Prey - Chapter One
Summary: Alternate universe setting.
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Note: This originally started out as a one-shot entitled Prey posted for fic_15 (3/29/07 prompt, fear) and 30_memories (theme #9, figuring). A few other one-shots were posted for other 30_memories themes, which continued the story; then I got involved in the idea and decided to expand it into a full-length fic. Part one is all of the original entries listed above combined.
Chapter One
She was sure he was waiting there, to see what she was really going to do. He didn’t believe her, she knew. When she told him she was going to catch a bus north, toward Canada, she could see the doubt in his eyes. Moving toward the entrance of the bus station, she peered through the glass window, being careful to keep herself hidden from sight.
There it was, his silver-grey compact car, still parked exactly where he’d let her off. He was waiting for her to walk out of the station; he’d guessed that she had no intention of boarding that bus and he was expecting her to exit the depot.
“Damn it!” Mulan angrily muttered under her breath.
Now she was stuck in the bus depot. He would definitely see her if she left through the front door, and he would follow her to see where she was going and what she was doing. She would have to throw him off her trail and make him believe that she’d actually been on that bus; which had pulled out not five minutes ago.
Hoisting the strap of her bag, which had slipped, back up onto her shoulder, she turned away from the door and crossed the large concourse toward the waiting area, stepping into the ladies’ room at the far end.
As a little girl she’d spent a lot of time in bus depots and train stations. One night, in the middle of the night, her father was taken away by the police to be questioned. In those days politics were dangerous. A dissenting opinion meant risk; even the mere perception of it meant danger. Her mother and aunt came in to wake her up. She remembered her mother telling her to hurry and dress and began to pack a small bag for her in the dim light of a candle; she didn’t want to turn on a light, for fear of it being seen through the window. With a hug and a kiss, her mother explained to her that Aunt Qiu-yue was going to take her to some place safe. When she asked if she and Baba were coming too, her mother merely answered that they couldn’t now, but would join them soon. After that night Mulan never saw either of them again.
It wasn’t easy to find a safe place in those days. Aunt Qiu-yue was clever though and she had worked out a complex journey plan for them. To go south they would first go east, then west, then north, before finally going to their intended destination. There were many who would have harmed them, but thanks to her aunt’s smarts they managed to evade them all. After two months they made it to British-controlled Hong Kong.
Setting her bag down on the one dry spot on the counter she looked in the mirror and took a deep breath, then began to primp while she considered her next move and tried to calm down. Her plan had been to go straight to the bank after leaving the bus station to cash her check and then book a hotel room under a phony name. No one would track her down; and she could figure out what to do next at her leisure.
Of all the people in the world, why did she have to run into him, now of all the times in her life? She knew he cared about her and was concerned. But he was so damned over-protective of her; he was a pain in the ass, really. And it was likely that he would cause her problems with his interference.
Sighing in frustration she unzipped her bag and began to absently rummage through it, not actually looking for anything but needing to occupy herself with some activity. A thought occurred to her and she reached into the front pocket of her denim jeans and pulled out the (diminishing) wad of money. After a quick count she assessed that she had enough money for a local bus ride, a cheap hotel and perhaps a meager meal.
Zipping her bag back up again, she slung the strap over her shoulder and headed out of the ladies’ room, her head swiveling left and right as her eyes surveyed the concourse ahead of her to make sure he hadn’t come in.
She took a seat on one of the benches in the waiting area and pulled out a tattered old copy of a guidebook that she’d brought with her when she first came here a couple of years before. There was a chart of excursions by bus from here to several major cities and surrounding towns that included the distance, time it took to get to each place and the cost of the ticket. The prices were outdated no doubt, but she could ask the ticket agent for the actual cost.
Her eyes roved over the chart until she found a town that was about a half hour away and had at least one hotel. It would be better than spending the night in the bus station, if she could afford it, and she would shake the man that had become her shadow and self-proclaimed protector.
The bus left a half hour later and she was on it. As she leaned back in her seat she frowned and gazed out the window, then sighed in relief as she glimpsed the silver-grey car that remained parked in the same spot.
Shang was still watching for her to come walking out of the bus station.
*******
Feeling safe and secure was an illusion. As a little girl Mulan had learned that lesson well.
For two months after she had to leave home at the age of nine she climbed on and off of trains and buses with her aunt, living out of the little bag in which her mother had packed the barest necessities for her. As the child of an accused ‘Imperialist sympathizer’ she was in a precarious position. The children and teachers would be cruel to her for that, and it was possible that the army guards would take her away for political re-education. She didn’t know what that meant until much later, but at that time her aunt assured her that it was a bad thing.
In Hong Kong they would be safe. It was controlled by the British, Aunt Qiu-yue told her, not by the Chinese, and though there were police in Hong Kong, they weren’t like the police at home. They wouldn’t have to worry about anyone taking them away in the night or harming them.
They stayed with her friend Xiu-lan when they arrived. Aunt Qiu-yue needed to find work in order to support them before she could find an apartment, and Xiu-lan was happy to let them stay there until she could.
Only two days had passed since they’d arrived in Hong Kong when the violence started, continuing for many months after that. Shouting and screaming filled the streets as the short, sharp retort of bullets rang through the air and the police were everywhere, toting guns and taking people away in trucks. Mulan was afraid all the time then. Terror gripped her whenever she heard the loud eruptions in the street like thunder, especially if she was outside, but even when she was inside. Crowds of people were gathered all the time, carrying posters and shouting, and many of those people threw rocks. It scared her to walk outside.
Although her aunt did her best to soothe and comfort her niece, Mulan could see the fear in her eyes too.
Often she would remain crouched under the kitchen table, quiet and unseen, listening to her aunt and her friend talk about how Macau was now under the de facto control of the People’s Republic of China, and that Hong Kong was rumored to be next. She didn’t know what de facto meant and she didn’t really grasp the levity of their conversation; but she could hear the alarm in their voices.
The place that was supposed to be safe had turned out to be as dangerous as where they’d come from.
As the bus drew nearer to her destination, a town that she hoped would be safe, a heavy weight like lead seemed to settle in her stomach and Mulan couldn’t help but think of those times. And when she disembarked in Palo Alto, she knew why the moment she glimpsed the familiar silver-grey car waiting for her.
Shang had followed her here, though she had asked him not to. Slinging her bag higher on her shoulder she stepped forward to confront her chivalrous champion.
*******
Three years ago he left, not because he wanted to but because he was presented with an opportunity that he couldn’t pass up. They’d been seeing each other for a long time, though no arrangement had been made, and they cared very much for one another. Unfortunately the relationship never went anywhere. Circumstances prevented it; and even if they hadn’t, she wasn’t sure that he would have taken it further. Here in America she’d heard a saying that summed up a man’s attitude toward marriage and women. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?
Their affair would be considered scandalous if people knew about it. But they behaved discreetly and fortunately Shang was a nice man who didn’t brag about his exploits; he always seemed to have more respect for women, perhaps because he had a little sister. In any event, no one seemed to know about them.
His boss offered him a big promotion at his job, which he would have been foolish to turn down, but it meant that he would be relocating overseas, to San Francisco. That was the end of their affair. Had they gotten married before that maybe things would have turned out differently. She would have come to America with him. And maybe her life would have been better now.
She remembered how much she cried when he left. Up until the day she ran into him here, she’d still missed him terribly for all that time.
When their paths crossed again on the streets of San Francisco a week before it was he that spotted her and called out her name. It scared her at first; she feared that she’d been spotted by someone who might harm her. She nearly burst into tears of relief when she beheld Li Shang’s handsome face; she never thought she’d see him again. Though she’d come to the same city it was a year later and the chances of them meeting seemed slim.
Shang rushed up to her and clasped her hands warmly in his. The look he gave her said everything about the way he still felt; but it was too late and nothing could come of it. Still, she foolishly accepted his invitation to dinner that night. And then the next night. Then they spent the weekend together, the most romantic one she’d had in a very long time.
But it was a mistake, she knew. She still loved him but they just couldn’t be. And now she’d led him on and set herself up for heartbreak at the same time.
As always, he wore down her defenses eventually. Maybe she wanted him to; she loved him so much still.
Right now they sat together in his car, parked several feet away from where the bus had let her off, talking quietly. Ever the honorable and chivalrous Shang, he’d immediately picked up that she was in trouble from spending just a week with her and was adamant about trying to help her.
“You told me a blatant lie. And I know that you’ve been holding things back from me all week. I know you very well, remember. What I don’t understand is why you would tell me you were going to Canada when you weren’t.”
“I didn’t want you to follow me. Shang, I told you to stay out of my affairs...”
“And you know I couldn’t do that. It’s obvious you’re in trouble.”
“Shang, this week is the first time we’re seeing each other in three years. Things aren’t what they were…I shouldn’t have let things go so far this weekend…”
“I thought you enjoyed the weekend. I know I did.”
“It was wonderful…but it just can’t be anymore…I’m sorry…”
“You’re angry with me.”
“Yes, because you didn’t listen to me.”
“No, not about now. You’re angry with me for three years ago.”
“What kind of ridiculous thing is that to say?” she retorted hotly. “You got a promotion; I don’t resent you for accepting it. And why should I be angry about something that happened three years ago?”
He raked a hand through his sleek dark hair and sighed distantly. “Mulan, I was very much in love with you then…I think I still am…I wanted to marry you. But then everything happened so fast…the promotion…moving here…the timing was all wrong. Now…”
“The timing is still wrong,” she finished for him.
Shang gazed at her sadly. “You are angry, aren’t you?”
“If I say yes will you leave me alone?”
For several minutes he stared at her steadily, arms folded across his chest, pondering. Then he shook his head. “No. No, I won’t. I want to know what’s going on. What are you running away from?”
“You,” she retorted.
He frowned at her. “I don’t believe it.”
She heaved an exasperated sigh and imitated his posture, crossing her own arms across her chest.
“Mulan, won’t you please tell me what’s going on with you? Maybe I can help.”
The secrets of her life that remained unspoken were on the tip of her tongue and a part of her longed to spill them to him. They caused her so much pain, it would be a relief to share the burden with someone. Maybe he could help her. What’s more, he had a big shoulder to cry on.
But throughout her life the lesson was reinforced that revealing too much was dangerous. She had to keep it inside.
Shang sighed again and shifted, reaching into his pocket. He withdrew his wallet and opened it, pulling out a card a moment later and handing it to her.
“I need to get back to San Francisco, but…if you need me, don’t hesitate to call. Both my work and home phone numbers are on there.”
“Thank you, Shang.”
She pocketed the card and stepped out of the car, bidding him goodbye. He started the car and pulled out, waving once to her before driving off.
As she watched him go, a part of her regretted painfully that she’d had to push him away.
*******
The décor of the hotel room she was in was rather dismal. A small vase with water and a pink carnation stood on the desk; but its cheerful color looked out of place in the otherwise drab room and it just seemed odd and tacky. Perhaps the previous tenant had received it and left it behind. Not that it really mattered; the room was cheap and she only had to be there for one night. And at least some light came into the room. She’d requested a room in the back, where there was less sun, but luckily she was on the top floor.
Still, she couldn’t shake the jittery feeling and the sense of doom that pervaded her, which had worsened upon checking into this place.
“Sign here and print here,” the clerk had instructed her, pushing a log book and a pen toward her when she checked in.
She’d signed the book and pushed it back toward him.
“Maggie Lee,” he remarked as he wrote a room number next to her printed name. “Is that short for Margaret?”
“Yes,” she lied.
Though it was no doubt just innocent small talk, from a desk clerk that was surprisingly efficient, his appearance quite clean-cut and groomed, Mulan didn’t like it. His questions about her name made her anxious.
Changing names wasn’t new to her. When they left for Hong Kong so many years ago her Aunt Qiu-yue instructed her that if any guards asked for her name she was to tell them it was Chen. She was to forget the name Fa, the name of her father. Her aunt’s expression was so grave and filled with fear that Mulan never questioned it for a moment. From then on she was Chen Mulan.
Even when they reached Hong Kong, where they might have been safe, she was instructed to never reveal her true name, to never speak it. She’d always preferred her real surname and deep in her heart she could never forget that she was really Fa Mulan, anymore than she could forget her mother and father. But that was a secret that only she and Aunt Qiu-yue knew. Even Shang didn’t know her true name; and she’d been closer to him than any man in her life except for her father.
In America names got so mixed around and confused. Everyone wrote names backwards here, given name first, surname second. A year after Shang left, she landed her own job in San Francisco. Possessing fluency in Mandarin, Cantonese and English as well as some knowledge of the import and export business, she was hired quickly by a foreign company. Now set with employment and receiving sponsorship from the American company, she applied for and received a work visa. She adapted to American ways and accepted that here she was Mulan Chen instead of Chen Mulan.
She was accustomed to being prepared to run at all times, and a change of name meant very little to her now. Whatever she had to do to camouflage herself she did without a second thought. It was what she’d been taught; for though she and her aunt remained in Hong Kong, they never really became truly settled there. Driven by constant trepidation that the climate would change, that they would be unsafe again, Aunt Qiu-yue kept a packed bag ready in the event that they had to leave in a hurry and instructed Mulan to do the same. The bag contained a minimal amount of clothing and toiletries, and important contact names that her aunt had managed to gather. In addition, she’d already thought of new names for them in the event that they had to flee.
“What a mess I’ve made,” she muttered sadly as she stared at her packed bag now, which she hadn’t unzipped yet.
Considering her situation, her life-long training had proved infinitely helpful. She’d been able to grab her already-packed bag as she left the apartment that morning. The name she used checking in, Lee, was a common surname, like Chen, and belonged to much of the Chinese population; hopefully she wouldn’t be easy to trace.
She withdrew Shang’s card from her jacket pocket and stared at it. What would he think if she told him the truth? Would he shun her? The lessons that she’d been taught for nearly her entire life made her balk at the idea of revealing anything to anyone, including him.
With a sigh, she pocketed the card again and flopped back on the bed. She needed to rest.
*******
Perception was what mattered, not truth. It was another lesson that she’d learned long ago.
Mulan lay on the bed, eyes closed, tormented by recollections of train stations and bus depots, of feeling fearful all the time as she and Aunt Qiu-yue wandered back and forth, of home; her real home.
It was cold and a wild gale blew on that first evening that her father had to leave home, this time to merely talk to the police. Her mother had recently hung up a string of chimes in the back of their house and she had an oddly vivid memory of them clanging loudly in the violent wind. Whenever she remembered that night she heard those chimes and felt the same leaden sensation in her stomach that she’d had when she watched her father walk out the door then with the two grave-looking men in uniform. When he returned two weeks later he could no longer walk without the aid of a cane. Her mother told her that there had been an unfortunate accident and he’d been injured.
But when she was a teenager she learned the truth from her aunt. Fa Zhou’s ‘talk’ with the police was an interrogation, during which they’d tortured him. He’d been crippled from the continued blows that they inflicted on his foot with heavy bayonets. They’d sent him home eventually, only to come for him again on that fateful night that Aunt Qiu-yue fled with her.
“I was hoping that you were young enough when it happened, that maybe you wouldn’t remember it so clearly.” Her aunt spoke softly, mournfully.
Often times, when Mulan least expected, visions of what it must have been like for him came unbidden to her mind’s eye. At those times she wished she could cry for him. But she only felt anger at the pain they’d caused him, resentment toward those men for taking him and her mother away from her; and a helpless emptiness that there’d been nothing anyone could do.
Sometimes she felt guilty that she should have escaped to safety with her aunt when her parents had been left behind to suffer.
“Your father was perceived as an enemy. It didn’t matter that they had no proof. They believed he was, and so he was,” Aunt Qiu-yue explained. “As his daughter you would have been perceived as ‘tainted’ by his ways, because his blood was in you.”
Leaving her job behind now, she worried that her status in this country was in question. The company sponsored her entry into this country and now, two years later, she was quitting. It was necessary, but she couldn’t tell anyone why. So where did that leave her?
Living in Chinatown she’d come to discover that there were many illegal residents, many of them women that worked in factories for low pay or worse as prostitutes for the gangs that had control over most of the business owners. These powerful groups lured teenagers with an opportunity to make a lot of money fast. Young boys in the neighborhood, who resented how their parents were forced to work so hard for so little money, saw it as an opportunity to better themselves.
It occurred to her many times that the company she worked for had associations with the leaders of those organizations. She didn’t know the details and merely had suspicions; but it didn’t matter. Coming from the place that she had, she knew to keep her head down and mind her own business.
Unfortunately for her, Mr. Luo, her boss, suspected that someone in the office had gone through his confidential files; he had asked her about it a week ago. And though she explained to him truthfully that she didn’t know what he was talking about, nor would she ever open files that were marked ‘confidential’, she could see in his eye that he didn’t believe her.
And so it was again that she was confronted with the problem of perception versus truth.
That same day, she ran into Li Shang during her lunch break. Talk about lousy timing.
Though she was thrilled to see him again, she had ulterior motives for agreeing to have dinner with him, and then agreeing to spend the night with him; she was afraid to be alone after her experience with Mr. Luo, wondering what would happen to her because someone thought she knew something she shouldn’t.
“I deceived him,” she murmured with a heavy sigh. “And what if he’s in trouble now because he was seen with me?”
Her eyes popped open and she sat up with a start. She suspected that someone had been following her for at least two days, which meant that someone had seen her with Shang. There was a very good chance that maybe they were shadowing him, too, that maybe…
She shifted to the edge of the bed, toward the nightstand, and withdrew his card from her pocket again. With a glance at the clock she picked up the phone. Judging from the time he would have left work already, so she dialed his home number, praying that he was there.
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