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# Chapter 165: What the Fingers Remember
Seo-ah watched Kang Ri-woo’s hand resting on the steering wheel. The trembling was subsiding, bit by bit. Like an engine cooling down. Like something dying slowly.
“What are we?” she asked.
The question wasn’t for him. It was for herself. Her voice shattered the silence in the car, and that silence rushed back to fill the void. Slowly, like water flowing. Like a wound beginning to heal—except it never did.
Kang Ri-woo lifted his hand. Not to grip something, just to lift it. As if he needed to confirm what his own hand was. His fingers unfurled into the air, and the night’s light filtered through the spaces between them. His hand still trembled. As if that trembling was his identity. As if the moment it stopped, he would cease to exist.
“The one who apologizes and the one who should be apologized to.”
Kang Ri-woo finally spoke.
“Is that us?”
Seo-ah asked.
“That’s us,” he confirmed.
As if he were speaking a truth he’d only just realized himself. As if that sentence was splitting him in half.
Seo-ah didn’t move from the back seat. Through the window, the Han River was visible. The Han River at 12:23 a.m. The lights on the water flickered. That flickering looked like a signal. Like someone’s gesture. Like a plea for help. But no one was receiving that signal. Not Seo-ah. Not Kang Ri-woo. No one.
“What did your mom say at the hospital?”
Seo-ah repeated his question, turning it back to him.
Kang Ri-woo’s hand began trembling again. As if the question itself was shaking him. As if something he had to say kept trying to burst out of his body.
“Does it matter?”
he asked.
“It matters,” Seo-ah answered.
Kang Ri-woo was silent for a long time. The car’s silence filled again. Everything was in that silence. Unspoken words. Unexecuted actions. Avoided truths. And the most terrifying part was that the silence felt comfortable. Inside that comfort, Seo-ah felt herself slowly disappearing. Like sinking into water. Like Kang Ri-woo’s hand trembling before finally going still.
“When your mom saw me at the hospital,” Kang Ri-woo began slowly.
“Yeah,” Seo-ah listened without pressing.
“That’s when she realized something. She said it like this: ‘I already figured it out.’ As if the truth was already exposed.”
He continued. His voice was low. As if it were a secret, and even he didn’t want to keep it anymore.
“Figured out what?” Seo-ah asked.
“Me,” he answered with a single word.
When that word reached Seo-ah, something trembled in her chest. Like something she’d been holding down suddenly came loose. Like the moment when someone names something you already knew.
“Figured out what?” she asked again. Louder this time. As if she hadn’t heard clearly. As if there was still a possibility she could deny it.
“That I’m trying to kill you.”
Kang Ri-woo said it.
In that moment, Seo-ah felt her throat closing. As if someone’s hands were strangling her. As if those hands belonged to Kang Ri-woo and simultaneously to herself.
“And,” he continued. As if these words couldn’t be stopped from leaving his mouth.
“That’s when she realized I’m already in too deep. That I can’t let you go anymore. That I’ve already crossed a line I can’t return from.”
Seo-ah didn’t move. Sitting in the back seat, looking out at the Han River, listening to Kang Ri-woo speak. As if all of this was happening to someone else. As if she were an observer and her body belonged to another person.
“What did your mom say?” Seo-ah asked. Now the meaning of that question had changed.
“What could she say?”
Kang Ri-woo asked in return.
“’Leave me,’” Seo-ah said.
Kang Ri-woo’s hand gripped the wheel again. With a desperate clutch, as if letting go would make him disappear completely. As if the steering wheel alone was keeping him tethered to this world.
“Yeah. She probably said to leave me.”
Kang Ri-woo acknowledged it.
“But I didn’t leave.”
Seo-ah said. It was true. Seo-ah was sitting in the car. In Kang Ri-woo’s car. Beside Kang Ri-woo. In Kang Ri-woo’s destruction.
“Why?”
Kang Ri-woo asked. And that question was directed at her and at himself.
Seo-ah couldn’t answer. Because the reason was too complicated. Love? Fear? Familiarity? Terror? A mixture of all of them? Or was it simply that she was already sinking in the same direction as him? As if them drowning together was inevitable. As if it was fate.
“Why didn’t you leave?” Kang Ri-woo asked again. This time more desperately.
“I don’t know,” Seo-ah said. And that was the only truth. She really didn’t know. Why she was here. Why she didn’t leave. Why she kept coming back.
The car’s silence filled again. But this was a different kind of silence. The previous silence was one of evasion. This silence was one of acknowledgment. As if two people were together admitting they’d fallen into the same trap. As if they both knew they were dying together.
Kang Ri-woo started the engine. The car began moving again. Leaving the Han River Park behind.
“Where are we going?”
Seo-ah asked.
“I don’t know,” Kang Ri-woo answered.
“Then you’ll just keep driving?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Yeah. I’ll keep driving. Without stopping. Because I can’t stop.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
Seo-ah looked out the window. They were passing Gangnam Station. 12:35 a.m. The city lights flowed past. Trembling like Kang Ri-woo’s hand. As if the entire city had a nervous condition.
“Kang Ri-woo,” Seo-ah called his name.
“Hmm?”
Kang Ri-woo answered. His eyes were fixed on the road.
“We’re already dead, aren’t we?”
Seo-ah asked.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers convulsed once more on the wheel. As if the question itself was killing him. As if Seo-ah’s words were sending him away for the last time.
“Yeah. We’re already dead,” Kang Ri-woo finally said.
After that, they said nothing more. The car kept moving. Flowing through the nighttime streets of Gangnam. As if they had to arrive somewhere. As if there was a predetermined destination. But they both knew the truth. There was nowhere. No destination, no origin, only this movement. This endless movement. This endless trembling. This endless death.
The car was heading toward Hangang Bridge. Seo-ah realized it. Kang Ri-woo was deliberately pointing them in that direction. As if there was a predetermined place. As if something was already planned.
“Kang Ri-woo. Where are we going?”
Seo-ah asked. This time fear was mixed in.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer. Instead, he accelerated. As if he had to arrive somewhere urgently. As if time was running out.
“Kang Ri-woo!”
Seo-ah cried out louder.
“We’re already dead.”
Kang Ri-woo said. His voice had become something completely different. As if it belonged to someone else. As if that voice was coming from death itself.
“Kang Ri-woo!”
Seo-ah reached her hand forward. As if she had to grab him. As if that could save her. But her hand only clutched air. As if everything had already disappeared. As if she couldn’t hold onto anything.
Hangang Bridge was getting closer. 12:47 a.m. She could see the lights on the bridge. Like stars. Like they’d fallen from the sky. And Seo-ah understood. That all of this could end. That this pain could stop here. That this trembling could become fixed here.
Kang Ri-woo’s hand convulsed again. As if it were the last convulsion. As if his hand wouldn’t move anymore after this.
“Seo-ah,” Kang Ri-woo whispered.
“Yeah?” Seo-ah answered. As if this might be their last conversation.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
And the car entered Hangang Bridge. 12:49 a.m. The Han River’s water was visible below. Black, deep, endless water. As if it was ready to swallow everything. As if it was the final destination.
Seo-ah’s fingers gripped the seat. As if it could save her. As if fingers could remember. How to live. How to let go. How to move.
But fingers couldn’t remember. Fingers only trembled.
A cliffhanger you can’t help but read the next chapter for: Inside the car on Hangang Bridge, Kang Ri-woo’s hands gripped the wheel even tighter, and Seo-ah felt her fingers digging into the seat. 12:49 a.m., and the car kept moving forward. As if it couldn’t stop. As if it was already decided.
# The Night Toward Hangang Bridge
The car was moving.
Seo-ah realized it. Or rather, she felt it. Her body reacted first. It swayed with the car’s turns, and the cold glass of the window against her cheek confirmed that movement.
Seoul’s nightscape visible through the window was slowly changing. The tall buildings of Gangnam she’d seen an hour ago were receding. Instead, roads toward the river came into view. The car had exited Gangnam-daero and was now flowing along Hangang-ro. And at the end of that road—
“Kang Ri-woo. Where are we going?”
Seo-ah’s voice trembled in the car. It wasn’t just a question. Fear was woven through it. Anxiety was threaded through like string. As if she were asking a question to hear an answer she already knew.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer.
Instead, his grip on the wheel tightened. So much that his knuckles turned white. Seo-ah saw that change in his hands. And she could read what that movement meant. It wasn’t ‘pretending not to know.’ It was ‘unable to speak.’
The car’s speed increased. They’d long since exceeded the speed limit. Going past 60 toward 80. 11:45 p.m. Hangang-ro was still crowded with cars, but Kang Ri-woo’s car cut through them. As if they had to arrive somewhere urgently. As if that destination was predetermined.
Seo-ah’s heart sank.
“Kang Ri-woo!”
This time she cried out louder. It was almost a scream. Her hand gripped the dashboard. Her fingers dug into the plastic surface. As if it could hold her down.
“Kang Ri-woo, please. Where are we going?”
But Kang Ri-woo remained silent.
His face was directed forward. Street lights alternately illuminated and erased his features. Light, darkness, light, darkness. Like a traffic signal. Like a warning light. In that alternating pattern of light and shadow, Seo-ah couldn’t read his expression properly. But she could feel that his eyes were losing focus. As if he were looking ahead while seeing somewhere else entirely.
“Kang Ri-woo, please.”
Seo-ah’s voice shook. It was no longer a cry. It was a plea. Tears formed. She didn’t know why she was crying. Even as the tears came, she didn’t understand.
“We’re already dead.”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice reached her.
It wasn’t Kang Ri-woo’s voice. Well, it was technically his voice, but what lay within it wasn’t him. That voice carried no vitality. No hope. Not even any sense of reality. As if death itself was speaking.
“What… what did you say?”
Seo-ah asked. She rejected what she was hearing as reality. As if refusing it would make it disappear.
“We’re already dead, Seo-ah.”
Kang Ri-woo said again. Now there was no sadness in his voice. No anger. Only certainty. A voice stating facts. The way one might say “the weather is clear today.”
“No. No!”
Seo-ah cried out. She reached her hand forward. As if she had to shake him awake. As if that was the only way. But her hand only clutched air. There was distance. An unbridgeable distance despite being in the same car.
“Kang Ri-woo!”
She cried out again. But Kang Ri-woo only looked ahead. As if Seo-ah didn’t exist. As if he already believed he was alone.
Hangang Bridge was approaching.
It was different from her first realization. At first, she hadn’t known. But now she did. That this car was heading toward Hangang Bridge. That Kang Ri-woo had deliberately chosen this direction. As if there was a predetermined place. As if something was already planned.
12:47 a.m.
Through the window, the lights of Hangang Bridge were visible. The suspension bridge’s cables tinted orange. They looked like stars. Like they’d fallen from the sky. The moment Seo-ah saw those lights, she understood everything.
That all of this could end.
That this pain, this fear, this confusion could stop here.
That this trembling, this crying, this despair could become fixed here.
And that realization was terror. But it came with a strange relief too. Like seeing the ground after a long fall.
Seo-ah’s hand tried to grab Kang Ri-woo. She reached out. Her fingers tried to touch his shoulder. But in that moment, Kang Ri-woo’s body convulsed.
It was a small convulsion. Just a shudder of the shoulders. But Seo-ah could feel it. She knew what it was. It was the convulsion of grief. The convulsion of despair. As if it were the last convulsion. As if his body wouldn’t move anymore after this.
“Seo-ah,” Kang Ri-woo whispered.
His voice was Kang Ri-woo’s again now. It was warm. And equally sad.
“Yeah?”
Seo-ah answered. Her voice shook. As if knowing this might be their last conversation. Or rather, knowing it would be.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“What… what are you sorry for?”
Seo-ah asked. But she already knew the answer to that question too. She already knew. Why everything was happening. Why the car was heading toward Hangang Bridge. Why Kang Ri-woo’s hands were convulsing.
It was because of them. Because of “the dead child.”
The car entered Hangang Bridge.
12:49 a.m.
As they rose onto the bridge, the Han River’s water came into view below. Black, deep, endless water. As if it was ready to swallow everything. As if it was the final destination.
Seo-ah’s eyes followed that water. Without her realizing it. Like being pulled by a magnet. The water looked soft. It looked comforting. As if it would embrace her.
Should I go down?
That thought came to her. She was surprised at herself. But it wasn’t a lie. The thought was true.
Seo-ah’s fingers gripped the seat. She clutched the armrest. Her fingers dug into the material. As if it could save her. But simultaneously, as if she were holding onto it to prepare to go down with it.
She hoped her fingers could remember.
How to live.
How to let go.
How to move.
But her fingers couldn’t remember.
Her fingers only trembled.
Kang Ri-woo’s foot pressed deeper on the accelerator. The car’s speed increased. Past 100. Heading toward 110. The railing of Hangang Bridge came closer and closer. The black water visible beyond that metal railing. That was all there was.
“Kang Ri-woo…” Seo-ah murmured.
She didn’t have the strength to cry out anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Kang Ri-woo said again.
And the car kept moving forward.
12:49 a.m.
As if it couldn’t stop.
As if it was already decided.
The Han River’s water came closer. Seo-ah couldn’t close her eyes or open them. She only stared at that black water. Knowing she would soon fall into it.
Kang Ri-woo’s face was pointed in that direction too.
They were already dead people.
Now they were just returning to the water.
The car’s engine wailed.
On Hangang Bridge.
In the black night.
Seo-ah’s fingers convulsed one last time.
And everything stopped.
No—it didn’t stop.
Everything was beginning.
A cliffhanger you can’t help but read the next chapter for:
Inside the car on Hangang Bridge, Kang Ri-woo’s hands gripped the wheel even tighter, and Seo-ah felt her fingers digging into the seat. 12:49 a.m., and the car kept moving forward. As if it couldn’t stop. As if it was already decided.
But in that moment, Kang Ri-woo’s foot suddenly slammed on the brake.
Screech—!
The sound of tires grinding against asphalt tore through the night. The car skidded. The railing came toward them, then receded. Kang Ri-woo’s hands turned the wheel. And the car stopped in the middle of Hangang Bridge.
“Kang Ri-woo?”
Seo-ah murmured with a trembling voice.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer. Instead, his shoulders began to move.
At first it was small trembling. Then a larger movement.
And Seo-ah realized.
Kang Ri-woo was crying.
Loudly. Desperately. As if he were enduring his very soul leaving his body.
“Kang Ri-woo… our baby…”
Seo-ah whispered.
She couldn’t finish the words.
Because in that moment, light suddenly descended from the night sky.
A helicopter’s search light.
And the sound of police sirens.
Everything was revealed.
Why they couldn’t escape.
Why they could never die.
Seo-ah’s eyes opened.
It wasn’t Hangang Bridge.
It was an interrogation room at the police station.
And Kang Ri-woo wasn’t beside her.
He sat across the table from her.
Handcuffed.
“Will you confess?”
the police officer’s voice asked.
“Or will you continue lying?”