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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
After he left Paper Chan's, he felt a bit guilty for knowing more about Chiu's past. Chiu never talked about it, and Fung couldn't help thinking he'd been snooping around where he wasn't invited. But he was spared any awkwardness in facing Chiu that evening, because a botched robbery called them onto the job, and they battled the angry spirits of both the slain shopkeeper and the drug addict robber who'd been shot by the police. It was a long, grim night that ended with them collapsing in bed and sleeping until late the next morning.
Chiu was already up and dressed when Fung woke. He was making tea and reading the newspaper, and there was a partially eaten egg sandwich sitting on the kitchen counter. Fung watched him walking about, making facial expressions at the newspaper, taking a bite of sandwich, spilling drops of boiling water on his fingers when he poured the tea. Fung thought about the little boy talking to his ghost mother, and losing her, and being told that he was cursed and fated to be alone. He got out of bed and walked over to stand behind him and slide his arms around him.
"Fung," Chiu said warningly, thwapping at his hands with the newspaper.
Fung tightened his embrace. "It's not like that," he said. "I just want to hold you."
"Yeah, I can tell," Chiu said, struggling to walk to the counter with Fung still attached. "I'm trying to have breakfast, okay?" He bit into his sandwich and lifted the newspaper exaggeratedly, as if he didn't have Fung wrapped around him.
Fung rested his chin on Chiu's shoulder and read the newspaper with him. "Wait, don't turn the page yet."
Chiu swiped at his forehead with the newspaper. "Would you please let go?"
Fung gave him a squeezing hug. "I don't want to, but if you're going to keep hitting me with the newspaper, I guess I'd better." He let go and grinned at Chiu's annoyed scowl. "Do I get a kiss now?"
Chiu narrowed his eyes, and Fung stole a kiss from his beautifully scowling lips.
While Fung was dressing, Chiu leaned against the closet door and asked, "What did Paper Chan say yesterday? You never got a chance to tell me last night."
Fung paused in putting on his shirt. "Oh. Um..." He pulled his shirt down and tucked it into his trousers.
Chiu rested his hand on Fung's shoulder. "He couldn't help? That's okay. It was worth a shot."
Fung glanced away. "No, it wasn't that... He said he'd let us know if he found out anything." He looked at Chiu. "And he... He told me what happened when your mother died."
Chiu's hand dropped from his shoulder. He stood very still, his gaze not wavering, but the change in his eyes made Fung's blood run cold. He braced himself for an outburst, a punch, a threat, anything. A long moment stretched in silence.
Then Chiu said, "Oh. I understand now." His smile didn't reach his eyes. Fung had never seen him look so deadly.
Without another word Chiu walked away.
"Wait!" Fung ran after him and caught him by the arm. Chiu stopped but wouldn't face him. Fung took a deep breath. "It's not his fault. I sort of asked him, I guess. I didn't know what I was asking. I didn't mean to pry."
Chiu yanked his arm free and shot him a dark look. "So now you feel sorry for me, have to hug me like a little kid, have to pity me like everyone else Chan tells about my curse." He clenched his jaw. "I didn't expect you to be like everyone else."
It was as if Chiu had landed one of his lethal kicks to Fung's stomach. He struggled to breathe and fought against his rising anger. "I'm not," he said sharply. He added more calmly, "I don't pity you. I just want to understand you." Chiu gave him a surprised look, and Fung risked rubbing his shoulder.
"Am I sorry for what happened to you when you were a little kid? Yes, I am," Fung said gently. "It makes me sad to think about you being so young, alone, and not knowing what was happening. But I don't feel sorry for you now, because I know how strong you are." He patted Chiu's arm and let go, not sure if what he was saying helped or hurt.
Chiu folded his arms over his chest and took a few pacing steps. "But why do you need to know about all that, anyway? I was a miserable kid who saw ghosts, so what?"
Fung caught his waist. Chiu resisted, but Fung held on until he faced him. Chiu's expression was closed, uninviting, but Fung wasn't going to retreat now.
"Because I want to be as close to you as possible," he said, gazing into Chiu's eyes. "But I don't need to know anything you don't want me to know. I didn't mean to go too far. I didn't expect that Chan would tell me all of that."
Chiu glanced down. "You don't know Paper Chan like I do," he mumbled, relaxing a little.
"Yeah, I know I don't," Fung responded seriously.
Chiu met his eyes. "It's not that I don't want you to know," he said, his brow furrowing. "I don't like talking about it. I don't like thinking about it. I don't like remembering."
Fung stroked a lock of hair from Chiu's forehead. "I understand that now. Tell me: does being around my family make you remember too much? Being around my mum?"
Chiu gave him a funny look. "That's what you've been worried about?" he asked with a half-smile. "You're such a goof. I like your family. Mostly." His smile widened.
"But--"
"And when I'm around them," Chiu interrupted, putting one finger over Fung's lips. "I wonder how it was for you growing up. Maybe sometimes I'm jealous. And other times, I'm glad I didn't have all of that family stuff to deal with."
The tension in Fung's back dissolved. He kissed Chiu's finger. "You're not mad at me?"
"No."
"Will you let Paper Chan off the hook for telling me?"
"I'll think about it."
Fung drew him closer. "Will you give me a kiss?"
"No. We're already late for practice," Chiu said, slipping out of his hands.
-----
It was another two days before Fung got any farther along in his search for the auntie's son. He had only seen the old lady ghost once in that time, briefly in the market when he went to buy vegetables. She hovered by his shoulder and followed him silently, and when he asked her name, she didn't reply, but wailed softly before disappearing. Fung shuddered from the chill she left in his spine, and resolved to persevere in his search.
That evening he went by the hospital after Chiu had taken Danielle to work. Fung avoided the more wretched ghosts and waited by the doors while Chiu lingered with Danielle. One short, squat, grey ghost in particular dogged his steps as Fung moved about. Finally Chiu caught up and they went outside into the pouring rain. The short grey ghost followed them.
Chiu glanced back over his shoulder. "Friend of yours?" he asked.
Fung sighed, stopped, and turned around. "May I help you?"
The ghost looked from Fung to Chiu. "Which one is Fung?"
Fung and Chiu exchanged a wary look. Fung replied, "I am."
"Paper Chan told me to see you. I might know who your old lady is."
"How?" Chiu asked at the same time Fung said, "You do?"
The ghost shrugged. "I used to work in the morgue. I still take a friendly interest in the newcomers. There was an old lady about a week back. I remember her because she wandered around the morgue and said she had to find her son. Her name was Lam Yin-hing. She died at home, pneumonia. That's all I know."
Fung almost reached out to shake his hand, except he wasn't wearing his gloves. "Thanks," he said. "Is there anything we can do for you?"
"Can we burn you something?" Chiu offered.
The ghost chuckled. "Paper Chan told me you'd burn me some money if I helped you. $888."
"What?" Chiu protested, but Fung nodded. "Sure. If your Mrs. Lam is my ghost, you'll get your money."
"Fair enough," the ghost said and disappeared behind the rain.
"Chan might as well be a pickpocket," Chiu grumbled. "He's nimble enough with our wallets."
Energized by this new information, Fung wanted to start checking the death records immediately, but Chiu reminded him that the records office was closed for the day. Fung transferred his pent-up energy into making a big meal, and afterwards, while Chiu lounged on the sofa and complained that he'd eaten too much, Fung paced around the flat, thinking of different scenarios for Mrs. Lam's death and life.
During one pass by the sofa, Chiu caught his wrist. "Would you calm down? You're making me nervous."
Fung looked at Chiu sprawled on the sofa. "Nervous?" he asked with a smile.
"Inside, I'm practically shivering," Chiu said.
Fung sat down beside him and sprawled with him. "Better now?"
"Much." Chiu closed his eyes. Fung slid his arm across his shoulders, and Chiu leaned back to rest against his chest. Fung teased him by touching his nose, eyelid, hair, earring, and chin, until he smiled. Fung touched his lips, following the curves of his smile, and Chiu opened his eyes and looked up at him.
Urgent ringing on both of their cellphones filled the flat. Chiu sat up. Both phones ringing meant work. It was funny, Fung reflected as he gathered his gear. If it hadn't been for ghosts and Special Unit 2002, he would never have met Chiu. But the ghosts and Special Unit 2002 wouldn't leave them alone now that they were together.
-----
Despite their long, busy night, Chiu got up when Fung did and accompanied him to the records office. It was easy enough to find Mrs. Lam's death record now that Fung had her name. Eager to get started, he skimmed through the file for her address. While he was writing it down, Chiu looked at the file.
"Wait," he said. "This Lam Yin-hing didn't have any relatives. See?" He pointed to the space for relatives' names.
Fung sat back. "But the death information matches what Chan's ghost messenger told us." He stared at the words, No relatives, and hit the desk with his fist. "Damn!"
Chiu briefly squeezed his shoulder and leaned against the desk. "Well, let's think about this for a minute. What if Auntie Lam was senile and forgot she had a son? And maybe when she got sick, the son wasn't around, so no one knew."
Fung sat upright. "Yes, and that's why she has to find him. Maybe the son doesn't know she's dead."
"Yeah, maybe it's something like that," Chiu said thoughtfully, looking at the file again. Fung grabbed his elbow and pulled him along.
Auntie Lam had lived in a squat, crumbling apartment block tucked away in a corner surrounded by newer, higher apartment blocks. Chiu parked the car in front of a coin laundry, and they climbed the steep slope to her building, easily passing through the rusty gate whose lock, if it had ever worked at all, was too corroded to catch now. The tiny, overgrown courtyard was strewn with bright plastic kids' toys, but the effect was more eerie than cheerful because the building was quiet in the midday shower. Fung expected the auntie to appear beside them at any moment.
Her flat was on the ground floor, at one end next to a blank grey concrete wall. Fung rang the buzzer and wondered how to tell a man that his mother had died. He thought of Chiu as a little boy, waiting for his ghost mother to return.
It was not a man who opened the door, however, but a matronly woman in a light green sari. "Oh, you're early," she said with a heavy accent, opening the door wide for them. Fung exchanged a curious look with Chiu, and the woman, mistaking their hesitation, said in English, "I apologize for my bad Cantonese. Is English all right? Come in," she said, gesturing. "The chest of drawers is back here, but if it's just the two of you, I'm afraid you'll have to come back for the wardrobe. Even then..." she said uncertainly, looking them over. "Is your truck close by? It's rather heavy."
They followed her into the dark flat, lit only by the rainy daylight from the curtainless windows and open door. She led them through the sitting room, its sparse furniture augmented by a few large packing boxes, and into a tiny bedroom without a bed, dominated by a large dark wardrobe and chest of drawers made in old-fashioned British style.
"Excuse me," Fung said, "but we're here because..." He glanced at Chiu, who was looking around the room. "We're looking for Mrs. Lam."
The woman started and gasped a little. "Oh! Oh, you poor dears, you haven't heard?" She took Fung's hand and patted it. "Miss Lam has passed on. It was, oh, over a week ago by now. Did you work with her? Were you apprentices?"
"Apprentices?" Chiu asked, running his hand along the chest.
The woman looked at Chiu suspiciously, brow furrowed. Fung took out his identification card and presented it to her.
"Police?" she murmured to herself. "Perhaps you better come into the other room and tell me what this is about," she said briskly, leading them back to the sitting room. "I'm Mrs. Chaudhury. I live upstairs."
"And you're selling off Mrs. Lam's furniture?" Chiu asked.
Mrs. Chaudhury shot him a cold look. "I'm only following her wishes. She told me to give the furniture to anyone who would take it away." She folded her arms across her chest and looked them over. "And what do the police have to do with Miss Lam?"
"We're trying to find her son," Fung explained. "It's important that we..." He trailed off, watching her expression change from wariness to bewilderment. She had been calling the old lady Miss Lam.
"She wasn't married, was she?" he asked with a sinking heart.
"No," Mrs. Chaudhury said. "Not for as long as I knew her, and we've been here twenty-six years. You dears sit down, and I'll make some tea. Then your trip won't be for nothing, will it?"
When they had settled at the tiny kitchen table with Mrs. Chaudhury and mismatched porcelain cups of English tea, she said, "Miss Lam and I were good friends. I think if she had been married, she would have told me." She paused, took a sip of tea, and tilted her head. "But she never wanted to talk about the war -- the Second World War, that is -- so I suppose she may have been married then."
Chiu turned his cup around by the handle, but didn't pick it up. "You mentioned her work. Apprentices. What did she do?"
"She was a hairdresser," she replied. "These last few years, with her eyesight, she didn't do the cutting herself, but she trained apprentices."
Fung took a sip of the pale tea. He couldn't accept that their break in the mystery had been all for nothing. "Could she have had a son and never told you about it?"
"I've been thinking about that," Mrs. Chaudhury said. "It's possible, but if it's true, oh, it's so sad. She never spoke about him at all. No pictures, nothing like that. Makes me think, well." She looked at Fung sadly. "A dead son, maybe."
Fung nodded, taking another sip of tea. He had been thinking the same thing. And poor Miss Lam, after death, had hoped to find him. Perhaps her son had died in his twenties, around Fung's age, and that's why she kept returning to him.
While they were finishing their tea, the men came for the chest of drawers and wardrobe, and Fung and Chiu, with a little prompting from Mrs. Chaudhury, helped them with the wardrobe, which was as heavy as she had warned. They struggled with it through the flat and out the door, across the courtyard, through the rusty gate, and into the men's truck. Fung watched the men drive off with the furniture and felt that he was watching the last promising clues disappear. How could they ever find out what happened to Miss Lam's son if she hadn't even told her friends about him? And how would he explain it to Miss Lam when she reappeared?
He turned to ask Chiu, but Chiu had returned to the courtyard and crouched down to pick something up. He came back holding a small scrap of cloth.
"This fell out of the wardrobe," he said, handing it to Fung. "Probably nothing."
"Yeah." Fung ran his fingers over the thin, rough cloth, its colors too faded to see clearly. He couldn't explain why, but the cloth seemed important somehow, a link to Miss Lam's past. He tucked it into a pocket.
Chiu was watching him. He patted Fung's shoulder. "I'm sorry we couldn't find out more. I know you wanted to help her."
"What do we do if she doesn't remember, and keeps haunting me? I don't want to shoot her."
Chiu gave him a serious look. "I don't know. Try talking to her, I guess."
Fung bit his thumbnail, nodding absently. He'd never thought one of the harmless ghosts could be more worrying than the hate ghosts.
-----
Miss Lam didn't appear for the next three days, during which Special Unit 2002 was kept busy by the annual firearms safety drill and inspection. Chiu thought it was a complete waste of time, and Fung had to agree it was pretty boring until they had to take the accuracy tests. Chiu aced his, but Fung hadn't had as much experience, and the standard issue sidearm felt odd without the familiar sting of a blood needle. Nevertheless, he shot well enough to earn high marks, and Chiu seemed genuinely proud of him.
"You're becoming an old pro," he said, ruffling Fung's hair as they left the shooting range.
Fung raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's good, because I am a pro."
Chiu grinned. "Yeah, but when I think about how pathetic you were to begin with... You were so bad. I thought it was hopeless."
Fung couldn't argue with that; he had been hopeless at first. He didn't like to think about it, though, because deep down there was always the fear that he would freeze up again.
"Of course, if I'd had a little more training from the head of 2002 before our first case, maybe I would've been better," he pointed out, nudging Chiu with his elbow.
Chiu nudged back, leaning into it, and Fung leaned back, pushing until Chiu laughed and ducked away. Fung went after him, catching him by the coat in the parking lot. He grabbed the keys from Chiu's pocket and jumped back triumphantly, dangling the keys.
"I get to drive this time. I decide where we go."
Chiu reached for the keys but Fung effortlessly slid out of his path. "Let's see. Beach? Grocery shopping? Oooo, could I really get the cool ghost hunter Chiu near the vegetable stand or fish market? I know, how about tea with my mother?" he teased.
Chiu's fingers missed the keys by millimeters as Fung palmed them and hid them behind his back. "Anywhere but the beach," Chiu said. "It's starting to rain."
"So? I don't care."
Chiu gave him an odd look. "No. Not the beach, not when it's raining. Don't you know? That's when the ghosts of the people who drowned in the sea come out. Paper Chan used to take me to the beach on rainy days when I was a kid, getting me to talk to them."
He didn't seem bothered as he mentioned this, but Fung watched him closely, disgusted at Paper Chan.
"They're all water ghosts, then," Fung said quietly, frowning.
Chiu lightly clapped him on the shoulder. "Not like he was. He was a hate ghost. They're not all like him."
Fung gazed at him for a moment and his tension faded. "Okay. Not the beach."
"Didn't you want to go look at motorcycles?" Chiu suggested. "I still say it's an awful lot of money, and if you want to ride one so bad, you could've stayed a traffic cop, but if you have your heart set on one, I guess it's okay."
Fung grinned. "Just wait until you ride one." He opened the passenger door for Chiu, saying, "We can go to the place my uncle told me about. It's a little out of the way, but he said they have good prices and a very auspicious orientation."
Chiu rolled his eyes and started to get into the car, stopped and stood up, giving Fung a pained expression.
"What's wrong?" Fung asked, glancing into the car, expecting to see Auntie Lam.
"I forgot. I promised Danielle we'd go out today and I'd take her to work later."
Relieved that it wasn't the ghost, Fung relaxed and handed Chiu the car keys. "That's all right. We can look at motorcycles some other day."
Chiu glanced down at the keys resting on his palm. "You're sure you don't mind?"
Fung looked at him. He guessed that the question wasn't just about today. "No. I don't mind," he said truthfully, hoping Chiu would know that the answer wasn't just about today, either. He couldn't exactly explain why, but knowing that Danielle was in Chiu's life made him happy. He supposed he wanted Chiu to get all the love he deserved, all the love he'd wished for during his life and was denied -- but if he said something like that to Chiu, he couldn't predict what Chiu's reaction would be.
Besides, he liked Danielle. She had a goofy laugh that prompted him for his funniest jokes, and when she'd told him the details about how she and Chiu had met on the bus -- while Chiu narrowed his eyes and excused himself from their conversation -- his admiration and fondness for her had deepened. And, once, when they had both been waiting for Chiu to bring the car round, Danielle had sighed and said that Chiu was probably running late because he'd been carefully arranging the locks of hair to fall in his face. When Fung laughed, she was mortified at first and looked guilty, but soon she laughed, too, and since then it had been their private joke. May heaven help them if Chiu ever found out.
Chiu dropped him off at the fish market, and after shopping for dinner, Fung went round to his mother's for tea and all the latest family gossip. He got home by early evening and was preparing dinner when he felt the air shift. He knew it was Auntie Lam before he turned around and saw her.
(completed in pt. 3)
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
After he left Paper Chan's, he felt a bit guilty for knowing more about Chiu's past. Chiu never talked about it, and Fung couldn't help thinking he'd been snooping around where he wasn't invited. But he was spared any awkwardness in facing Chiu that evening, because a botched robbery called them onto the job, and they battled the angry spirits of both the slain shopkeeper and the drug addict robber who'd been shot by the police. It was a long, grim night that ended with them collapsing in bed and sleeping until late the next morning.
Chiu was already up and dressed when Fung woke. He was making tea and reading the newspaper, and there was a partially eaten egg sandwich sitting on the kitchen counter. Fung watched him walking about, making facial expressions at the newspaper, taking a bite of sandwich, spilling drops of boiling water on his fingers when he poured the tea. Fung thought about the little boy talking to his ghost mother, and losing her, and being told that he was cursed and fated to be alone. He got out of bed and walked over to stand behind him and slide his arms around him.
"Fung," Chiu said warningly, thwapping at his hands with the newspaper.
Fung tightened his embrace. "It's not like that," he said. "I just want to hold you."
"Yeah, I can tell," Chiu said, struggling to walk to the counter with Fung still attached. "I'm trying to have breakfast, okay?" He bit into his sandwich and lifted the newspaper exaggeratedly, as if he didn't have Fung wrapped around him.
Fung rested his chin on Chiu's shoulder and read the newspaper with him. "Wait, don't turn the page yet."
Chiu swiped at his forehead with the newspaper. "Would you please let go?"
Fung gave him a squeezing hug. "I don't want to, but if you're going to keep hitting me with the newspaper, I guess I'd better." He let go and grinned at Chiu's annoyed scowl. "Do I get a kiss now?"
Chiu narrowed his eyes, and Fung stole a kiss from his beautifully scowling lips.
While Fung was dressing, Chiu leaned against the closet door and asked, "What did Paper Chan say yesterday? You never got a chance to tell me last night."
Fung paused in putting on his shirt. "Oh. Um..." He pulled his shirt down and tucked it into his trousers.
Chiu rested his hand on Fung's shoulder. "He couldn't help? That's okay. It was worth a shot."
Fung glanced away. "No, it wasn't that... He said he'd let us know if he found out anything." He looked at Chiu. "And he... He told me what happened when your mother died."
Chiu's hand dropped from his shoulder. He stood very still, his gaze not wavering, but the change in his eyes made Fung's blood run cold. He braced himself for an outburst, a punch, a threat, anything. A long moment stretched in silence.
Then Chiu said, "Oh. I understand now." His smile didn't reach his eyes. Fung had never seen him look so deadly.
Without another word Chiu walked away.
"Wait!" Fung ran after him and caught him by the arm. Chiu stopped but wouldn't face him. Fung took a deep breath. "It's not his fault. I sort of asked him, I guess. I didn't know what I was asking. I didn't mean to pry."
Chiu yanked his arm free and shot him a dark look. "So now you feel sorry for me, have to hug me like a little kid, have to pity me like everyone else Chan tells about my curse." He clenched his jaw. "I didn't expect you to be like everyone else."
It was as if Chiu had landed one of his lethal kicks to Fung's stomach. He struggled to breathe and fought against his rising anger. "I'm not," he said sharply. He added more calmly, "I don't pity you. I just want to understand you." Chiu gave him a surprised look, and Fung risked rubbing his shoulder.
"Am I sorry for what happened to you when you were a little kid? Yes, I am," Fung said gently. "It makes me sad to think about you being so young, alone, and not knowing what was happening. But I don't feel sorry for you now, because I know how strong you are." He patted Chiu's arm and let go, not sure if what he was saying helped or hurt.
Chiu folded his arms over his chest and took a few pacing steps. "But why do you need to know about all that, anyway? I was a miserable kid who saw ghosts, so what?"
Fung caught his waist. Chiu resisted, but Fung held on until he faced him. Chiu's expression was closed, uninviting, but Fung wasn't going to retreat now.
"Because I want to be as close to you as possible," he said, gazing into Chiu's eyes. "But I don't need to know anything you don't want me to know. I didn't mean to go too far. I didn't expect that Chan would tell me all of that."
Chiu glanced down. "You don't know Paper Chan like I do," he mumbled, relaxing a little.
"Yeah, I know I don't," Fung responded seriously.
Chiu met his eyes. "It's not that I don't want you to know," he said, his brow furrowing. "I don't like talking about it. I don't like thinking about it. I don't like remembering."
Fung stroked a lock of hair from Chiu's forehead. "I understand that now. Tell me: does being around my family make you remember too much? Being around my mum?"
Chiu gave him a funny look. "That's what you've been worried about?" he asked with a half-smile. "You're such a goof. I like your family. Mostly." His smile widened.
"But--"
"And when I'm around them," Chiu interrupted, putting one finger over Fung's lips. "I wonder how it was for you growing up. Maybe sometimes I'm jealous. And other times, I'm glad I didn't have all of that family stuff to deal with."
The tension in Fung's back dissolved. He kissed Chiu's finger. "You're not mad at me?"
"No."
"Will you let Paper Chan off the hook for telling me?"
"I'll think about it."
Fung drew him closer. "Will you give me a kiss?"
"No. We're already late for practice," Chiu said, slipping out of his hands.
-----
It was another two days before Fung got any farther along in his search for the auntie's son. He had only seen the old lady ghost once in that time, briefly in the market when he went to buy vegetables. She hovered by his shoulder and followed him silently, and when he asked her name, she didn't reply, but wailed softly before disappearing. Fung shuddered from the chill she left in his spine, and resolved to persevere in his search.
That evening he went by the hospital after Chiu had taken Danielle to work. Fung avoided the more wretched ghosts and waited by the doors while Chiu lingered with Danielle. One short, squat, grey ghost in particular dogged his steps as Fung moved about. Finally Chiu caught up and they went outside into the pouring rain. The short grey ghost followed them.
Chiu glanced back over his shoulder. "Friend of yours?" he asked.
Fung sighed, stopped, and turned around. "May I help you?"
The ghost looked from Fung to Chiu. "Which one is Fung?"
Fung and Chiu exchanged a wary look. Fung replied, "I am."
"Paper Chan told me to see you. I might know who your old lady is."
"How?" Chiu asked at the same time Fung said, "You do?"
The ghost shrugged. "I used to work in the morgue. I still take a friendly interest in the newcomers. There was an old lady about a week back. I remember her because she wandered around the morgue and said she had to find her son. Her name was Lam Yin-hing. She died at home, pneumonia. That's all I know."
Fung almost reached out to shake his hand, except he wasn't wearing his gloves. "Thanks," he said. "Is there anything we can do for you?"
"Can we burn you something?" Chiu offered.
The ghost chuckled. "Paper Chan told me you'd burn me some money if I helped you. $888."
"What?" Chiu protested, but Fung nodded. "Sure. If your Mrs. Lam is my ghost, you'll get your money."
"Fair enough," the ghost said and disappeared behind the rain.
"Chan might as well be a pickpocket," Chiu grumbled. "He's nimble enough with our wallets."
Energized by this new information, Fung wanted to start checking the death records immediately, but Chiu reminded him that the records office was closed for the day. Fung transferred his pent-up energy into making a big meal, and afterwards, while Chiu lounged on the sofa and complained that he'd eaten too much, Fung paced around the flat, thinking of different scenarios for Mrs. Lam's death and life.
During one pass by the sofa, Chiu caught his wrist. "Would you calm down? You're making me nervous."
Fung looked at Chiu sprawled on the sofa. "Nervous?" he asked with a smile.
"Inside, I'm practically shivering," Chiu said.
Fung sat down beside him and sprawled with him. "Better now?"
"Much." Chiu closed his eyes. Fung slid his arm across his shoulders, and Chiu leaned back to rest against his chest. Fung teased him by touching his nose, eyelid, hair, earring, and chin, until he smiled. Fung touched his lips, following the curves of his smile, and Chiu opened his eyes and looked up at him.
Urgent ringing on both of their cellphones filled the flat. Chiu sat up. Both phones ringing meant work. It was funny, Fung reflected as he gathered his gear. If it hadn't been for ghosts and Special Unit 2002, he would never have met Chiu. But the ghosts and Special Unit 2002 wouldn't leave them alone now that they were together.
-----
Despite their long, busy night, Chiu got up when Fung did and accompanied him to the records office. It was easy enough to find Mrs. Lam's death record now that Fung had her name. Eager to get started, he skimmed through the file for her address. While he was writing it down, Chiu looked at the file.
"Wait," he said. "This Lam Yin-hing didn't have any relatives. See?" He pointed to the space for relatives' names.
Fung sat back. "But the death information matches what Chan's ghost messenger told us." He stared at the words, No relatives, and hit the desk with his fist. "Damn!"
Chiu briefly squeezed his shoulder and leaned against the desk. "Well, let's think about this for a minute. What if Auntie Lam was senile and forgot she had a son? And maybe when she got sick, the son wasn't around, so no one knew."
Fung sat upright. "Yes, and that's why she has to find him. Maybe the son doesn't know she's dead."
"Yeah, maybe it's something like that," Chiu said thoughtfully, looking at the file again. Fung grabbed his elbow and pulled him along.
Auntie Lam had lived in a squat, crumbling apartment block tucked away in a corner surrounded by newer, higher apartment blocks. Chiu parked the car in front of a coin laundry, and they climbed the steep slope to her building, easily passing through the rusty gate whose lock, if it had ever worked at all, was too corroded to catch now. The tiny, overgrown courtyard was strewn with bright plastic kids' toys, but the effect was more eerie than cheerful because the building was quiet in the midday shower. Fung expected the auntie to appear beside them at any moment.
Her flat was on the ground floor, at one end next to a blank grey concrete wall. Fung rang the buzzer and wondered how to tell a man that his mother had died. He thought of Chiu as a little boy, waiting for his ghost mother to return.
It was not a man who opened the door, however, but a matronly woman in a light green sari. "Oh, you're early," she said with a heavy accent, opening the door wide for them. Fung exchanged a curious look with Chiu, and the woman, mistaking their hesitation, said in English, "I apologize for my bad Cantonese. Is English all right? Come in," she said, gesturing. "The chest of drawers is back here, but if it's just the two of you, I'm afraid you'll have to come back for the wardrobe. Even then..." she said uncertainly, looking them over. "Is your truck close by? It's rather heavy."
They followed her into the dark flat, lit only by the rainy daylight from the curtainless windows and open door. She led them through the sitting room, its sparse furniture augmented by a few large packing boxes, and into a tiny bedroom without a bed, dominated by a large dark wardrobe and chest of drawers made in old-fashioned British style.
"Excuse me," Fung said, "but we're here because..." He glanced at Chiu, who was looking around the room. "We're looking for Mrs. Lam."
The woman started and gasped a little. "Oh! Oh, you poor dears, you haven't heard?" She took Fung's hand and patted it. "Miss Lam has passed on. It was, oh, over a week ago by now. Did you work with her? Were you apprentices?"
"Apprentices?" Chiu asked, running his hand along the chest.
The woman looked at Chiu suspiciously, brow furrowed. Fung took out his identification card and presented it to her.
"Police?" she murmured to herself. "Perhaps you better come into the other room and tell me what this is about," she said briskly, leading them back to the sitting room. "I'm Mrs. Chaudhury. I live upstairs."
"And you're selling off Mrs. Lam's furniture?" Chiu asked.
Mrs. Chaudhury shot him a cold look. "I'm only following her wishes. She told me to give the furniture to anyone who would take it away." She folded her arms across her chest and looked them over. "And what do the police have to do with Miss Lam?"
"We're trying to find her son," Fung explained. "It's important that we..." He trailed off, watching her expression change from wariness to bewilderment. She had been calling the old lady Miss Lam.
"She wasn't married, was she?" he asked with a sinking heart.
"No," Mrs. Chaudhury said. "Not for as long as I knew her, and we've been here twenty-six years. You dears sit down, and I'll make some tea. Then your trip won't be for nothing, will it?"
When they had settled at the tiny kitchen table with Mrs. Chaudhury and mismatched porcelain cups of English tea, she said, "Miss Lam and I were good friends. I think if she had been married, she would have told me." She paused, took a sip of tea, and tilted her head. "But she never wanted to talk about the war -- the Second World War, that is -- so I suppose she may have been married then."
Chiu turned his cup around by the handle, but didn't pick it up. "You mentioned her work. Apprentices. What did she do?"
"She was a hairdresser," she replied. "These last few years, with her eyesight, she didn't do the cutting herself, but she trained apprentices."
Fung took a sip of the pale tea. He couldn't accept that their break in the mystery had been all for nothing. "Could she have had a son and never told you about it?"
"I've been thinking about that," Mrs. Chaudhury said. "It's possible, but if it's true, oh, it's so sad. She never spoke about him at all. No pictures, nothing like that. Makes me think, well." She looked at Fung sadly. "A dead son, maybe."
Fung nodded, taking another sip of tea. He had been thinking the same thing. And poor Miss Lam, after death, had hoped to find him. Perhaps her son had died in his twenties, around Fung's age, and that's why she kept returning to him.
While they were finishing their tea, the men came for the chest of drawers and wardrobe, and Fung and Chiu, with a little prompting from Mrs. Chaudhury, helped them with the wardrobe, which was as heavy as she had warned. They struggled with it through the flat and out the door, across the courtyard, through the rusty gate, and into the men's truck. Fung watched the men drive off with the furniture and felt that he was watching the last promising clues disappear. How could they ever find out what happened to Miss Lam's son if she hadn't even told her friends about him? And how would he explain it to Miss Lam when she reappeared?
He turned to ask Chiu, but Chiu had returned to the courtyard and crouched down to pick something up. He came back holding a small scrap of cloth.
"This fell out of the wardrobe," he said, handing it to Fung. "Probably nothing."
"Yeah." Fung ran his fingers over the thin, rough cloth, its colors too faded to see clearly. He couldn't explain why, but the cloth seemed important somehow, a link to Miss Lam's past. He tucked it into a pocket.
Chiu was watching him. He patted Fung's shoulder. "I'm sorry we couldn't find out more. I know you wanted to help her."
"What do we do if she doesn't remember, and keeps haunting me? I don't want to shoot her."
Chiu gave him a serious look. "I don't know. Try talking to her, I guess."
Fung bit his thumbnail, nodding absently. He'd never thought one of the harmless ghosts could be more worrying than the hate ghosts.
-----
Miss Lam didn't appear for the next three days, during which Special Unit 2002 was kept busy by the annual firearms safety drill and inspection. Chiu thought it was a complete waste of time, and Fung had to agree it was pretty boring until they had to take the accuracy tests. Chiu aced his, but Fung hadn't had as much experience, and the standard issue sidearm felt odd without the familiar sting of a blood needle. Nevertheless, he shot well enough to earn high marks, and Chiu seemed genuinely proud of him.
"You're becoming an old pro," he said, ruffling Fung's hair as they left the shooting range.
Fung raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's good, because I am a pro."
Chiu grinned. "Yeah, but when I think about how pathetic you were to begin with... You were so bad. I thought it was hopeless."
Fung couldn't argue with that; he had been hopeless at first. He didn't like to think about it, though, because deep down there was always the fear that he would freeze up again.
"Of course, if I'd had a little more training from the head of 2002 before our first case, maybe I would've been better," he pointed out, nudging Chiu with his elbow.
Chiu nudged back, leaning into it, and Fung leaned back, pushing until Chiu laughed and ducked away. Fung went after him, catching him by the coat in the parking lot. He grabbed the keys from Chiu's pocket and jumped back triumphantly, dangling the keys.
"I get to drive this time. I decide where we go."
Chiu reached for the keys but Fung effortlessly slid out of his path. "Let's see. Beach? Grocery shopping? Oooo, could I really get the cool ghost hunter Chiu near the vegetable stand or fish market? I know, how about tea with my mother?" he teased.
Chiu's fingers missed the keys by millimeters as Fung palmed them and hid them behind his back. "Anywhere but the beach," Chiu said. "It's starting to rain."
"So? I don't care."
Chiu gave him an odd look. "No. Not the beach, not when it's raining. Don't you know? That's when the ghosts of the people who drowned in the sea come out. Paper Chan used to take me to the beach on rainy days when I was a kid, getting me to talk to them."
He didn't seem bothered as he mentioned this, but Fung watched him closely, disgusted at Paper Chan.
"They're all water ghosts, then," Fung said quietly, frowning.
Chiu lightly clapped him on the shoulder. "Not like he was. He was a hate ghost. They're not all like him."
Fung gazed at him for a moment and his tension faded. "Okay. Not the beach."
"Didn't you want to go look at motorcycles?" Chiu suggested. "I still say it's an awful lot of money, and if you want to ride one so bad, you could've stayed a traffic cop, but if you have your heart set on one, I guess it's okay."
Fung grinned. "Just wait until you ride one." He opened the passenger door for Chiu, saying, "We can go to the place my uncle told me about. It's a little out of the way, but he said they have good prices and a very auspicious orientation."
Chiu rolled his eyes and started to get into the car, stopped and stood up, giving Fung a pained expression.
"What's wrong?" Fung asked, glancing into the car, expecting to see Auntie Lam.
"I forgot. I promised Danielle we'd go out today and I'd take her to work later."
Relieved that it wasn't the ghost, Fung relaxed and handed Chiu the car keys. "That's all right. We can look at motorcycles some other day."
Chiu glanced down at the keys resting on his palm. "You're sure you don't mind?"
Fung looked at him. He guessed that the question wasn't just about today. "No. I don't mind," he said truthfully, hoping Chiu would know that the answer wasn't just about today, either. He couldn't exactly explain why, but knowing that Danielle was in Chiu's life made him happy. He supposed he wanted Chiu to get all the love he deserved, all the love he'd wished for during his life and was denied -- but if he said something like that to Chiu, he couldn't predict what Chiu's reaction would be.
Besides, he liked Danielle. She had a goofy laugh that prompted him for his funniest jokes, and when she'd told him the details about how she and Chiu had met on the bus -- while Chiu narrowed his eyes and excused himself from their conversation -- his admiration and fondness for her had deepened. And, once, when they had both been waiting for Chiu to bring the car round, Danielle had sighed and said that Chiu was probably running late because he'd been carefully arranging the locks of hair to fall in his face. When Fung laughed, she was mortified at first and looked guilty, but soon she laughed, too, and since then it had been their private joke. May heaven help them if Chiu ever found out.
Chiu dropped him off at the fish market, and after shopping for dinner, Fung went round to his mother's for tea and all the latest family gossip. He got home by early evening and was preparing dinner when he felt the air shift. He knew it was Auntie Lam before he turned around and saw her.
(completed in pt. 3)
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