if your old injury really has flared up…"

She paused, as though carefully choosing her words. Then the corners of her lips twisted into a cruel smile.

"...I still wouldn't help you. Who knows what kind of ticking time bomb is hidden in your family's genes? I don't want to spend the rest of my life saddled with a burden who might lose his mind and jump off a building at any moment.

"Let's go, Dan. You've just got back, and I haven't even welcomed you home properly. Where do you want to eat?"

Some people laughed. Others held up their phones to record. And there I lay on the cold floor, feeling my life slowly slip away, bit by bit.

"Let's go, sir. Stop making a scene."

The security officers hauled me to my feet. My knees buckled, and my vision started going dark around the edges.

Dan had already picked his suitcase back up and taken two steps toward the exit when, suddenly, a loud bang sounded.

The glass doors were kicked open from the outside.

Black riot shields surged into the terminal as an entire line of heavily armed customs tactical officers stormed inside. The dark barrels of their guns locked onto every moving figure near the exit.

Everyone froze.

Dan's hand stiffened around the suitcase handle, and his feet remained rooted to the spot. Judy's expression turned from contempt to shock, then from shock to sheer terror.

A woman in black tactical gear, with a gold-embroidered falcon insignia, strode toward me.

It was Heather Holt.

The moment she saw the state of my face, her eyes widened in alarm.

I struggled to raise my hand and point toward Dan's suitcase.

"The suitcase… The tub of men's hair wax… In the hidden compartment… There's a smell of blood…"