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rareslashAuthor: Keiko Kirin
Title: The Ghost Mother
Fandom: 2002 (Hong Kong movie, 2001)
Pairing: Chiu [played by Nicholas Tse]/Fung [played by Stephen Fung]
Summary: An elderly lady ghost follows Fung just as he and Chiu are getting closer, and some secrets from Chiu's past are unexpectedly revealed. Set after the movie. This follows my other story, "The Hell Season," but can be read independently of it.
Word count: pt. 1: 5500, pt. 2: 3860, pt. 3: 4700
Rating: a PG-ish R? for non-explicit sex
Warnings: Long story! Contains spoilers for the movie.
URL for printer-friendly version: pteropus.com/keiko/misc/2002gm.html
The heavy rains of the day slacked off by early evening, replaced by a damp, cool breeze that stirred reflections in the puddles on the street. Fung switched his groceries from one hand to the other while he retrieved his keys, and glanced up and noted that no lights were on in the flat; Chiu was probably out with Danielle. He was nearly to the front door when the air next to him swirled and took the shape of a thin, grey, elderly woman. His heart jumped and he froze for a moment before he fought back the instinctive panic.
"May I help you, auntie?" he addressed the ghost, cautiously polite.
The ghost peered up at him through sad squinting eyes and frowned deeply. She reached out to touch his cheek, but paused in midair. Her fingers shook.
"Are you my son?" she asked in a pitiful voice.
A chill trickled down the back of Fung's neck. He stared at her warily. She tilted her head and looked him over, made an impatient sound, and evaporated into the evening air. Fung, rattled, hurried into the building and up to the flat. He'd grown accustomed to the harmless ghosts, but ones like this? The only word for them was spooky. He was never going to get used to the spooky ones.
As evening faded into night and Fung prepared dinner, he kept thinking about the old lady ghost and coming up with explanations: she'd lost her sight, she hadn't seen her son in years, she'd grown senile. He felt sorry for her, and hoped she found her son or moved on to the next life soon, but he was glad she hadn't stuck around. And he convinced himself that phoning his mother for cooking advice -- despite the fact he'd made this dish many times before -- was simply being a good son, and had nothing whatsoever to do with superstition.
He was chopping bamboo shoots, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, and was listening to the gossip from his mother's apartment block when Chiu came home. Fung nodded in greeting, and Chiu hung up his coat and joined him at the counter to steal slices of vegetables. Fung elbowed him out of the way and held the phone out of earshot while he asked, "Hungry? Did you already eat?"
"Yes, and no," Chiu answered with a smile, getting the dishes out.
Fung brought the phone to his ear and said purposefully, "Chiu's home, Mama. I have to go. Yes, yes, I will. I'm hanging up now, Mama. Take care of yourself. Bye bye."
He avoided Chiu's look as he set down the phone. Chiu's parents were dead and he never talked about them, and although he'd met Fung's family and seemed to like them, whenever they were around -- in person or in conversation -- he retreated into himself a little. Fung could partially understand it: his family could be overwhelming in person, and his mum unfortunately tried to mother Chiu whenever she saw him. But there was more to it than that, and Fung respected Chiu's need to keep those reasons to himself.
By the time dinner was ready any distance between them had been closed. Chiu told Fung all about the movie he'd taken Danielle to see, and Fung described his encounter with the old lady ghost. Disappointingly, Chiu didn't find her spooky at all.
"Ghosts can get disoriented, especially if they died recently. You just happened to cross her path," he said between bites.
"I didn't cross her path," Fung said stubbornly. "She appeared right in front of me."
Chiu shrugged. "Same difference. Probably."
"See?" Fung jabbed at the air with his chopsticks. "It's the 'probably' that worries me. What if it wasn't a coincidence?"
Chiu set down his rice bowl. "Did she hurt you? Threaten you?"
"No."
"And you're not her son, so... Wait a minute. That's why you were on the phone to your mother, isn't it?" Chiu narrowed his eyes. "Sometimes I think you're more superstitious than Paper Chan."
Fung poured him another glass of water and said self-righteously, "You could listen to him more, you know. He's right more than he's wrong."
"I've listened to him practically my entire life," Chiu muttered, "and most of the time, it doesn't matter if he's right or wrong, the same shit happens anyway."
Fung dropped the subject. He knew that Chiu cared more for his old mentor than he would admit, and unquestionably, Chan had helped them through life-or-death situations. But Chan could be prickly, annoying, and rude, and his predictions were a mixed blessing.
After dinner, Fung cleared the table and Chiu washed the dishes meditatively. Fung leaned against the counter, picked a plate from the rack and dried it off.
"What's wrong?"
Chiu shook his head a little. He handed him a rice bowl and said with a half-smile, "Nothing. Just thinking."
Fung watched him and knew better than to push. If Chiu wanted to tell him more, he would. Chiu finished the dishes and swirled his fingers in the water.
Fung nudged him. "Careful. You'll get dishpan hands." He put the dishes away and took a small pink box from the refrigerator. "This'll cheer you up: dessert."
Fung selected a mango cream pastry from the box and held it up for Chiu. Chiu looked it over, stuck a finger in the cream filling and licked it off.
"Too sweet," he pronounced, giving Fung a long look. Fung's face flushed warm but he ignored this.
"That's why you have to eat it with the shell," he said, holding it up to Chiu's mouth. Chiu pursed his lips and backed away. "Like this." Fung bit into the crisp, tart shell and ate half of the confection. "Oh, it's good. It's not too sweet at all. Here." He offered Chiu the other half, but Chiu declined, grumbling, "You're spilling crumbs all over the floor." Fung happily ate the rest, not caring about the crumbs.
"I'm going to bed," Chiu said. "Early night tonight, remember? They're tearing down the old Happy Show Cinema tomorrow. We have to be there."
The Happy Show had been built on the site of a horrible construction accident over thirty years ago. It was common wisdom that building a cinema on the site, instead of the office building that had been planned, had kept the ghosts of the construction workers happy and entertained, no matter how shabby the place became or how bad the movies were.
"Right, right," Fung said, wiping crumbs off his hands. "Just let me sweep this up."
"Wait."
Chiu reached over and touched the side of Fung's mouth with his finger. He ran his fingertip along the outer edge of Fung's upper lip, then gently pressed it over the lower. Fung tasted sweet mango cream on Chiu's dry skin. He gazed into Chiu's eyes, pulse pumping, but Chiu quickly withdrew his finger and smiled softly.
"Just a bit of cream," he said, turning away.
In the bathroom, as Fung got ready for bed, he doused a washcloth in cold water and held it to the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and waited for his blood to slow to a simmer. When he opened his eyes, he patted his face with the cold cloth and looked at his reflection in the mirror, half-expecting to see a mark where Chiu's finger had traced his lips. He touched where Chiu had touched.
He was happy -- very happy -- with Chiu. They were partners, they were friends. They were living together. They even shared Chiu's bed -- platonically, like brothers. In all the important ways, they loved each other. And sometimes they kissed. Or more than sometimes: it was Fung's goal to kiss Chiu everyday, and so far, Chiu had willingly met his goal.
But more than that? Most of the time, Fung couldn't imagine it, though if he tried, he found his heart beating fast, and patches of heat would bake his skin, leaving him dizzy, nervous, and restless. The best remedy was cold water, a cup of soothing tea, and to keep Chiu out of sight for a while.
Because most of the time, Fung couldn't imagine it. While at other times -- like on lazy mornings when they would lounge in bed and talk, and Chiu's half-awake voice was quiet and raw, and his skin was damp from sleep, and his beard growing in formed dark lines over his lips and along his chin -- other times, he felt it would be so simple, so easy, because he wanted it so much.
When he opened the door, Chiu was standing right in front of him, glowering. "What takes you so long?" he muttered. "It better not stink in there. And there better not be toothpaste in the sink." He shut the door behind him.
When he emerged a few minutes later wearing the baggy pajamas and old t-shirt he slept in, Fung was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for his tea to finish brewing. Chiu hovered by the table, picking up the tea box and sniffing it.
"Are you sure this tea is good for you?"
Fung drummed his fingers on the table, staring intently into his tea glass. "It's supposed to be very calming," he said.
"Huh." Chiu shook the box and sniffed it again. He loomed over Fung's shoulder, invitingly rumpled and emanating warmth. "You need to be calmed?"
Fung flattened his palms on the table. A slither of warmth coiled up his spine to the back of his neck. He kept his eyes on the tea leaves floating in the glass.
Chiu set the tea box down. "You're not still thinking about that ghost, are you? That poor old lady has you shivering?" He shook his head and padded off to the bed.
Fung was relieved that Chiu had made up his own explanation, as annoying as that explanation might be. It saved them from talking about it, and by the time Fung had finished his tea, he was feeling relaxed and drowsy. He switched off the kitchen lights and slid into bed next to Chiu, who was reading one of Fung's manga.
"'Night," he said, curling up and closing his eyes. Moments later, as he drifted into sleep, he heard Chiu turn off the bedside lamp and sigh.
-----
Special Unit 2002 usually kept later hours. They both overslept and hurried through the morning routine. Fung leaned against the doorjamb of the walk-in closet and passed a hand over his chin. "Maybe I can skip shaving. That'll save some time."
Chiu paused in buckling his belt and gave him an odd look. In an instant, without a word, he'd moved to Fung, had his hands on Fung's waist, and kissed him. A fast, aggressive kiss tasting of sour coffee that left Fung wanting more. But Chiu stepped away, murmuring, "I think you should shave."
They were late getting to the Happy Show site, and the demolition had already occured. The site inspector ran up to them as they got out of the car.
"There you are! You were supposed to be here half an hour ago! The foreman couldn't wait. He blasted the building."
Fung and Chiu had already spotted the ghosts: a half dozen strong, angry men yelling at the workmen trying to clear the site, demanding to get their cinema back. One ghost hovered menacingly near the foreman, shouting, "We died for this place! Our blood is here!"
Fung and Chiu put on their ghost gloves and ran for him. Chiu reached him first, grabbing the ghost's wrist. Fung tried to get a good hold on the ghost's other arm, but was hoisted into the air by the enraged spirit of another worker whose unleashed anger gave him incredible strength. Fung reached for a vial of unveiling drops, but the ghost tossed him aside, sending him skidding into dusty rubble. Coughing and squinting, he saw both ghosts going for Chiu. He pulled the vial free and hurled it before the angry ghost could reach Chiu. The demolition crew who'd been warily watching the scene let out startled cries as the ghost took substance before their eyes.
Fung barely had time to check that Chiu had his opponent under control before the angry ghost was on him again, reaching for his neck to lift him up. But with his power temporarily halved, they were more evenly matched. Fung blocked his hold and aimed a high kick to propel him backwards. It wasn't far enough, and he had to duck and spin away to avoid the next lunge the spirit made at him.
He hadn't wanted to shoot any of the construction worker ghosts. He sympathized with them for losing the place that kept them content. But this one was beyond his help. All the rage and pain of his violent death, dormant for thirty years, were fresh again. He wouldn't go willingly, and when his full powers returned, he could become a murderous demon spirit. Fung drew his gun and pressed his finger to the blood needle.
Before he could aim, he had to swerve to miss another blow. He sent a fast kick to the ghost's chest to push him away and raised the gun. "I'm sorry," he said. "You won't be reincarnated."
The air next to the spirit swirled and took shape. A tiny old lady appeared, swatting ineffectually at the angry ghost. It was the same old lady ghost Fung had met on their doorstep the day before.
"What are you doing to my son?" she screeched. "You big brute! What's the matter with you?"
The ghost paused in confusion. He looked from the old lady to Fung and snarled. The old lady lifted up from the ground a few centimeters so she could slap his face. "Bully!"
Fury shook the spirit, and Fung cried out in warning, "Auntie!" But the angry ghost was too confused to lash out, and the old lady, seeing her opening, berated him for brawling and threatening her son. Gun still aimed and ready, Fung approached them cautiously.
"If you'll let go of your anger and move on, I don't have to kill you," he told the angry ghost. "If I shoot, you're gone forever."
He glanced around, noticing that the ridiculous scene had attracted the attention of the other construction worker ghosts. He quickly scanned past the audience and saw that the first ghost was no match for Chiu.
One of the watching ghosts said to Fung, "Listen, kid, they've taken away the only place we've had all this time. We had some good times here, watching the movies and scaring the kids." The others nodded. "We didn't ask for this, but it's all we've had since the accident."
Another ghost stepped forward. "Lee," he said to the angry ghost. "This won't do any good. The Happy Show is gone."
Lee seemed to shrink. He backed away from the old lady and balled his hands into fists. "It just hurts so much," he said in a quiet, rough voice. He looked at Fung. "I was only a temporary worker. This was my first construction job. My wife was pregnant, and with the baby coming, I thought we needed some extra money. Construction always paid pretty well, I was told." He turned around and lifted his ghost shirt, and Fung could see where a steel beam had crushed his spine.
The old lady ghost had stopped harrassing Lee, and drifted to Fung's side, sending an unpleasant chill through him. A few meters away, Chiu held the ghost's arms behind his back and marched him to join the others.
"It'll be better if you all move on," Chiu told them. "The men working here now are the same as you. You don't want to hurt them, do you?"
"No," some of the ghosts agreed. One of them asked, "What are they gonna put here, anyway? What's so important they had mow down the Happy Show?"
Chiu glanced at Fung. They hadn't been told. Fung called for the site inspector, who nervously approached, avoiding looking at anyone.
"It's going to be a grammar school," he said to Fung, eyes downward. "They've needed a new one in this area for years." Question answered, he hurried away to the edge of the site.
Chiu raised an eyebrow, looking at the ghosts. "A grammar school is more important than watching trashy old movies, isn't it?"
But a few of the ghosts weren't paying attention to him; Fung saw them talking among themselves and gesturing around the site. He heard one of them say, "And that corner over there could be the playground..."
Fung slid his gun back into its holster. "Hey. If we let you stay and watch the new construction here, would you agree to go on to the next life on your own?"
Chiu shot him a warning look, shaking his head, but Fung came closer, moving among the ghost workers.
"You'd have to behave yourselves and let the men do their jobs. But at the end of it, you could see for yourselves that what replaced the Happy Show was just as important."
Lee gave him a grateful look, and Fung inwardly flinched. Just a few minutes earlier, he'd almost put a blood bullet in him.
"That seems fair," one of the ghosts said.
Chiu sidled up to Fung. "You can tell the site inspector and construction team about this," he murmured near Fung's ear. He paused in midstride and nodded to Fung's right. "That's her?"
Fung had almost forgotten about the old lady. He suddenly felt her gaze on him and shivered. "Yeah. I think she's crazy."
"She's not the only one," Chiu said, giving him a pointed look.
Choosing their words carefully, they were able to convince the site inspector and construction crew that the ghosts were moving on and wouldn't be a threat anymore. They simply neglected to mention the part about the ghosts sticking around for the entire build. And despite Chiu's initial disapproval, he did just as much of the explaining as Fung did, and Fung suspected that Chiu was as satisfied with the conclusion as he was.
The old lady ghost, however, was still there when they turned to leave.
"Son?" she said to Fung, gazing up at him with watery eyes.
Fung recoiled inside, but simply winced and said, "No."
"He's not your son, auntie," Chiu said gently.
She tilted her head and looked at Chiu curiously, as if she hadn't noticed him before. "Are you?" she asked, her voice quavering.
Chiu paled and stared at her for a moment before rasping out, "No."
The ghost lady whimpered and dissipated into the air.
Fung glanced at Chiu. He'd never seen him react to a ghost like that before. Chiu frowned and started walking to the car.
"See? She's spooky," Fung said. They got into the car, but Chiu didn't start the ignition. He stared out of the windscreen, loosely holding the keys in one hand.
Fung's concern had kicked into worry when Chiu said, still staring ahead, "I don't remember what my mother looked like." He blinked and glanced at Fung. "It's not that I think-- She was a lot younger than that. And she moved on."
Fung nodded slowly, unsure what to say.
Chiu smiled at him sadly. "I guess you were right. She's spooky." He put the key in the ignition and started the car.
After they filed their reports on the Happy Show incident, Fung had hoped for a quiet evening when he could make a big meal for Chiu and they could watch TV together and everything could be comfortable. But a murder-suicide threw them back into the spirit world, and this time with no satisfactory conclusion. Fung didn't find it satisfying to send the angry ghosts to oblivion, even if it was what he was paid to do.
Still unsettled afterward, he didn't object to Chiu's suggestion for take-away Thai noodles, and after a dull, heavy, rainy evening, he crawled into bed and welcomed sleep before Chiu joined him.
He woke up twice in the morning, at first without stirring or opening his eyes, but lying there and being aware of Chiu asleep next to him, listening to Chiu's deep breathing which was not quite a snore. He slid closer until his back touched Chiu's and, all the heaviness of the night gone, he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke again, he was in a good mood, and he lay on his side and watched Chiu in the morning light until Chiu pretending to be asleep was too much temptation.
He touched Chiu's eyelashes with his fingertip. Chiu's eyelid spasmed but he kept his eyes shut. Fung touched the tip of his nose and pinched it, and Chiu laughed. He opened one eye and Fung smiled at him. And, lazy and happy, kissed him slowly and softly, deepening the kiss when Chiu held his shoulder.
So simple, so easy. Chiu kissed him in response, also slow and deep, and tightened his hold on his shoulder almost painfully. Fung brought his hand to Chiu's hip to pull him closer, bring their bodies together.
He knew what he felt as soon as he felt it -- impossible not to -- but for a split second, he tried to think of an alternative explanation before he realized he didn't want an alternative explanation. Then he saw the flush in Chiu's cheeks, and if there had ever been any doubt, this dispelled it. A shock of heat hit Fung and spread through him leisurely. He slid his hand lower and pressed against Chiu.
Or tried to. Chiu let go of his shoulder and caught his wrist in a pulse-stopping grip. "Don't."
Fung touched Chiu's cheek with his lips. "Why not?" He twisted his arm free and reached again, and Chiu grabbed him again and pushed him back. Chiu sat up, bunching the duvet into his lap, and sank his fingers into his hair.
"It's... I don't know. Odd."
"I think it's cool," Fung said. Chiu shot him a look that was somewhere between baffled and exasperated. Fung shrugged a little. "Well, it is."
Chiu hunched forward and hugged his knees. "I'm not sure about this," he said, turning away from Fung.
Fung reached over and rubbed his back soothingly. "It's okay," he said.
"Is it?" Chiu let out a frustrated sigh.
Fung lay back and picked at his fingernails, chewing the inside of his lip. "Do you wish I were a woman?" he asked, wincing as he said it because it sounded like the stupidest thing he'd ever said. The way Chiu looked at him more or less confirmed this.
"It's okay that you're a guy," Chiu said, gently serious. A smile crept into his eyes as he added, "The fact that you're a nutcase is more troubling."
Fung tried to smile, let the joke wash away the doubts. Chiu touched his chin. "You're fine the way you are. If you weren't..." He cocked an eyebrow. "If you weren't, we wouldn't be like this now, and having this stupid conversation."
Fung grinned, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to the bed. Chiu snagged a pillow and hit him with it. Fung snatched it away and managed one whack to the side of his head before Chiu had him pinned down. Fung dropped the pillow and Chiu kissed him, and though the duvet was between them, Fung pulled him closer and Chiu wasn't pushing away.
"What are you doing?" A thin, shocked, elderly voice in the air beside them. "Who are you?"
Chiu reeled away, glaring at the old lady ghost. "Auntie," he gritted out. "Please go away."
"Who is this?" she asked Fung, pointing to Chiu. "And you. For shame. Don't you have a wife?"
Fung, too startled to speak, stared at her in disbelief. A few seconds ago: all happiness, so simple, so easy. The pulse in his lips still throbbed from Chiu's kiss.
"Au... Auntie. Please," he pleaded. "I'm not your son."
Chiu muttered something under his breath and got out of bed, throwing the duvet to the floor, and stalked to the bathroom. Fung watched him, and all the excitement and anticipation left him in one vacuum rush. He wearily looked at the ghost and wished he could hate her instead of feel sorry for her.
Her watery eyes gazed at him blankly. "Where's my son?" she asked in a thin voice.
"I guess that's what we have to find out," Fung said, sitting up, "if I'm ever going to get any peace."
-----
Fung's eagerness to find the auntie's son and help her move on to the next life didn't change the fact that he had no information about her and nowhere to start looking. He didn't even know when she'd died, although Chiu figured it had happened recently. To make matters worse, the ghost didn't appear for the next few days. Much as Fung wished that this meant she'd found her son and moved on already, his instincts told him he couldn't be that lucky. Still, he wasn't going to sit by and do nothing, especially since Chiu wasn't taking any chances and was keeping their contact limited to chaste goodnight pecks on the forehead.
He started at the hall of records, looking through recent death certificates. After a wearyingly long day he came home, collapsed on the sofa, and groaned to Chiu, "Do you have any idea how many people die in Hong Kong in a day?"
Chiu had warned him that going through death certificates was a slim hope at best, but he wisely said nothing while Fung complained, for which he was grateful. "Oh, and don't get me started on the all the different ways I had to check. 'Did she die in Hong Kong?' they asked. 'Or Kowloon? Or the New Territories? Hospital or nursing home or at home?' Who knew it was such work to be dead?"
Chiu was busy in the kitchen and didn't immediately answer. Curious, Fung dragged himself from the sofa to the kitchen. Chiu turned around, holding a dish of sautéed chicken and spicy vegetables. It smelled delicious, but Fung eyed him warily.
"Did you make this?"
Chiu's tentative smile disappeared. "No, of course not." He set the dish on the table and spooned some rice into a bowl. "I knew you'd stay there checking records longer than any sane person would, so I went round to your mother and asked her for something I could heat up for you."
Fung stared at him in surprise. "Wow," he managed to say. "That's-- Thank you."
The tension left Chiu's shoulders. He filled the second rice bowl, smiling a little. Fung picked up a slice of chicken and ate it. Yes, definitely his mother's cooking.
"Wait a minute. You went to see my mother? By yourself?"
Chiu nodded, and Fung grimaced. "Was it awful?"
"No, it was okay," Chiu said uncertainly. He paused. "She wasn't as bad... I mean, she acted pretty restrained. For her."
Fung guessed that the visit had been as awkward as he imagined, which only deepened his appreciation for what Chiu had done.
"Thanks," he said again, taking the rice bowls from Chiu and setting them on the table. Then he turned and caught Chiu's hips and kissed him warmly. After a hesitation, Chiu responded and Fung pressed closer until he had Chiu against the counter. Chiu pulled back and gave him a cross look.
"The food's getting cold."
"Mm," Fung agreed. "We can heat it up." He kissed him again, but Chiu kept his lips pursed.
"The auntie," he said warningly.
Fung looked around. "I don't see her. She's not here."
"She could be here," Chiu persisted. "At any time."
"I know," Fung sighed, letting go and stepping back. "I'm doing the best I can."
Chiu stroked Fung's hair. "I know. And listen, I've been thinking. It might not hurt to go see Paper Chan about this." At Fung's look, he said, "Yes, I'm actually saying it. It's worth a try. A lot of ghosts come to see him. They might know something."
"Or he might know of a way to help the auntie remember her son," Fung said, brightening. It wasn't a bad idea at all.
"Maybe," Chiu said doubtfully. "Now can we eat? It smells even better than your cooking."
Fung grinned. "It is. Mama's cooking is the best."
The next day after fight practice, Chiu offered to check with some nursing homes while Fung went to see Paper Chan. He found him sitting in front of his paper offerings shop, ignoring a pretty young woman ghost who was begging him for something. Spotting Fung, she giggled and waved before disappearing.
"What did she want?" he asked.
"Ignore that one," Chan said, gesturing dismissively. "She wants a husband."
Fung raised an eyebrow and looked around the shop. "You sell those?"
"Not the kind she's looking for," Chan said enigmatically. "Why are you here? I don't suppose you've come to buy anything."
Fung took another look round the shop, considering. "Do you have anything an old lady would like?" he asked, and he told Chan about the auntie.
"And she hasn't remembered yet that you're not her son?" Chan said, tapping a Chinese candle against his palm. "Hmm, interesting." He gave Fung a sharp look. "You're not, are you?"
Fung rolled his eyes and flicked at a paper lantern. "She's eighty if she's a day. And my mother is in perfect health."
"Still, it's interesting that this ghost seems fixated on you," Chan said, pulling over a stool and sitting down. "I didn't think ghosts liked you anymore, not since your resurrection."
Fung chewed on his lip. He didn't like talking about that or thinking about it. Chiu could've died trying to save him from the water ghost. He nearly had.
"Whatever," he said testily. "Do you think you can help with the auntie? I need to know who she is so I can find her son."
Chan's look didn't fill him with confidence, but he said, "If I find out anything, I'll let you know." He leafed through one of his fortune books, saying, "Chiu's helping, too, I suppose."
Fung tugged on the red tassle hanging from a lantern and toyed with it absently. "Yeah." He hesitated. "About Chiu... When the old lady asked if he were her son... I've never seen him like that before. Definitely not around a ghost."
Paper Chan set down the fortune book. He had an eerie, far-away look.
"Chiu was very young when his mother died. And, of course, he could see her ghost. He didn't know what was happening at first."
Fung stood very still, both wanting and not wanting to know more. He tried to imagine how it would've been to be a little kid, watching your parents become spirits.
Chan sighed heavily. "She didn't want to leave him, of course. What mother does? He didn't really understand it all: why she couldn't go shopping or cook for him anymore, why she couldn't take him to the park and push him on the swings. He thought it was because she'd been so ill."
He paused, staring off into the past. "Yes, it was hard to do it, but it was necessary. You think there can be nothing bad about a mother's love, nothing wrong with letting her watch over her son, but it can be the worst kind of possession. The spirit lingers solely for him, and he ends up living his life solely for her. Very serious, very dangerous."
Fung stared at him. "You. You were the one who sent her away."
Chan nodded, and Fung's stomach twisted. "Did you shoot her with a blood bullet?" he asked, voice dry and harsh.
"No!" Chan glared at him angrily. "It wasn't like that. I'd heard about the little boy who spoke to his dead mother, so I went to investigate. She was a frail, beautiful woman. Very smart, very sensible. When I explained it to her, she understood. She said good-bye, but he didn't know what was happening. It was only later, when she didn't come back, that I had to explain it to him."
Fung blinked away moisture in his eyes and swallowed, feeling faintly queasy. Paper Chan frowned and said, "Of course, I hadn't noticed the mark on his palm then. It was only afterwards--"
"Chiu... You didn't let him think he was responsible for her death, did you?"
Chan's gaze flicked away for a second. "No, I never told him that," he said firmly, and Fung could interpret what he wasn't saying. Chan might not have told Chiu that, but in telling Chiu about the "death star" on his palm, and predicting Chiu's solitary, death-filled life, he hadn't had to. Chan added hastily, "He knows she died of cancer. He knows he wasn't responsible."
Yes, maybe his mind knew it, Fung thought, but his heart probably felt otherwise.
(continued in pt. 2)
Title: The Ghost Mother
Fandom: 2002 (Hong Kong movie, 2001)
Pairing: Chiu [played by Nicholas Tse]/Fung [played by Stephen Fung]
Summary: An elderly lady ghost follows Fung just as he and Chiu are getting closer, and some secrets from Chiu's past are unexpectedly revealed. Set after the movie. This follows my other story, "The Hell Season," but can be read independently of it.
Word count: pt. 1: 5500, pt. 2: 3860, pt. 3: 4700
Rating: a PG-ish R? for non-explicit sex
Warnings: Long story! Contains spoilers for the movie.
URL for printer-friendly version: pteropus.com/keiko/misc/2002gm.html
The heavy rains of the day slacked off by early evening, replaced by a damp, cool breeze that stirred reflections in the puddles on the street. Fung switched his groceries from one hand to the other while he retrieved his keys, and glanced up and noted that no lights were on in the flat; Chiu was probably out with Danielle. He was nearly to the front door when the air next to him swirled and took the shape of a thin, grey, elderly woman. His heart jumped and he froze for a moment before he fought back the instinctive panic.
"May I help you, auntie?" he addressed the ghost, cautiously polite.
The ghost peered up at him through sad squinting eyes and frowned deeply. She reached out to touch his cheek, but paused in midair. Her fingers shook.
"Are you my son?" she asked in a pitiful voice.
A chill trickled down the back of Fung's neck. He stared at her warily. She tilted her head and looked him over, made an impatient sound, and evaporated into the evening air. Fung, rattled, hurried into the building and up to the flat. He'd grown accustomed to the harmless ghosts, but ones like this? The only word for them was spooky. He was never going to get used to the spooky ones.
As evening faded into night and Fung prepared dinner, he kept thinking about the old lady ghost and coming up with explanations: she'd lost her sight, she hadn't seen her son in years, she'd grown senile. He felt sorry for her, and hoped she found her son or moved on to the next life soon, but he was glad she hadn't stuck around. And he convinced himself that phoning his mother for cooking advice -- despite the fact he'd made this dish many times before -- was simply being a good son, and had nothing whatsoever to do with superstition.
He was chopping bamboo shoots, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, and was listening to the gossip from his mother's apartment block when Chiu came home. Fung nodded in greeting, and Chiu hung up his coat and joined him at the counter to steal slices of vegetables. Fung elbowed him out of the way and held the phone out of earshot while he asked, "Hungry? Did you already eat?"
"Yes, and no," Chiu answered with a smile, getting the dishes out.
Fung brought the phone to his ear and said purposefully, "Chiu's home, Mama. I have to go. Yes, yes, I will. I'm hanging up now, Mama. Take care of yourself. Bye bye."
He avoided Chiu's look as he set down the phone. Chiu's parents were dead and he never talked about them, and although he'd met Fung's family and seemed to like them, whenever they were around -- in person or in conversation -- he retreated into himself a little. Fung could partially understand it: his family could be overwhelming in person, and his mum unfortunately tried to mother Chiu whenever she saw him. But there was more to it than that, and Fung respected Chiu's need to keep those reasons to himself.
By the time dinner was ready any distance between them had been closed. Chiu told Fung all about the movie he'd taken Danielle to see, and Fung described his encounter with the old lady ghost. Disappointingly, Chiu didn't find her spooky at all.
"Ghosts can get disoriented, especially if they died recently. You just happened to cross her path," he said between bites.
"I didn't cross her path," Fung said stubbornly. "She appeared right in front of me."
Chiu shrugged. "Same difference. Probably."
"See?" Fung jabbed at the air with his chopsticks. "It's the 'probably' that worries me. What if it wasn't a coincidence?"
Chiu set down his rice bowl. "Did she hurt you? Threaten you?"
"No."
"And you're not her son, so... Wait a minute. That's why you were on the phone to your mother, isn't it?" Chiu narrowed his eyes. "Sometimes I think you're more superstitious than Paper Chan."
Fung poured him another glass of water and said self-righteously, "You could listen to him more, you know. He's right more than he's wrong."
"I've listened to him practically my entire life," Chiu muttered, "and most of the time, it doesn't matter if he's right or wrong, the same shit happens anyway."
Fung dropped the subject. He knew that Chiu cared more for his old mentor than he would admit, and unquestionably, Chan had helped them through life-or-death situations. But Chan could be prickly, annoying, and rude, and his predictions were a mixed blessing.
After dinner, Fung cleared the table and Chiu washed the dishes meditatively. Fung leaned against the counter, picked a plate from the rack and dried it off.
"What's wrong?"
Chiu shook his head a little. He handed him a rice bowl and said with a half-smile, "Nothing. Just thinking."
Fung watched him and knew better than to push. If Chiu wanted to tell him more, he would. Chiu finished the dishes and swirled his fingers in the water.
Fung nudged him. "Careful. You'll get dishpan hands." He put the dishes away and took a small pink box from the refrigerator. "This'll cheer you up: dessert."
Fung selected a mango cream pastry from the box and held it up for Chiu. Chiu looked it over, stuck a finger in the cream filling and licked it off.
"Too sweet," he pronounced, giving Fung a long look. Fung's face flushed warm but he ignored this.
"That's why you have to eat it with the shell," he said, holding it up to Chiu's mouth. Chiu pursed his lips and backed away. "Like this." Fung bit into the crisp, tart shell and ate half of the confection. "Oh, it's good. It's not too sweet at all. Here." He offered Chiu the other half, but Chiu declined, grumbling, "You're spilling crumbs all over the floor." Fung happily ate the rest, not caring about the crumbs.
"I'm going to bed," Chiu said. "Early night tonight, remember? They're tearing down the old Happy Show Cinema tomorrow. We have to be there."
The Happy Show had been built on the site of a horrible construction accident over thirty years ago. It was common wisdom that building a cinema on the site, instead of the office building that had been planned, had kept the ghosts of the construction workers happy and entertained, no matter how shabby the place became or how bad the movies were.
"Right, right," Fung said, wiping crumbs off his hands. "Just let me sweep this up."
"Wait."
Chiu reached over and touched the side of Fung's mouth with his finger. He ran his fingertip along the outer edge of Fung's upper lip, then gently pressed it over the lower. Fung tasted sweet mango cream on Chiu's dry skin. He gazed into Chiu's eyes, pulse pumping, but Chiu quickly withdrew his finger and smiled softly.
"Just a bit of cream," he said, turning away.
In the bathroom, as Fung got ready for bed, he doused a washcloth in cold water and held it to the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and waited for his blood to slow to a simmer. When he opened his eyes, he patted his face with the cold cloth and looked at his reflection in the mirror, half-expecting to see a mark where Chiu's finger had traced his lips. He touched where Chiu had touched.
He was happy -- very happy -- with Chiu. They were partners, they were friends. They were living together. They even shared Chiu's bed -- platonically, like brothers. In all the important ways, they loved each other. And sometimes they kissed. Or more than sometimes: it was Fung's goal to kiss Chiu everyday, and so far, Chiu had willingly met his goal.
But more than that? Most of the time, Fung couldn't imagine it, though if he tried, he found his heart beating fast, and patches of heat would bake his skin, leaving him dizzy, nervous, and restless. The best remedy was cold water, a cup of soothing tea, and to keep Chiu out of sight for a while.
Because most of the time, Fung couldn't imagine it. While at other times -- like on lazy mornings when they would lounge in bed and talk, and Chiu's half-awake voice was quiet and raw, and his skin was damp from sleep, and his beard growing in formed dark lines over his lips and along his chin -- other times, he felt it would be so simple, so easy, because he wanted it so much.
When he opened the door, Chiu was standing right in front of him, glowering. "What takes you so long?" he muttered. "It better not stink in there. And there better not be toothpaste in the sink." He shut the door behind him.
When he emerged a few minutes later wearing the baggy pajamas and old t-shirt he slept in, Fung was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for his tea to finish brewing. Chiu hovered by the table, picking up the tea box and sniffing it.
"Are you sure this tea is good for you?"
Fung drummed his fingers on the table, staring intently into his tea glass. "It's supposed to be very calming," he said.
"Huh." Chiu shook the box and sniffed it again. He loomed over Fung's shoulder, invitingly rumpled and emanating warmth. "You need to be calmed?"
Fung flattened his palms on the table. A slither of warmth coiled up his spine to the back of his neck. He kept his eyes on the tea leaves floating in the glass.
Chiu set the tea box down. "You're not still thinking about that ghost, are you? That poor old lady has you shivering?" He shook his head and padded off to the bed.
Fung was relieved that Chiu had made up his own explanation, as annoying as that explanation might be. It saved them from talking about it, and by the time Fung had finished his tea, he was feeling relaxed and drowsy. He switched off the kitchen lights and slid into bed next to Chiu, who was reading one of Fung's manga.
"'Night," he said, curling up and closing his eyes. Moments later, as he drifted into sleep, he heard Chiu turn off the bedside lamp and sigh.
-----
Special Unit 2002 usually kept later hours. They both overslept and hurried through the morning routine. Fung leaned against the doorjamb of the walk-in closet and passed a hand over his chin. "Maybe I can skip shaving. That'll save some time."
Chiu paused in buckling his belt and gave him an odd look. In an instant, without a word, he'd moved to Fung, had his hands on Fung's waist, and kissed him. A fast, aggressive kiss tasting of sour coffee that left Fung wanting more. But Chiu stepped away, murmuring, "I think you should shave."
They were late getting to the Happy Show site, and the demolition had already occured. The site inspector ran up to them as they got out of the car.
"There you are! You were supposed to be here half an hour ago! The foreman couldn't wait. He blasted the building."
Fung and Chiu had already spotted the ghosts: a half dozen strong, angry men yelling at the workmen trying to clear the site, demanding to get their cinema back. One ghost hovered menacingly near the foreman, shouting, "We died for this place! Our blood is here!"
Fung and Chiu put on their ghost gloves and ran for him. Chiu reached him first, grabbing the ghost's wrist. Fung tried to get a good hold on the ghost's other arm, but was hoisted into the air by the enraged spirit of another worker whose unleashed anger gave him incredible strength. Fung reached for a vial of unveiling drops, but the ghost tossed him aside, sending him skidding into dusty rubble. Coughing and squinting, he saw both ghosts going for Chiu. He pulled the vial free and hurled it before the angry ghost could reach Chiu. The demolition crew who'd been warily watching the scene let out startled cries as the ghost took substance before their eyes.
Fung barely had time to check that Chiu had his opponent under control before the angry ghost was on him again, reaching for his neck to lift him up. But with his power temporarily halved, they were more evenly matched. Fung blocked his hold and aimed a high kick to propel him backwards. It wasn't far enough, and he had to duck and spin away to avoid the next lunge the spirit made at him.
He hadn't wanted to shoot any of the construction worker ghosts. He sympathized with them for losing the place that kept them content. But this one was beyond his help. All the rage and pain of his violent death, dormant for thirty years, were fresh again. He wouldn't go willingly, and when his full powers returned, he could become a murderous demon spirit. Fung drew his gun and pressed his finger to the blood needle.
Before he could aim, he had to swerve to miss another blow. He sent a fast kick to the ghost's chest to push him away and raised the gun. "I'm sorry," he said. "You won't be reincarnated."
The air next to the spirit swirled and took shape. A tiny old lady appeared, swatting ineffectually at the angry ghost. It was the same old lady ghost Fung had met on their doorstep the day before.
"What are you doing to my son?" she screeched. "You big brute! What's the matter with you?"
The ghost paused in confusion. He looked from the old lady to Fung and snarled. The old lady lifted up from the ground a few centimeters so she could slap his face. "Bully!"
Fury shook the spirit, and Fung cried out in warning, "Auntie!" But the angry ghost was too confused to lash out, and the old lady, seeing her opening, berated him for brawling and threatening her son. Gun still aimed and ready, Fung approached them cautiously.
"If you'll let go of your anger and move on, I don't have to kill you," he told the angry ghost. "If I shoot, you're gone forever."
He glanced around, noticing that the ridiculous scene had attracted the attention of the other construction worker ghosts. He quickly scanned past the audience and saw that the first ghost was no match for Chiu.
One of the watching ghosts said to Fung, "Listen, kid, they've taken away the only place we've had all this time. We had some good times here, watching the movies and scaring the kids." The others nodded. "We didn't ask for this, but it's all we've had since the accident."
Another ghost stepped forward. "Lee," he said to the angry ghost. "This won't do any good. The Happy Show is gone."
Lee seemed to shrink. He backed away from the old lady and balled his hands into fists. "It just hurts so much," he said in a quiet, rough voice. He looked at Fung. "I was only a temporary worker. This was my first construction job. My wife was pregnant, and with the baby coming, I thought we needed some extra money. Construction always paid pretty well, I was told." He turned around and lifted his ghost shirt, and Fung could see where a steel beam had crushed his spine.
The old lady ghost had stopped harrassing Lee, and drifted to Fung's side, sending an unpleasant chill through him. A few meters away, Chiu held the ghost's arms behind his back and marched him to join the others.
"It'll be better if you all move on," Chiu told them. "The men working here now are the same as you. You don't want to hurt them, do you?"
"No," some of the ghosts agreed. One of them asked, "What are they gonna put here, anyway? What's so important they had mow down the Happy Show?"
Chiu glanced at Fung. They hadn't been told. Fung called for the site inspector, who nervously approached, avoiding looking at anyone.
"It's going to be a grammar school," he said to Fung, eyes downward. "They've needed a new one in this area for years." Question answered, he hurried away to the edge of the site.
Chiu raised an eyebrow, looking at the ghosts. "A grammar school is more important than watching trashy old movies, isn't it?"
But a few of the ghosts weren't paying attention to him; Fung saw them talking among themselves and gesturing around the site. He heard one of them say, "And that corner over there could be the playground..."
Fung slid his gun back into its holster. "Hey. If we let you stay and watch the new construction here, would you agree to go on to the next life on your own?"
Chiu shot him a warning look, shaking his head, but Fung came closer, moving among the ghost workers.
"You'd have to behave yourselves and let the men do their jobs. But at the end of it, you could see for yourselves that what replaced the Happy Show was just as important."
Lee gave him a grateful look, and Fung inwardly flinched. Just a few minutes earlier, he'd almost put a blood bullet in him.
"That seems fair," one of the ghosts said.
Chiu sidled up to Fung. "You can tell the site inspector and construction team about this," he murmured near Fung's ear. He paused in midstride and nodded to Fung's right. "That's her?"
Fung had almost forgotten about the old lady. He suddenly felt her gaze on him and shivered. "Yeah. I think she's crazy."
"She's not the only one," Chiu said, giving him a pointed look.
Choosing their words carefully, they were able to convince the site inspector and construction crew that the ghosts were moving on and wouldn't be a threat anymore. They simply neglected to mention the part about the ghosts sticking around for the entire build. And despite Chiu's initial disapproval, he did just as much of the explaining as Fung did, and Fung suspected that Chiu was as satisfied with the conclusion as he was.
The old lady ghost, however, was still there when they turned to leave.
"Son?" she said to Fung, gazing up at him with watery eyes.
Fung recoiled inside, but simply winced and said, "No."
"He's not your son, auntie," Chiu said gently.
She tilted her head and looked at Chiu curiously, as if she hadn't noticed him before. "Are you?" she asked, her voice quavering.
Chiu paled and stared at her for a moment before rasping out, "No."
The ghost lady whimpered and dissipated into the air.
Fung glanced at Chiu. He'd never seen him react to a ghost like that before. Chiu frowned and started walking to the car.
"See? She's spooky," Fung said. They got into the car, but Chiu didn't start the ignition. He stared out of the windscreen, loosely holding the keys in one hand.
Fung's concern had kicked into worry when Chiu said, still staring ahead, "I don't remember what my mother looked like." He blinked and glanced at Fung. "It's not that I think-- She was a lot younger than that. And she moved on."
Fung nodded slowly, unsure what to say.
Chiu smiled at him sadly. "I guess you were right. She's spooky." He put the key in the ignition and started the car.
After they filed their reports on the Happy Show incident, Fung had hoped for a quiet evening when he could make a big meal for Chiu and they could watch TV together and everything could be comfortable. But a murder-suicide threw them back into the spirit world, and this time with no satisfactory conclusion. Fung didn't find it satisfying to send the angry ghosts to oblivion, even if it was what he was paid to do.
Still unsettled afterward, he didn't object to Chiu's suggestion for take-away Thai noodles, and after a dull, heavy, rainy evening, he crawled into bed and welcomed sleep before Chiu joined him.
He woke up twice in the morning, at first without stirring or opening his eyes, but lying there and being aware of Chiu asleep next to him, listening to Chiu's deep breathing which was not quite a snore. He slid closer until his back touched Chiu's and, all the heaviness of the night gone, he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke again, he was in a good mood, and he lay on his side and watched Chiu in the morning light until Chiu pretending to be asleep was too much temptation.
He touched Chiu's eyelashes with his fingertip. Chiu's eyelid spasmed but he kept his eyes shut. Fung touched the tip of his nose and pinched it, and Chiu laughed. He opened one eye and Fung smiled at him. And, lazy and happy, kissed him slowly and softly, deepening the kiss when Chiu held his shoulder.
So simple, so easy. Chiu kissed him in response, also slow and deep, and tightened his hold on his shoulder almost painfully. Fung brought his hand to Chiu's hip to pull him closer, bring their bodies together.
He knew what he felt as soon as he felt it -- impossible not to -- but for a split second, he tried to think of an alternative explanation before he realized he didn't want an alternative explanation. Then he saw the flush in Chiu's cheeks, and if there had ever been any doubt, this dispelled it. A shock of heat hit Fung and spread through him leisurely. He slid his hand lower and pressed against Chiu.
Or tried to. Chiu let go of his shoulder and caught his wrist in a pulse-stopping grip. "Don't."
Fung touched Chiu's cheek with his lips. "Why not?" He twisted his arm free and reached again, and Chiu grabbed him again and pushed him back. Chiu sat up, bunching the duvet into his lap, and sank his fingers into his hair.
"It's... I don't know. Odd."
"I think it's cool," Fung said. Chiu shot him a look that was somewhere between baffled and exasperated. Fung shrugged a little. "Well, it is."
Chiu hunched forward and hugged his knees. "I'm not sure about this," he said, turning away from Fung.
Fung reached over and rubbed his back soothingly. "It's okay," he said.
"Is it?" Chiu let out a frustrated sigh.
Fung lay back and picked at his fingernails, chewing the inside of his lip. "Do you wish I were a woman?" he asked, wincing as he said it because it sounded like the stupidest thing he'd ever said. The way Chiu looked at him more or less confirmed this.
"It's okay that you're a guy," Chiu said, gently serious. A smile crept into his eyes as he added, "The fact that you're a nutcase is more troubling."
Fung tried to smile, let the joke wash away the doubts. Chiu touched his chin. "You're fine the way you are. If you weren't..." He cocked an eyebrow. "If you weren't, we wouldn't be like this now, and having this stupid conversation."
Fung grinned, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to the bed. Chiu snagged a pillow and hit him with it. Fung snatched it away and managed one whack to the side of his head before Chiu had him pinned down. Fung dropped the pillow and Chiu kissed him, and though the duvet was between them, Fung pulled him closer and Chiu wasn't pushing away.
"What are you doing?" A thin, shocked, elderly voice in the air beside them. "Who are you?"
Chiu reeled away, glaring at the old lady ghost. "Auntie," he gritted out. "Please go away."
"Who is this?" she asked Fung, pointing to Chiu. "And you. For shame. Don't you have a wife?"
Fung, too startled to speak, stared at her in disbelief. A few seconds ago: all happiness, so simple, so easy. The pulse in his lips still throbbed from Chiu's kiss.
"Au... Auntie. Please," he pleaded. "I'm not your son."
Chiu muttered something under his breath and got out of bed, throwing the duvet to the floor, and stalked to the bathroom. Fung watched him, and all the excitement and anticipation left him in one vacuum rush. He wearily looked at the ghost and wished he could hate her instead of feel sorry for her.
Her watery eyes gazed at him blankly. "Where's my son?" she asked in a thin voice.
"I guess that's what we have to find out," Fung said, sitting up, "if I'm ever going to get any peace."
-----
Fung's eagerness to find the auntie's son and help her move on to the next life didn't change the fact that he had no information about her and nowhere to start looking. He didn't even know when she'd died, although Chiu figured it had happened recently. To make matters worse, the ghost didn't appear for the next few days. Much as Fung wished that this meant she'd found her son and moved on already, his instincts told him he couldn't be that lucky. Still, he wasn't going to sit by and do nothing, especially since Chiu wasn't taking any chances and was keeping their contact limited to chaste goodnight pecks on the forehead.
He started at the hall of records, looking through recent death certificates. After a wearyingly long day he came home, collapsed on the sofa, and groaned to Chiu, "Do you have any idea how many people die in Hong Kong in a day?"
Chiu had warned him that going through death certificates was a slim hope at best, but he wisely said nothing while Fung complained, for which he was grateful. "Oh, and don't get me started on the all the different ways I had to check. 'Did she die in Hong Kong?' they asked. 'Or Kowloon? Or the New Territories? Hospital or nursing home or at home?' Who knew it was such work to be dead?"
Chiu was busy in the kitchen and didn't immediately answer. Curious, Fung dragged himself from the sofa to the kitchen. Chiu turned around, holding a dish of sautéed chicken and spicy vegetables. It smelled delicious, but Fung eyed him warily.
"Did you make this?"
Chiu's tentative smile disappeared. "No, of course not." He set the dish on the table and spooned some rice into a bowl. "I knew you'd stay there checking records longer than any sane person would, so I went round to your mother and asked her for something I could heat up for you."
Fung stared at him in surprise. "Wow," he managed to say. "That's-- Thank you."
The tension left Chiu's shoulders. He filled the second rice bowl, smiling a little. Fung picked up a slice of chicken and ate it. Yes, definitely his mother's cooking.
"Wait a minute. You went to see my mother? By yourself?"
Chiu nodded, and Fung grimaced. "Was it awful?"
"No, it was okay," Chiu said uncertainly. He paused. "She wasn't as bad... I mean, she acted pretty restrained. For her."
Fung guessed that the visit had been as awkward as he imagined, which only deepened his appreciation for what Chiu had done.
"Thanks," he said again, taking the rice bowls from Chiu and setting them on the table. Then he turned and caught Chiu's hips and kissed him warmly. After a hesitation, Chiu responded and Fung pressed closer until he had Chiu against the counter. Chiu pulled back and gave him a cross look.
"The food's getting cold."
"Mm," Fung agreed. "We can heat it up." He kissed him again, but Chiu kept his lips pursed.
"The auntie," he said warningly.
Fung looked around. "I don't see her. She's not here."
"She could be here," Chiu persisted. "At any time."
"I know," Fung sighed, letting go and stepping back. "I'm doing the best I can."
Chiu stroked Fung's hair. "I know. And listen, I've been thinking. It might not hurt to go see Paper Chan about this." At Fung's look, he said, "Yes, I'm actually saying it. It's worth a try. A lot of ghosts come to see him. They might know something."
"Or he might know of a way to help the auntie remember her son," Fung said, brightening. It wasn't a bad idea at all.
"Maybe," Chiu said doubtfully. "Now can we eat? It smells even better than your cooking."
Fung grinned. "It is. Mama's cooking is the best."
The next day after fight practice, Chiu offered to check with some nursing homes while Fung went to see Paper Chan. He found him sitting in front of his paper offerings shop, ignoring a pretty young woman ghost who was begging him for something. Spotting Fung, she giggled and waved before disappearing.
"What did she want?" he asked.
"Ignore that one," Chan said, gesturing dismissively. "She wants a husband."
Fung raised an eyebrow and looked around the shop. "You sell those?"
"Not the kind she's looking for," Chan said enigmatically. "Why are you here? I don't suppose you've come to buy anything."
Fung took another look round the shop, considering. "Do you have anything an old lady would like?" he asked, and he told Chan about the auntie.
"And she hasn't remembered yet that you're not her son?" Chan said, tapping a Chinese candle against his palm. "Hmm, interesting." He gave Fung a sharp look. "You're not, are you?"
Fung rolled his eyes and flicked at a paper lantern. "She's eighty if she's a day. And my mother is in perfect health."
"Still, it's interesting that this ghost seems fixated on you," Chan said, pulling over a stool and sitting down. "I didn't think ghosts liked you anymore, not since your resurrection."
Fung chewed on his lip. He didn't like talking about that or thinking about it. Chiu could've died trying to save him from the water ghost. He nearly had.
"Whatever," he said testily. "Do you think you can help with the auntie? I need to know who she is so I can find her son."
Chan's look didn't fill him with confidence, but he said, "If I find out anything, I'll let you know." He leafed through one of his fortune books, saying, "Chiu's helping, too, I suppose."
Fung tugged on the red tassle hanging from a lantern and toyed with it absently. "Yeah." He hesitated. "About Chiu... When the old lady asked if he were her son... I've never seen him like that before. Definitely not around a ghost."
Paper Chan set down the fortune book. He had an eerie, far-away look.
"Chiu was very young when his mother died. And, of course, he could see her ghost. He didn't know what was happening at first."
Fung stood very still, both wanting and not wanting to know more. He tried to imagine how it would've been to be a little kid, watching your parents become spirits.
Chan sighed heavily. "She didn't want to leave him, of course. What mother does? He didn't really understand it all: why she couldn't go shopping or cook for him anymore, why she couldn't take him to the park and push him on the swings. He thought it was because she'd been so ill."
He paused, staring off into the past. "Yes, it was hard to do it, but it was necessary. You think there can be nothing bad about a mother's love, nothing wrong with letting her watch over her son, but it can be the worst kind of possession. The spirit lingers solely for him, and he ends up living his life solely for her. Very serious, very dangerous."
Fung stared at him. "You. You were the one who sent her away."
Chan nodded, and Fung's stomach twisted. "Did you shoot her with a blood bullet?" he asked, voice dry and harsh.
"No!" Chan glared at him angrily. "It wasn't like that. I'd heard about the little boy who spoke to his dead mother, so I went to investigate. She was a frail, beautiful woman. Very smart, very sensible. When I explained it to her, she understood. She said good-bye, but he didn't know what was happening. It was only later, when she didn't come back, that I had to explain it to him."
Fung blinked away moisture in his eyes and swallowed, feeling faintly queasy. Paper Chan frowned and said, "Of course, I hadn't noticed the mark on his palm then. It was only afterwards--"
"Chiu... You didn't let him think he was responsible for her death, did you?"
Chan's gaze flicked away for a second. "No, I never told him that," he said firmly, and Fung could interpret what he wasn't saying. Chan might not have told Chiu that, but in telling Chiu about the "death star" on his palm, and predicting Chiu's solitary, death-filled life, he hadn't had to. Chan added hastily, "He knows she died of cancer. He knows he wasn't responsible."
Yes, maybe his mind knew it, Fung thought, but his heart probably felt otherwise.
(continued in pt. 2)
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