Physical (on hold)

Chapter 11: Gone Girl(s)

The coffee stopped dripping. Jun switched off the machine and picked up the pot when a knock sounded at the front door.

"Coming!"

He strolled across his Las Vegas rental – back to the lonely studio life with a sink and stove in the same room as his bed – and swung the door open.

"Ray. Hi. I wasn't – "

Ray held up a takeout bag. In his other hand, he carried a six-pack. "Somebody order lunch? Hi." He showed himself in, smiling.

Jun shut the door. "Actually, I've already had lunch, earlier."

"Well, I brought burritos!"

"Why?"

Ray headed for the kitchenette and heaved the beers up on the worktop. "Soo-yun wrote. Said you haven't been answering her calls, so I promised her I'd check in on you."

"I've been meaning to call her back, just..." Jun caught up with his old friend and poured two cups of coffee while Ray unpacked. "I didn't know my mom had your number."

"She found me on Instagram."

Jun frowned. "I didn't know my mom had Instagram."

"Yeah, well, desperate times..." Turning around, Ray reclined against the countertop and froze with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. "Jun, what the hell?"

Jun followed his guest's gaze to the wall covered in pictures, newspaper clippings, post-it notes and a tangle of red string tying it all together.

"Oh, yeah, how do you like my evidence board, Ray?"

Ray cast a distrustful glance in Jun's direction. "I believe they also call it a 'crazy wall'."

Jun chuckled. He went to stand behind the small sofa in the living area, admiring his handiwork above his desk. His worn sweatshirt drooped off one shoulder as he stuck a hand into the pocket of his overlong sweatpants.

Ray watched the off-grey ghost of Jun Yang marvel at his materialised madness and blamed himself for allowing it to get so far. He should have known, after Jun's outburst at the morgue, that the dancer wouldn't just let it go. Sighing, he joined him in the middle of the room for a closer look at the 'evidence board'.

"What the hell is this?" Ray asked.

Jun grinned. "You like?"

"No, I can't say that I like, Jun. This is..."

Jun plucked a picture of a man in scrubs off the wall. Gave it to Ray. "I looked for the crook who performed Odette's autopsy. He's gone, as far as I can tell."

"Gone how?"

"He disappeared."

Ray looked up from inspecting the stranger's face. "Jun, people don't just disappear."

"Yeah, they do. And it's much easier than you might think if you've got the money. Like a life insurance fraud. People do that all the time."

"Did Odette even have a life insurance?"

"She did, yes." Jun tapped a headline taped to the wall. "Her mom was beneficiary and she put it all into her memorial trust fund for dance charities."

"So, then, where would this man get the money to disappear from?"

"Vincent Friday," Jun declared, undeterred.

"What? Why in the hell – " Ray set his coffee and the picture down on the desk. Took in a deep breath before facing Jun again. His voice mellowed as if talking to a stupid child. "Why... would Odette fake her death? And why would Vince pay for it?"

Jun nodded to himself. "Very good question, Ray. That's what I kept asking myself, over and over again. Why? Well, I haven't confirmed my suspicions about Odette yet, but... Vince had an album."

"Jun..."

"I'm telling you, Ray!" Stray strands from his bird's-nest hair fell into his widened eyes. "I googled the shit out of this and for every tribute and Odette obituary out there, there was an article celebrating some new Vincent Friday milestone. His Swan Song tour remains, to this day, his best-selling tour ever."

"Come on, man, since when are you such a conspiracy theorist?"

"It's not a conspiracy!"

Jun unpinned a sheaf of printouts from the wall and passed them to Ray.

"These are real numbers from real people. Nobody noticed before, because Vince played the shit out of the grief card at the time, mourning Odette in interviews, promising to contribute proceeds to her memorial trust fund, paying her homage on stage... Hell, even I was bought into it!"

The director leafed through the internet articles Jun had curated. Most of them looked like reputable sources, national newspapers and music magazines. Each harmless enough on their own, but when put together like this...

Ray did remember he'd once thought Vince was being too much during the time immediately following Odette's passing. Too high, too loud, too fast and loose. He had also chalked it up to grief, escaping his heart-breaking reality to cope with the loss. Had it really been smoke and mirrors this whole time?

Or was this Jun's way of escaping his reality?

"I tried talking to Vince about it," the dancer resumed, scoffing. "He blew me off. Now, with all this proof, he'll have no chance but to tell me the truth."

"Yeah, about that..."

Ray grabbed the remote off the desk and turned on the TV. It didn't take long to find a news channel broadcasting images of the Mulholland Drive wreck and confirming Vince's death. A panel of so-called experts were discussing LAPD's statement about the dental records, the identity of the mystery passenger and the social media rumours about the in-car entertainment the two might have resorted to.

"What the... This can't be happening." Jun slapped his forehead and ran his hand up his hair. "This can't fucking be happening."

"Are you gonna say he's faking it, too?"

"Well, for all I know, he might be. Getting a blowjob in his LaFerrari? I mean... seriously?"

"That's just a ridiculous rumour, Jun. The kind that sells better than facts."

"Yeah, well, knowing Vince, I wouldn't put it past him."

Jun stumbled across the room, his bare feet dragging on the floor. His half-full coffee cup clattered onto the stainless-steel bottom of the sink, while his knuckles whitened on its edges.

Ray put a comforting hand on Jun's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know that, despite everything, Vince was your friend. I'm sorry..."

The untamed hair hid Jun's face as he slumped over the sink. His body quivered with suppressed sobs. He stilled after a minute and wiped at his cheeks with his sleeves.

"We need to figure out what really happened to the twins," he murmured. "If Odile is alive... I need to find her before it's too late."