Marcus Shaw's skin crawled. Looking down, he realized his lower body was naked—he lay on a sticky bed scattered with pills and bubble gum, the contents of his red backpack dumped on the floor.
The room was tiny, shrinking around him and the woman like dough being pressed together.
His head felt as if it would split open. He was trapped in some fever dream.
He wanted to wake up, but instead, he heard a fist pounding on a door.
Moments later, uniformed officers kicked it open, shouting, "Hands on your head! On the floor! Now!"
***
"Looks can be deceiving. Who knew you were into the heavy stuff."
Across the table, a young officer smirked at Marcus Shaw. A single four-pointed star adorned his shoulder.
The fluorescent tube overhead blazed harsh and white, almost blinding. Two moths circled frantically, their bodies clinking against the fixture.
Marcus Shaw sat motionless, offering no response, his eyelids shut.
The young cop's face hardened. He smacked the table and nearly shouted, "This is a knowing violation of the law!"
Marcus Shaw still didn't speak. He sat there, eyes closed, conserving what remained of his energy. His mind felt hollow and still, as though a bucket of well water had been dumped over it.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway, accompanied by heavy breathing. Marcus Shaw opened his eyes—Captain Reed, in an old man's undershirt, loose and casual on his frame, but his face was carved from stone.
He shot Marcus Shaw a withering glare, then ducked into the station chief's office.
Marcus Shaw closed his eyes again, half-dazed, thinking—it was the first time he'd ever seen the captain in civilian clothes.
After a while, voices filtered out from the inner office. He opened his eyes to see the two men at the doorway. Captain Reed was nodding and bowing to the station chief, offering repeated apologies. The chief waved a hand, said something, and Reed slapped his thigh, shook the chief's hand, then turned toward Marcus Shaw, his face locked tight.
Reed gave the young cop a perfunctory smile and said, "Spoke with your chief. I'll be taking him." He glanced meaningfully at Marcus Shaw.
Marcus Shaw didn't move—seemed fused to the chair.
Reed said, "You want to spend the night here? I'm not staying."
Outside, Marcus Shaw reached for his wallet to call a cab, only to find it empty. He was still fumbling when Reed sneezed twice and said, "Get in my car. We're going back to the unit."
The drive was silent.
At the station, Viktor Dunn was waiting outside the office door. Reed and Marcus Shaw walked past him without expression. Viktor Dunn blocked their path. "What exactly happened?"
Reed said, "Stay out of this. I need to talk to him."
He ushered Marcus Shaw into the captain's office and closed the door.
Marcus Shaw stood slumped by the door, saying nothing. Reed yanked open a drawer, pulled out tea leaves, and brewed himself a mug. Huangshan Maofeng—the fragrance filled the room.
Marcus Shaw stood there like a piece of furniture.
After a moment, Reed blew on his tea, then set the mug down with a bang. "You're suspended."
It took a moment for the words to register. When they did, Marcus Shaw sprang to life. He rushed to Reed's desk and blurted out, "I was framed! It was a sanitation worker—"
Reed didn't respond, just leaned back and fixed him with a sidelong glance.
"I went to investigate the catering company, and this guy approached me when I came out. He said he'd worked the area for years, even saw Dominic Hale go inside to destroy evidence. He seemed genuine, so I trusted him."
Reed cut in, "And then you went soliciting prostitutes with him?"
Marcus Shaw's face burned crimson, his voice hoarse. "I didn't solicit anyone! I was trying to get information out of him. I bought him drinks and skewers. He must have drugged my bowl when I went to the bathroom. The last bowl of liquor, he poured it right in front of me—I didn't think anything of it. Then I blacked out and got arrested."
Reed said nothing, just stared into Marcus Shaw's eyes for a long time before speaking. "I heard about what happened with you and Dr. Maren Frost the other day."
"What does she have to do with this? Who's been gossiping behind my back?"
"Your wife came to the unit and revealed you were married. Dr. Maren Frost found out and was hurt. She turned you down for good."
"I—I—I had feelings for her once, but that was back at the academy. That was years ago. I'm over her."
Reed sipped his tea and narrowed his eyes. "Over her? Then why is your marriage so strained that you kept it a secret? Does Nora embarrass you that much?"
Marcus Shaw slammed his palm on the desk. "That's completely unrelated!"
"Even if your marriage is on the rocks, that doesn't excuse going to a prostitute. Getting caught—do you know how humiliating this is for me?"
"I DIDN'T SLEEP WITH ANYONE! I told you I was framed! And how do you know our marriage is troubled? What were you doing at the art school? What did you say to Nora? Don't think I don't know."
Reed's mouth stopped blowing on his tea. His face flushed red to the collar.
Marcus Shaw pressed his advantage. "She's my wife. Keep your distance."
Reed's eyes bulged. It took him a long time to spit out his response: "What I said to her is my private business, and I don't owe you an explanation. It wasn't what you think. But if you were any kind of man, you'd make your wife happy instead of treating your marriage like a shameful secret. Ask yourself—have you done right by her these past two years?"
Spittle flew from Reed's lips onto Marcus Shaw's face. Neither spoke for a long time.
Eventually, Marcus Shaw wiped his face and said, "The reason I didn't publicly announce our marriage is complicated and private. It doesn't mean she's not good enough for me. It's my own psychological barrier I haven't worked through."
"What a convenient psychological barrier. If you're sick, why not get help? And didn't you and Vik have another fight recently?"
Marcus Shaw stared at the wrinkles at the corner of Reed's eyes without speaking, his jaw muscles working, grinding audibly.
After thinking it over, he finally found an opening. "Fine. Let me ask you this: why have I been framed and targeted multiple times? Was the old food poisoning case your doing? Did you abuse your authority to meddle with it?"
The words had barely left his mouth when Reed slammed the desk, the tea lid rattling. "You can suspect anyone you want, but you will NOT suspect me! I've spent my entire career in this job. I won't claim to be the best detective, but I have never done anything dishonorable. I am worthy of the badge on my head!"
Marcus Shaw had never seen him so furious. He didn't know what to say.
They stood locked in a stare-down for half a minute. Reed sat down, picked up his mug, and said, "You're still suspended. I've already identified the pills they found at the scene. You're emotionally unstable and mentally compromised. You're no good to the investigation right now—better to hand it off to the other comrades. You can come back after you pass a psychological evaluation." He turned away and sipped his tea.
Marcus Shaw clenched his jaw, trembling all over. He stood there for another moment, then walked out, eyes red, slamming the door behind him.
Viktor Dunn poked his head through the door, his face flushed. "No way. No way. I don't believe Marcus could do something like that." Getting no response from Reed, he chased after Marcus Shaw.
***
Marcus Shaw rested at home—an unexpectedly quiet stretch of days. He still hadn't told Nora about the prostitution charge, partly to avoid her misplaced jealousy, and partly to spare her worry.
He claimed he was just exhausted and needed a few days of annual leave. Nora didn't ask.
He slept until noon, his mind still foggy. Too tired to move, he lay in bed scrolling through his phone. Viktor Dunn had sent a message at midnight, saying he'd handle the case and that regardless of anything else, Marcus Shaw shouldn't have fought with the captain—better to rest and apologize when he got back.
Marcus Shaw didn't reply.
After a couple of rounds of an online battle game and some local news, he grew bored, set the phone aside, and his thoughts drifted back to the case.
Dominic Hale was cunning, pulling strings from the shadows, setting traps. And Marcus Shaw had walked right into two of them. He needed to be more careful.
Was Reed truly clean? During their conversation, his words had seemed loaded, as if he knew something.
Was he trying to warn Marcus Shaw, or was he obstructing? Had Marcus Shaw misjudged him?
Questions multiplied, threatening to burst his skull.
But one thing was certain: Reed and Nora shared a secret.
Ever since that day at noon when Marcus Shaw spotted them talking on the staircase, the question had gnawed at him. He'd watched them both discreetly but couldn't bring himself to ask her. And last night, he'd been too angry, too exhausted—he'd come home and passed out, forgetting again.
He didn't even know if they had each other's phone numbers. Though he hadn't asked, this morning when she left, she'd looked like she'd been crying.
What if she already knew?
The porridge of his thoughts kept churning. Two hours evaporated. His back ached from lying down, so he finally sat up, pulled a meal from the fridge, and put it in the microwave.
By the time he'd brushed his teeth, the microwave beeped. He sat at the table to eat and noticed Nora had restocked the bathroom—two more packs of toilet paper.
And there she was again, filling his mind. The strips of kelp in his meal looked like her swaying braid. The flecks of nori clinging to the rice reminded him of the beauty mark that breathed on her face.
Before he knew it, he'd finished every grain. He took his dishes to the sink, and amid the rush of water, he thought of her washing her hair and wondered if her neck ached from doing it so long, if her back ever hurt.
After cleaning up, he returned to his small room, wanting some quiet, maybe to do some coloring. He'd barely finished a cluster of flower petals when an urge seized him—he hesitated, then sneaked like a thief into the master bedroom.
The room was still saturated with the scent of her shampoo, like ropes binding him, slack but inescapable. His limbs turned to jelly, and something inside him swelled.
He slapped himself twice, stared at the class schedule on the wall, and noticed she had few classes today. Since he had nothing to do, he might as well go wait for her after work.
He fled the room.
First, he drove past the catering company.
Yesterday's old man was gone. A sanitation auntie was sweeping instead, her head wrapped tight, her vest grimy.
Marcus Shaw described the man and asked if she knew him.
"Impossible. This stretch is mine alone."
"She wasn't from nearby either?"
"No. The workers around here break for lunch together, tackle the tough jobs as a team. No one matching that description works this area."
He asked her a few more questions about the company, but she knew nothing. He thanked her and circled the block twice without finding the man.
Then he went to the sanitation bureau, gave his credentials, and flipped through employee records photo by photo. The face wasn't there.
This confirmed the setup. He cursed himself for being so careless—the man's vest had been spotlessly clean. He should have noticed on the spot.
Now he drove toward the art school. About halfway there, stuck at a red light, Marcus Shaw pulled out his phone and started typing a WeChat message to Nora. Hesitated, then called her directly instead.
The light turned green. The call went unanswered.
He started to worry. What was she doing? Was she ignoring him on purpose?
Then he reconsidered—she'd never been the type to pick fights. She was probably just busy and hadn't heard the phone.
As he drove, a premonition crept over him: he felt like he might run into Reed.
Why, he couldn't say.
His mind was like a pot of soup on the stove—he didn't know when it would be ready and was afraid to lift the lid. But following the thought further, he realized he was scared of seeing them together again, talking.
His foot pressed harder on the gas, then, without noticing, eased off.
Since she'd discovered he was on medication, she'd become more attentive, more understanding. That warmth and concern couldn't have been faked.
And now that he thought about it, Daniel Shaw's death was almost certainly Dominic Hale's doing—it had nothing to do with her. How had he been so pigheaded as to suspect her?
All at once, his mentor's words, Vik's words, Reed's words, even the fake sanitation worker's words careened through his skull, colliding like bumper cars. Marcus Shaw felt the heavy weight of his own selfishness. He'd been unworthy—barely human.
He'd just pulled up outside her building when Nora called back. Hearing he'd come to pick her up, she sounded overjoyed.
"Can you give me a few more minutes? Two students are almost finished playing."
"Sure, no rush. I'll wait in the car."
He waited a few minutes, then got thirsty and went to the building's convenience store for two cans of coffee. He thought about sneaking upstairs to peek but stopped himself.
Back in the car, he downed one can. His temples still throbbed faintly. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
After what felt like a while, Nora yanked the door open. She was white as a sheet, gasping for breath, words tumbling out in staccato: "Your—your boss, is dead, dead, upstairs!"