Fic: "The Hell Season" pt. 1 of 3 [2002, Chiu/Fung, PG-13]

[keiko-kirin.livejournal.com]

Author: Keiko Kirin
Title: The Hell Season
Fandom: 2002 (Hong Kong movie, 2001)
Pairing: Chiu [played by Nicholas Tse]/Fung [played by Stephen Fung]
Summary: Unusually dry weather hits Hong Kong, and its resident ghosts are suddenly quiet, but Chiu finds himself increasingly distracted by the mysterious 'Matron' -- and by his partner, Fung. Set after the movie.
Word count: pt. 1: 7900, pt. 2: 6800, pt. 3: 3300
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Long story! Contains spoilers for the movie.
URL for printer-friendly version: pteropus.com/keiko/misc/2002hs.html

It hadn't rained in two weeks. There was no end in sight for the freak dry spell, and the news predicted dire consequences for the city. Water was life blood: to be without it was unnatural. There had been five major fires, causes unknown, and the scent of smoke hung over the city in the desiccated air. It was a hell season, Paper Chan said, shaking his head and consulting his fortune books. Hong Kong hadn't experienced one in decades, and the last one... Chan shook his head again and refused to elaborate.

Chiu shrugged it off. "You know he likes to scare us," he muttered, casting Chan an annoyed glare from the doorway of Chan's paper offerings shop.

Fung looked up at the windless, smoky sky and wrinkled his nose. "I know. But I can feel something around us. Can't you feel it? Like another world is pressing into this one."

Chiu glanced at Fung uneasily. He had been aware of something new in the air, something unusual and distracting, but he couldn't determine if it was malevolent or not. That Fung could feel it too filled him with dread. If it was this pervasive, it couldn't be anything harmless.

"You listen to him!" Chan scolded, stabbing the air with his finger. "He's sensible. You--" He grimaced and gestured. "You think just because you cheated fate once, you're untouchable. Think you can have everything. You can't. That death star on your hand hasn't gone away," he said darkly, and without thinking, Chiu looked down at his palm and the bad luck spot there.

Chan gave an evil chuckle. "You see? You'll listen?"

Chiu shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I don't think everything's changed," he said just a bit too loudly, because he wasn't sure if it were true. Fung had died but had been resurrected, and Special Unit 2002 had been a two-man partnership ever since. No ghosts recruited, no matter how many lurked around Chan's shop offering their services. They had changed fate, and Chiu was getting used to living a real life -- with love and friends.

Fung patted Chiu's shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay. Like you said, Chan likes to wind us up." He scowled at Chan. "Besides, the ghosts have been quiet lately, and that's a good sign, isn't it? Maybe it's not a hell season. Maybe it's just global warming."

Chiu raised an eyebrow, and Fung grinned at him. From the shadows in the back of store, Chan said, "Oh, it's a hell season, make no mistake."

Fung raised his wrist to check his watch and ignored him. Chiu watched him and had to smile when he saw Fung's eyes light up. Must be 16:30 already.

"Bakery?" Chiu asked unnecessarily.

Fung grinned and jogged out into the street, waving Chiu on. Chiu shot Chan a parting look, expecting another outburst of gloomy warnings, but Chan disappeared into the back. Chiu strolled down the street in Fung's wake, catching up with him outside the bakery a few streets away.

A week or so after 2002 had defeated the water ghost, Rain's memory had returned, and unfortunately for Fung, she had remembered she had a fiancé, a rich young businessman who'd been away in Europe when Rain had the accident. Chiu had thought Fung would be crushed, but he took it in stride, even driving her to the fiancé's mansion (appropriating the department's car) so they could be reunited. Afterwards, all he could talk about was how beautiful the mansion was, how handsome the fiancé was, how lucky Rain was.

Chiu worried he'd lost his mind. "I thought she was the love of your life."

Fung shrugged. "It wasn't her."

Less than a month later, he'd found a new love, a girl who worked in a bakery close to Chan's shop. Betty was pretty and sweet, with a warm smile, and had an embarrassing laugh that Fung adored. Chiu liked her well enough, but Fung's doting -- bordering on stalking, in Chiu's opinion -- meant daily visits to the bakery. Their flat was filled with pastries, more than anyone could eat. For a while Chiu had been secretly offering them to a trio of fat, jolly ghosts around the corner from Chan's shop, but when the weather had changed, the ghosts had stopped coming.

Fung was right about that, Chiu reflected as he neared the bakery. The ghosts had been very quiet lately. Unit 2002 hadn't been called in for a serious case in weeks. Some of the precinct heads were questioning the necessity of 2002 again. Chiu felt a sense of foreboding, but he was skeptical of the "hell season." What was worse than walking between life and death in order to save your friend? Worse than having to kill him to save him? If he'd cheated fate, Chiu thought he'd earned the right to be a little skeptical.

When he joined them, Fung was perched on the counter while Betty filled a box with the day's unsold pastries. Annoyingly, Fung was telling her of Chiu's allergic reaction to a banana-cream éclair, describing the physical symptoms in great detail. Betty's sympathy wavered under the force of Fung's comic storytelling, complete with sound effects and miming, and she burst into laughter that ended in a pig-like snorting. Fung laughed with her, looking lovestruck, and Chiu rolled his eyes and went to wait outside.

He leaned against the bakery window and peered back inside. Now Fung was leaning over the counter to point out something to Betty, who crouched to reach for the lower shelf. Their heads were close together. She likes you, you idiot, Chiu willed at Fung. Make your move.

He turned around to give them their privacy, and standing before him was a tall old woman with a very long grey braid hanging over her shoulder. She looked down her nose at him and asked, "Are you the inspector?"

"Yes, auntie," he replied respectfully.

She seemed pleased and shrunk a little and looked him over. "I shouldn't even be here," she said. "I was supposed to go to Shenzhen to live with my son." She sighed. "Well, that's how it goes. I didn't like Shenzhen, anyway." It had been over two weeks since Chiu had spoken to a ghost, and he was actually relieved to see one now.

"May I help you, auntie?"

She looked at him suspiciously, then nodded. "I guess you'll do. Grandmother Pat said you were a reliable young man, even if you look like a ne'er-do-well punk."

Chiu frowned and stood up straight and surreptitiously tucked in his shirt. Who was she calling 'punk'? These old lady ghosts could be bothersome.

"I have some information for you. There's going to be another fire tonight. Be at the Tsong Tower before nine o'clock."

"Tsong Tower," he repeated. "Right. I'll let the fire department know. Thanks."

The ghost drew herself up and glared at him. "Don't be like that with me, little boy. If this were a job for the fire department, I'd go haunt one of them."

"The fires are being started by spirits?" he asked, and his pulse raced at the thought that at last, 2002 had real work to do again. Maybe it was another fire ghost, and this time he'd make sure it didn't have a water ghost boyfriend hanging around to make trouble.

The ghost sniffed. "I can't speak to the other fires, only this one. Tsong Tower, tonight, nine o'clock. You won't forget?" She gave him a dubious look, then gazed past him into the bakery. "Is that your partner?"

Chiu nodded, glancing back at Fung, who was helping Betty stack empty pastry trays.

"He looks like he has a kind heart," the ghost said. "Ah, such a shame."

"What do you mean?"

But the ghost was gone as abruptly as she had appeared. Chiu took a few steps out into the street, looking for her. "Auntie? What did you mean?"

"Where's the old lady?" Fung emerged from the bakery carrying two large pink pastry boxes.

Chiu inwardly groaned. "Two this time? You know that the flat has more pastries in it than the bakery? It stinks in there! I'm going to get fat from breathing the fumes."

"I'll throw away the stale ones," Fung said cheerfully, falling into step with him. He leaned close and nudged Chiu with his elbow. "I did it! I asked her out."

"Finally," Chiu muttered under his breath.

"We're going out to dinner tonight. She likes Japanese food, and I heard about a new sushi bar... Is octopus an aphrodisiac?"

Chiu slowed his steps. "Tonight?" He winced. "Not tonight. We have a job."

Fung's crestfallen look lasted mere seconds; the prospect of an important job overshadowed poor Betty. Chiu wanted to feel bad for her, but in truth, he'd rather see his friend excited by the job than mooning over the next love of his life. This side of Fung he could relate to.

Fung shoved the pastry boxes at him. "Wait here. I have to tell Betty. It's really a job?" He grinned and ran back to the bakery. Chiu watched him, a chill he hadn't felt in weeks settling in his gut. Such a shame, she'd said. What had the auntie meant?

-----

They arrived at Tsong Tower, a modern corporate high-rise fringed by a small park, before 21:00 that night. The building had been cleared of people by regular police and the fire department. Not knowing the powers of spirits they were dealing with, Chiu had requested that everyone leave the area. The fire trucks and police cars were parked down the hill and around the corner, out of sight. Tsong Tower was empty and dark. Chiu and Fung sat down on a bench in the narrow park and waited for something to happen.

21:00 came and went. Fung stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. "How do you know the old lady was telling the truth?"

Chiu stared up at the office building, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "Be patient. Maybe these ghosts don't have watches."

Fung returned to his favorite topic of conversation that night: his plans for his rescheduled date with Betty. He debated with himself over which sweater to wear, and Chiu stopped listening. The longer they waited, the more his adrenaline ebbed. His attention wandered, and he found himself mentally joining Fung's quest for the perfect sweater. He was about to suggest the light blue V-neck when Fung patted his arm and pointed, falling silent.

Chiu saw them, too. In the park, approaching the building, was an orderly line of six ghosts. Chiu's excitement waned as he recognized what they were. He pulled on his gloves.

"They're just children," Fung said in disbelief.

"Chan says children can become the angriest ghosts of all if they were abused or died by violence, especially at the hand of someone they trusted." Chiu watched as the children formed a circle and crouched down; they looked like they were playing a game. "Sometimes, at the moment they die, they understand everything that happened to them, but it's too late. So they become angry ghosts to exact revenge."

"I don't want to shoot a child." Fung slid his hands into his gloves.

"Don't let them fool you," Chiu cautioned. "Child ghosts can be the worst. They didn't have a long human life, so they fight hard for their spirit life." He paused, watching the children in their circle. It didn't look like they were doing anything at all. He couldn't blame Fung for his reluctance; he hated fighting child ghosts, too.

He sighed and said, "Sam could deal with them. He would fly in and roll around and play with them. Make them laugh. Then he'd ask them to go on their own, and most would." He trailed off, remembering. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Fung smiled softly. "You never talk about Sam. A psychologist would say you still haven't resolved your feelings of guilt, and I would have to agree--" He abruptly stopped and nodded past Chiu's shoulder.

Chiu turned around and saw the child ghost hovering over the bench next to them. It was a little girl with long straight hair, wearing a white school uniform shirt and a blue skirt. She raised her head to look at them, and there was a long, ugly gash down one side of her face, from eyelid to chin. It looked like it was still bleeding, and there was another wound in her hair, a deep round fracture. Someone had cut her and bashed her head in. No wonder she was angry.

She smiled serenely at them, which sent a chill down Chiu's spine.

"Little sister," he said, carefully sliding a vial of unveiling drops from his belt, "why are you here?"

The girl looked over at the circle of children. "I came to watch my friends. But I'm bored now, and hungry. Do you have any candy?"

Chiu had the vial in his palm. "No, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with hoarseness.

Fung gripped his wrist, staying his hand. "Wait, I have an idea," he whispered. "Don't do anything until I come back."

"Come back?" Chiu swung around to see Fung hurrying off into the street. "Where are you going?!" he called after him.

When he turned around, the girl ghost was closer, pointing to the other children. They stood up and separated, going to different points around the building. Chiu could see flames in their hands. Small flames, weak so far. He stood up, looking around for Fung, and with a snarl of disgust strode toward the building, clutching the unveiling drops in one hand and reaching for his gun with the other.

A few metres away from the nearest boy, he heard Fung shout, "Wait!" behind him. He stopped and waited, keeping an eye on the boy, whose flames now reached to his chin. Child ghosts had a lot of energy and emotion, but not a lot of power. The boy was drawing on something to make his flames grow, but what? Chiu glanced at the other children, a terrible answer forming.

Fung caught up with him, and he was carrying a pink box. Chiu stared at him, convinced Fung had finally lost whatever senses he'd ever had, but Fung shook his head and kept moving, approaching the little ghost boy.

"Little brother," he greeted, crouching down next to the ghost and opening the box. "Do you want a sweet?"

The ghost boy looked into the box and nodded. "Yes!" he said through a gap-toothed grin.

Fung took off his gloves. "This one looks good, doesn't it?" he said, selecting a pineapple bun. He set it carefully on the ground, offering it to the ghost. The boy reached for it, directing his flames toward the bun. Fire consumed it, and it reappeared in the boy's flameless hands. The boy took a big bite from it.

"Give me some of those." Chiu scooped some pastries from the box and hurried to the other side of the building. Together, he and Fung fed the six children, and drew them together in a group, away from the building. There were enough pastries for seconds for everyone, and the children squabbled among themselves over their selections. Fung got cream on his nose lifting one from the box and they laughed with him. They were just like ordinary children now, if you could ignore their scars, bruises, and wounds.

"Little ones, you should move on," Fung told them. "It's no fun here. It's just a boring building, and there's no place to play."

"Will you come with us?" a little girl holding a taro bun asked.

"Not yet, little sister. But if you all go together, you'll have each other to play with."

A few of them nodded, and they all held hands. "Bye bye," the little gap-toothed boy said. A golden glow spread over them, and they were gone.

Chiu rested his hands on his hips and looked at Fung. "Where did you get those?"

"From the car," Fung said, closing the pastry box.

"You brought pastries with us to the job?"

"I thought we might get hungry."

As impressed as Chiu was with the way Fung had handled the children, he wasn't about to admit it, least of all to Fung, who was more irritating when he was confident than when he was scared.

"I got the idea from what the girl said," Fung was saying. "The girl." He stopped.

The ghost girl with the gashed face hovered in front of the bench. She didn't look angry, but Chiu felt a wave of malevolence spreading from her. He rested his hand over the vials of unveiling drops.

"Where's mine?" she demanded. "I'm hungry!"

Fung crouched down and opened the box. "There are some left, look. Which ones do you like?"

The girl moved closer, staring into the box, biting her lower lip.

"Little sister," Chiu said. "Why did your friends come here tonight? Why this building?"

"Ask Matron," the girl said, casting him a dirty look that startled him. Then she turned to Fung and screamed, "I want them all!"

Thick flames shot from her hands to the box. Fung fell back as it burst into fire. Chiu grabbed his arms and hauled him away. When he looked again, the girl was gone. They stamped out the fire with their boots, but Chiu had a bad feeling that the job had not been as successful as it seemed.

And unfortunately, Fung had not dropped the subject of Sam. In the car, he said again, "You never talk about Sam. That's not right. You were partners for a long time. It's not natural to never mention him."

Chiu chewed on his lip and stared at the road. "Maybe I'm just sparing your feelings. I don't want you to know how much better Sam was than you."

"No, it can't be that," Fung said easily. "You still feel guilty for his death. Sam forgave you and moved on, but you can't forgive yourself. It's bad to be carrying that around with you the rest of your life."

"You're very annoying," Chiu muttered.

"Sure, you may think that. But listen. Sam's moved on, and you haven't, and that's why you won't talk about him. Sam's living his new life now. Hey, maybe you should try to find him. Maybe he's a beautiful woman this time. Wouldn't that be cool?"

Chiu shot him a look. "How could he be a beautiful woman already? He'd just be a baby. Besides, he won't remember me in his new life."

"Oh, that's true," Fung said. "Say, what do you think the little girl meant about asking Matron?"

"How should I know?" Chiu shot back, wishing Fung would just shut up about everything for a while. He hated knowing, deep down, that Fung was right about Sam, and he hated even more that Fung knew he was right.

-----

The next morning, he went to see Paper Chan. He found him in his Western goods gift shop, wearing his toupé and a snappy Western-style suit. He was waving and smiling at a departing customer when Chiu entered. Seeing Chiu, his smile disappeared.

"You're back again? You won't listen to me, so go away."

Chiu picked up a gaudy porcelain statuette and pretended to study it. "Did you hear about last night? Fung and I stopped them from burning down Tsong Tower."

"So what? You want a medal? Put that down."

Chiu turned the statuette over and saw the price sticker. "For this? You're gouging your customers."

"If they don't pay a lot, they think they're getting crap."

"It is crap," Chiu pointed out, setting the statuette aside. "Listen. The ghosts last night were children."

This caught Chan's interest. "All of them?"

"Yes. We convinced most of them to move on--" Fung had done the convincing, but Fung wasn't here to correct him. "--but one girl remained, and I don't think she's gone. When I asked her why they wanted to burn down the building, she said, 'ask Matron'. What does that mean?"

Chan made an impatient gesture. "Do I know? You're the cop, you figure it out. Remember how to do ordinary police work? But about these children... That's very interesting. I'll have to look it up. I'm sure it must be another sign of hell season."

Chiu rolled his eyes. "Don't bring that up again." He'd wanted to ask Chan about the ghost children, and his theory that they were increasing their power by banding together, but now Chan was off on his hell season warnings, and Chiu tuned him out. He followed Chan through the back corridor that connected the two shops and helped Chan change into his Chinese clothes.

"Hi, Yim," Chiu greeted the young ghost keeping watch by the doorway. A shoplifter in life, Yim devoted his afterlife to guarding stores, though Chiu suspected he was trying to find ways to pocket some worldly goods. Yim always looked guilty when he saw Chiu, and he disappeared without a word.

Chan flipped through his fortune books, saying, "So Fung got them to move on? I told you he would be fine, once you gave him some time."

"You did not." Chiu frowned. "And how do you know it was Fung?"

Chan simply gave him a withering look and went back to consulting his books. Chiu stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and paced to the doorway.

"About Fung... Yesterday this old lady ghost said it was a shame about him. I wonder what she meant by that."

Chan put down the book he was holding. "Yes, there's something different about him since the resurrection. I don't think most ghosts like him very much now. Dogs, too, have you noticed? Dogs don't like him at all."

Chiu hadn't noticed, actually, and didn't want to ponder it. He stared out at the street, and prickles of heat gathered at the back of his neck and base of his spine. The air was stiff and carried a sickly sweet smell. He wished it would rain.

"But what does it mean?" he asked, more to himself than to Chan. "I thought that fated-to-die stuff was over."

"Everyone is fated to die," Chan said simply. "The old lady could've meant anything by it. You should forget what she said. It's not important. This is a hell season, and you need to concentrate. No distractions. How is Danielle, by the way?"

Chiu jerked his head around, and Chan smiled mildly. Chiu glared at him. "I have to go," he said, heading off down the street.

Truth was, he wished he could talk about Danielle to someone, but not to Chan, who was only going to nag him. So many times, Chiu had almost opened up to Fung -- it was surprisingly easy to talk to Fung when Fung wasn't lecturing him or sighing over Betty -- but he always held back and changed his mind. He supposed Fung would say it was psychological. He couldn't talk about Danielle because his feelings were too confused.

On the surface, his relationship with Danielle was great. They dated, they touched, they made each other laugh, and the burden of fear -- of knowing that he could love someone and they didn't have to die -- had lifted completely. Danielle was perfect: smart, feminine, committed to her career but fun-loving. She knew what she wanted in life, but was generous in giving to others.

Chiu had never trusted perfection. In his life, whenever things were the best was when tragedy struck. He couldn't shake off his wariness and mistrust so quickly, and worst of all, he knew he was holding back on Danielle. Not opening up, not explaining everything about Unit 2002 or about their first date, when he'd walked between worlds. He told himself it was because he wanted to protect her from the danger and fear of his job, but was that all? He wasn't sure, and wished there were someone he could ask.

-----

Fung caught up with him at the precinct, carrying a small bag from Betty's bakery. He slid into a chair next to the desk, exaggeratedly looking over things.

"You can use a computer?" he teased. "You can type?" He leaned over and murmured, "Are you sure you should be here? Won't it ruin your image? Maybe I should bring in a wind machine and lower the lights. And get you a laptop. A laptop would be cooler."

Chiu shot him a look. "What's in the bag?"

"Pork bun," Fung said, dropping it onto the desk. "I thought you might be hungry." He moved behind Chiu and leaned over his shoulder, peering at the screen. "What are you looking up?"

"Tsong Tower." Chiu tried to ignore this invasion of his personal space and the smells of baked goods wafting from him. "So far, I haven't found any connection to children. It's just an office building, named for the developer who built it: Eddie Tsong."

"The billionaire on his third wife?" Fung gave a low whistle. "Maybe it's revenge on him. Did he have kids?"

"He has a son, but the son's grown up. He runs Tsong's business in Singapore. It's a dead end." Chiu sat back, forgetting that this was putting himself into Fung's arms. Thankfully, after a tactful hesitation, Fung moved to sit on the desk. He picked up a ball of rubber bands and tossed it from hand to hand.

"Well... What about before? What was on the land before Tsong Tower?"

Chiu was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of this angle himself. Maybe Chan was right that it had been too long since he'd done real police work. "I don't know if that can be the connection," he said, typing in another data search. "Those kids were too young. The tower's been there for at least ten years."

"You're probably right," Fung said, tossing the rubber-band ball into the air and catching it. "It was just an idea. Hey, are you okay for dinner tonight? I'm going out with Betty, and I didn't have time to make you anything."

Chiu glanced at him in disbelief. Much as he appreciated Fung's excellent cooking, he'd never expected it to become a nightly tradition. Certainly not on a night when Fung had his big date.

"I'll be fine. We have a flat full of pork buns and sponge cakes, remember?"

Fung grinned and slipped from the desk. "Okay, well, if you need me, you have my mobile number. But try not to need me. Unless there's a big job or something. Well, bye bye."

Chiu watched him nearly trip over himself on the way out. Poor Betty, he thought, returning to his searches.

-----

Danielle was working the night shift at the hospital, so Chiu spent the evening alone and dozed off on the sofa while watching a video. When he jolted awake, the television was static and the flat was dark, and there was someone next to him on the sofa. He turned around cautiously.

It was the tall old lady with the long braid, but half her face had been ripped away and glowed green. Only another spirit could do that kind of damage to a ghost.

"She knows," the auntie wailed. "She knows I told you about the fire. She's so angry. It hurts so much. Help me!" She reached out for him, and Chiu backed off the sofa.

"Help me!" she cried again, floating toward him, her body contorting unnaturally.

Chiu reached into the closet for his uniform, found a vial of unveiling drops and his gun.

"I'm sorry, auntie," he said, tossing the vial at her. Her shadows gathered substance, and she was a frail old woman again, but her face still gaped horribly. With one eye, she pleaded with him for her final death. He cringed and aimed the gun, felt the sharp prick of the blood needle in his finger, and fired. The ghost was gone, dissipated. Chiu grabbed his jacket and sought out Paper Chan.

"Who was she talking about? Could it be the little girl? She felt so evil, but not angry. Maybe I should have shot her when I first saw her..." He paced from one end of the store to the other.

"A child ghost wouldn't be able to do such damage to an adult," Chan said, fashioning a flower out of paper.

"But if these children could somehow bring all their power together--"

"But the children are gone. Only the little girl was left, and she may have moved on, too."

Chiu let out an exasperated sigh. Why couldn't Chan understand? There might be more children out there, with the evil ghost girl as their leader, drawing on their power to torture old auntie. What else might she do? And Chan just sat there, calmly making useless paper flowers.

"Chiu, ask yourself this: if the girl ghost is so angry that you stopped the children from setting Tsong Tower on fire, why did she use so much power to torture the old lady, instead of returning to the tower and setting it on fire herself? There are more things at work here than we know. We don't have a complete picture, and it's a hell season. Very dangerous to pursue one path, when others may be opening. Where's Fung?"

Chiu looked up, taken aback by the change in topic after Chan had given him much to consider. "He's on a date. He finally asked Betty out."

"And you let him go?" Chan stood up, throwing the flower he'd just made to the floor. "Are you stupid? It's hell season! Relationships begun during hell season will end horribly. You have to find him before it's too late!"

Chiu blinked at the man. Tell him about a ghost with half her face ripped apart, and he couldn't care less. Tell him Fung was on a date, and he exploded. This hell season business had warped his mind.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," Chiu said, backing out of the store.

He had no idea where to look. Fung had told him which restaurant they were going to, of course, at least half a dozen times, but Chiu hadn't cared and hadn't paid attention. All he knew was that it was a sushi bar. He checked a few that he knew, and decided to go back to the flat and check the phone book or see if Fung had left any clues. He couldn't see the urgency, frankly, but Chan had been so alarmed, Chiu couldn't completely ignore it. The auntie's words came back to him: Such a shame.

When he reached the flat, his trepidation evaporated. Fung was there, standing by the sofa with his jacket in his hand.

"You're back. How did it go?" Chiu smiled and acted as if nothing unusual had been going on.

Fung looked at him warily. "It was fun. Betty's a great girl."

Chiu's smile faded. "Then what's wrong? Why are you looking like that?"

"I'm just wondering about this," Fung said, turning his head to look at the far wall. Chiu took a couple of steps and followed his gaze. Scrawled on the wall in what looked like blood were the words, a half-meter tall: I hate you.

-----

Morning light eased into the flat through the large windows. Fung switched off the lights. Chiu sat at the kitchen table resting his chin on his fist and staring into his cup of coffee.

"I didn't write that," he said at last.

"I know," Fung said, sliding into the chair opposite. "You don't hate me, and besides, it's your flat, why would you do something like that?" He cast a look back at the far wall. "It's not going to come off, is it?"

They had scrubbed and scraped at the wall for hours, and the words looked just as freshly painted as ever.

Chiu shook his head. "It's blood writing. It won't come off until we find the ghost who wrote it."

"How could a ghost write it? They can't touch walls."

"It possessed someone," Chiu answered, not looking at Fung. They both remembered too well how the water ghost had possessed Fung and the things it had made him do.

"We should tell Chan," Fung said.

"No." Chiu looked up. He didn't feel like dealing with Chan just now. "No, tell me about your date. Did it really go okay?"

Fung smiled. "Yeah, I think she likes me. She wore a pink blouse with a denim skirt, and ate a lot of octopus sushi, and I found out that her favorite color is purple and she loves American pop music. What do you think?"

"Match made in heaven," Chiu said with a smile, sipping his coffee.

"Well, I don't know... But she's very nice, and said she'd go out with me again." Fung toyed with a spoon on the table.

"There you go." Chiu yawned and sat back, closing his eyes and listening to Fung talk about Betty, his attention drifting until the words, "... and I told her we could go on a double date ..." penetrated his drowsiness. He opened his eyes.

"You told her what?"

Fung was in the midst of taking a drink from Chiu's coffee cup. He swallowed and said breezily, "A double date. Me and Betty, you and Danielle. Don't glower at me like that. I'm not scared of you. What's wrong with a double date?"

Chiu stood up, clenching his fists at his sides. There was nothing wrong with a double date, nothing at all. And yet, he hated the idea and wanted to pour coffee all over Fung's stupid head.

He jabbed a finger at Fung's forehead instead. "You," he said, "are very annoying."

Fung chuckled.

"I'm going to take a nap," Chiu said, shuffling wearily to the bed. "Don't bother me, and don't include me in any more of your dating plans, okay?"

"But we have work to do," Fung's voice followed him.

"You're second-in-command of 2002, you do the work," Chiu muttered, collapsing onto his bed.

-----

He woke up in darkness. A little red light flashed nearby, pulsing with the beeping of his cellphone. He reached for it, flipped the cover, and read the text message: Inexplicable incident at the art museum. Get there fast. As he closed the cover, he felt that he was not alone. He scanned the dark and saw a shape sitting on the foot of the bed.

"I hate you," it whispered, voice neither male nor female, filled with evil.

Chiu sat up. "Who are you?"

It stood up. Its shape was familiar.

"Fung?" His voice cracked as his mouth went dry.

"Chiu?"

A light went on at the other end of the room. The shape sank back into the shadows and soaked into the wall. A couple of footfalls on the floor and Fung loomed over the bed, holding Chiu's coat.

"Chiu, you awake? We've been called."

Chiu licked his lips and swallowed. "I know."

The "inexplicable incident" seemed more like the work of pranksters. Several statues in the European gallery of the art museum had had their heads cut off and put back facing the wrong way. Security tapes showed no one in the act: one minute the heads were facing the right direction, the next minute they were turned away. The result was almost comic, but neither Chiu nor Fung laughed as they circled the statues, looking for signs of spiritual interference. All they found were drops of red paint spattered over the statue's bodies, and on the floor, in small, childish writing: I hate you.

Chiu exchanged a nervous look with Fung. He hadn't told him about the shape on the bed, the shape that had looked like Fung. Fung couldn't be possessed again -- Chiu would be able to tell, surely.

Fung knelt and wiped a finger through the writing on the floor. "Paint," he said. "Still wet. Looks like a child wrote it with his finger." He sat back on his heels. "At least it's not blood writing."

Chiu looked around the empty gallery and the shadowy shapes of statues and giant paintings on the walls. "Why these ones?" he said to himself. He shook his head. "This is ridiculous. There's nothing here. I can't explain what happened, but now it's a job for the museum's cleaning staff, not us."

Fung rose and they left the museum, stepping out into the hot, dry, night air.

"I did some checking," Chiu said as they walked to the car. "I forgot to tell you. Before Tsong Tower was built, that land was just a bank branch. Another dead end, but it wasn't a bad idea. Chan thinks it's not important, anyway. He doesn't think the little girl is responsible."

Fung slowed his steps, brow creased in a frown. "Actually, I did some checking, too. I forgot to tell you. Before the bank branch was built, there was an orphanage on that plot of land. In the forties and fifties. And look at this." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Chiu.

Chiu unfolded it and looked at the grainy photocopy of a newspaper photo. The caption read, Orphanage opens day school, feeds hungry street children. Three orderly rows of little children in uniforms -- white shirts over dark skirts and pants -- stood in front of a doorway. Off to one side was a beautiful woman in a plain dark dress, with her hair pulled back severely. Her look was neither inviting nor forbidding, but nevertheless, there was something unsettling about her direct stare at the camera.

"Matron?" Chiu asked, handing Fung the paper.

Fung shrugged. "I don't like to think so, but I don't know what to think. That photo was taken almost fifty years ago. The orphanage hasn't been there for forty-four years. If those children were the orphans, what have they been doing all this time?"

Chiu glanced around, half expecting a crowd of angry child ghosts to step out of the dark. He hesitated before asking, already knowing the answer in his heart. "What happened to the orphanage?"

"It burnt down. Everyone inside burnt to death."

-----

Paper Chan was irritatingly unimpressed with their discoveries. He waved them off as irrelevant and instead grasped Fung's arm in an unyielding grip and pulled him to one side to quiz him about his date with Betty. Fung cast a helpless look at Chiu, and Chiu shrugged. Fung's girlfriend, he decided, was one problem that had nothing to do with him. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked over to Chan's Western goods store, where shoplifter Yim was hovering by the cash register. He expected Yim to look guilty and disappear the way he always did, but Yim gave him a pitying look.

Chiu regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "You want to tell me something?"

Yim shrunk and glanced away, but gradually floated forward, coming closer. "It's too bad, that's all. She's really angry at you."

If Chiu had had his ghost gloves, he would have grabbed Yim by the collar. He was sick and tired of these cryptic statements from the spirit world. "Who is? Who is she? Do I know her? Have I met her? Is she the matron?"

Yim smiled cannily. "She said she'd give me things, anything I wanted."

"Yeah?" Chiu scoffed. "Then why are you here, talking to me? Why aren't you with her?"

"Because she scares me more than you do," Yim said, shrinking back until he disappeared entirely.

"There you are," Fung said, coming into the store, rubbing his upper arm. "A customer came in, and I escaped." They left the store and fell into step together. "What's with him, anyway? Have you noticed all the paper flowers in his store? The walls are covered with them."

Chiu shook his head and let out a disgusted sigh. "You want to know what I think? This hell season, if it exists, means that everyone in both worlds has gone insane. Except me."

Fung gave him a sidelong look. "You sure about that?" he asked with a grin, and Chiu could only grin back. A pause, then Fung protested, "Hey, I haven't gone insane."

Chiu looked him over and hmmmmed. He swung an arm across Fung's shoulders and lightly knocked against his forehead with his knuckles. "You've always been a little nuts, so it's hard to tell."

Fung grinned and poked his ribs with his elbow. "That's why we're partners."

He ducked away from Chiu's feinted punch and walked backwards in the street in front of him, laughing and throwing pretend kicks at him. Chiu laughed and chased him down the hill and around the corner to the sidewalk stairs. They slid down the handrail together and ran to the next corner, laughing and breathless.

Chiu slowed, reaching to grab Fung's shirt. "Wait, slow down."

Fung stopped and leaned against a stone wall, catching his breath. "You're slowing down, old-timer."

"I'm younger than you!" Chiu threw a pretend punch at his stomach, and Fung mimed doubling over in pain.

"I'm starving," Chiu said. "Let's get something to eat. Mama Liu's is nearby. Not as good as your cooking, but no dishes to wash afterwards." He nudged Fung's side; washing dishes was supposed to be Chiu's part of the bargain, but he always let them sit for so long that Fung complained and washed them himself.

Fung furrowed his brow and pushed off from the wall. "Ah, I can't tonight. I'm meeting Betty." He gave Chiu a wide-eyed, genuinely sorry look that made Chiu uncomfortable for feeling so disappointed.

"It's okay," he said, not as easily as he would've liked. They fell into step and walked toward the flat.

"You should call Danielle," Fung said.

"She's working tonight."

"Oh. But that reminds me, I asked her, and she said Thursday would be fine for our double date."

Chiu stopped in the street. "You already asked her? You already set this up? Behind my back?"

Fung put his hands on his hips and got that annoying, lecturing look on his face. Chiu cut him off. "You knew how I felt about this idea." He brushed past him, clenching his fists at his sides.

"Exactly," Fung agreed, following him. "That's why I asked her myself. I knew if I left it to you, you'd never do anything. I don't know what your problem is. It's just a date, and Danielle's a nice girl. I think she and Betty will get along. You're being silly."

Chiu rounded on him again. "I'm being silly? Me? You're the one who keeps falling head over heels for girls you don't even know, doing everything for them and then smiling when they leave you for their fiancés. You fill our flat with stinking pastries and take weeks to ask one girl out, and then all you can talk about is how much octopus she ate. You're crazy, you know that? I don't think you know what love really is."

Fung clenched his jaw and gave him a hard look. "Yes, I do," he said, but Chiu barely heard him.

"What is wrong with you, anyway?" Chiu went on. "Why does everyone have to fit so perfectly into your fantasies, behave the way you want them to? Life isn't like that. Nobody's perfect." Except Danielle, his mind coolly reminded him through his ranting. He looked away from the hurt, angry look Fung was giving him. "I just wish you'd leave me alone."

He turned and walked away, not glancing back to see if Fung followed.

-----

Chiu spent most of the night walking, avoiding the flat. When he found himself in front of the building in the darkest hour before dawn, he didn't go inside, but took the department's car and drove up into the hills, back to Tsong Tower. He couldn't explain why he came here, and as he sat in the car and stared at the empty office building, he felt a little foolish.

"What are you doing?" he muttered, running his hands through his hair. It was as if his life of heeding Chan's warnings about his "death star" had left him incapable of being a friend, of truly loving someone.

This couldn't be true, he told himself. Ceding to a sudden urge, he pulled out his cellphone and rang Danielle.

"Hello?" She sounded hoarse and cleared her throat.

"Did I wake you? It's late. I'm sorry." He ran a hand over his brow. Maybe he was losing his sanity, too.

"It's all right," she said soothingly. "I like when you call me." She paused. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he said too quickly. "Yeah. I had a fight with Fung tonight. I'm afraid to go home."

"You can come here," she offered with a hint of politeness in her voice that told him she already knew he wasn't going to accept the offer. It saddened him, but couldn't bring himself to answer.

"This is about the double date," she said with a little giggle that soothed him again. "I told Fung you'd never agree to it."

She'd gotten to the very heart of the problem. Chiu believed all the answers he needed were within reach.

"But why? Why don't I agree to it?" he asked her.

She was silent for a moment, and Chiu's hopes receded. Then she said, "Because that's how you live. You have one life for Fung, and another life for me, and you don't weave them together."

Chiu stared at the darkness, speechless. She was exactly right, and he had never seen it before, never noticed it. All along, he had kept her apart, kept her separated. The only time she had crossed into his world, he had been unable to stop her, and had avoided talking about it afterwards.

"Chiu? Are you still there?" She sounded sleepy.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. I'm sorry." He couldn't be sure what he was apologizing for; there were several possibilities.

"It's all right. I can tell Fung about the date if you like, but you should go home now. He'll be worried about you."

Chiu wanted to doubt her, wanted to hold onto disbelief for a while longer and feel sorry for himself while he figured things out, but he knew she was right. She was right about everything.

"Thanks," he said.

"Good night," she said warmly, and hung up.

Chiu took a deep breath and looked out at the building and empty park. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and wondered what he was going to say to Fung.

A foul-smelling cold breath brushed the back of his neck, and the car's windows fogged up. The air took shape in the passenger seat next to him, and a beautiful woman with her hair tied back in a bun crossed her shapely legs beneath a plain black dress and regarded him with a deep, unsettling gaze.

"Hello, little one," she said in a flat voice that held no femininity at all. "I'm Matron, and you've been a very naughty boy."

 

(continued in part 2)