Chapter 8 — Footsteps On The Ceiling

The sirens of ambulances and police cars woke up the whole old house all night long. By morning, downstairs was crowded with people. The people who once said I was "weird", "scary", "the house is not clean"... are now standing outside the blockade, their necks stretched out, their surprise still not gone. The building manager comes first. He carried milk and fruit and stood outside the door, his forehead covered in sweat as if he hadn't slept all night.

“Miss Lam… what happened before… was our fault.” His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. “The noise meter, the complaint file, the handling that night... we will review it and definitely give you an explanation.”

I looked at the bag and didn't accept it.

“Explain to whom?” I asked.

He stopped. My voice is very calm:

“Let the person you force lie on the bed, in front of everyone, lift up the blanket to check?”

“Or for the person who almost died in that ceiling?”

His face was red and he couldn't say anything. In the end, there was only one sentence left: Then, one by one, everyone came. The two ladies who often stood outside the door, looking around, brought in a box of homemade dumplings early in the morning. The person who sent a spiritual video to the resident group yesterday now wrote a long paragraph saying "all were deceived by Chu Thanh". Even the woman who advised me to move away also stood outside the door, clasped her hands together, and whispered:

“Girl… don't take my words to heart.”

I'm not angry. Nor forgive. I just looked at them, then closed the door one by one. There are hurts... that cannot be erased by an apology. They may feel guilty the moment they see the truth. But after dinner at night, everything will fade away. The feeling of being surrounded, suspected, having to prove my innocence by exposing my body... will stay with me for a long time. That afternoon, the police came to add testimony. I just learned that when he was taken to the hospital, Tran Vu Ninh was seriously dehydrated and his body was full of old and new wounds overlapping each other. Chu Thanh did not just detain. He was also abusive for a long time, arbitrarily renovated the house structure, created a series of fake conflicts... and even revealed other things. The case will continue to be investigated. As for Tran Vu Ninh's statement - "you are not the first" - also has an answer. Before me, the tenant before leaving, Chu Thanh had tried stronger tricks. It's just that at that time, Tran Vu Ninh was not completely controlled, and many things were not completed. After I moved in, he found a more suitable target. Live alone. Not convenient to move. Live regularly. And most importantly… If that person said she heard something, others would first suspect her mental state. After listening, I didn't say anything. The young police officer closed his pen, hesitated a moment, then said softly:

“That night… sorry.”

I'm talking about the first time I flipped the blanket. I looked at him and after a long time replied:

“At least… then I believed.”

His eyes flashed with a bit of complicated guilt, and in the end he just nodded. The day Tran Vu Ninh was transferred out of the intensive care room, she asked the nurse to send me a thank you note. I'm not visiting. It's not that I don't want to. Which is not necessary. We have all stepped out of that "gap". The rest of life... is little by little, pulling out the invisible nails still stuck in your body. Three days later, I started packing my things. This house… I won't live in it anymore. Not out of fear. It's because of me I don't want to raise my head every night and see the ceiling that once hid despair. On the third carton, I pulled out the house purchase contract that year, along with the paper the management made me sign to install a noise meter. The edge of the paper was curled, I looked at it for two seconds, then threw it straight into the trash bag. In the evening, the moving party arrived on time. I took one last look at the room. The bookshelf was empty, the sofa was covered with tarpaulin, and the noise meter was taken away by the police. The living room was so quiet that the only sound was the wind outside the window. The inspection door on the ceiling has been sealed, newly painted pure white, without a trace remaining. As if nothing had ever happened. But I know… that's not the case. There are truths that, even if plastered over, will still leak out in the darkness. Before leaving, I turned off the last light. The room fell into darkness. Before, at this time, I would unconsciously look up at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of footsteps falling from nowhere. But this time… Nothing. There was no dragging sound. There is no knocking sound. There is no harsh sound from the meter. There were also no more suspicious looks outside the door. I sat in the wheelchair, silently listening to the darkness for a while. Then softly said:

“This time… it's finally quiet.”

The person moving outside the door asked:

“Miss Lam, are you done yet?”

"Done."

I pushed the wheelchair out and closed the door. At the end of the hallway, a few neighbors unconsciously moved aside, their eyes avoided, not daring to look at me. Chu Thanh's door was sealed and sealed like a late-arriving tombstone. I passed by without stopping. The elevator door closed. In the mirror, my face was pale... but calm. Go down to the first floor. The door opened, light poured in, so bright it hurt my eyes. I suddenly remembered the first night, they stood in front of my door, waiting to catch me "going crazy". At that time, everyone thought... The person who should be sent away was me. But now, I understand. The person who should disappear... It was never me.