Seven Years of Darkness by You-Jeong Jeong
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 4.1 MB
A chilling psychological thriller about how far some will go to maintain control–and exact revenge
When a young girl is found dead in Seryong Lake, a reservoir in a remote South Korean village, the police immediately begin their investigation. At the same time, three men–Yongje, the girl’s father, and two security guards at the nearby dam, each of whom has something to hide about the night of her death–find themselves in an elaborate game of cat and mouse as they race to uncover what happened to her, without revealing their own closely guarded secrets.
After a final showdown at the dam results in a mass tragedy, one of the guards is convicted of murder and sent to prison. For seven years, his son, Sowon, lives in the shadow of his father’s shocking and inexplicable crime; everywhere he goes, a seemingly concerted effort to reveal his identity as the reviled mass murderer’s son follows him. When he receives a package that promises to reveal at last what really happened at Seryong Lake, Sowon must confront a present danger he never knew existed.
Dark, disturbing, and full of twists and turns, Seven Years of Darkness is the riveting new novel from the internationally celebrated author of The Good Son.
On Christmas Eve, a black SUV screeched to a stop in front of the pharmacy, and the driver walked inside. I was just about to dig into my ramen. It was three in the afternoon, but it was my lunch break. I forced myself to get up.
“Hey. I have a question,” the man said, taking off his Ray-Ban sunglasses.
I reluctantly put my chopsticks down. Hurry up, man, I thought.
“How do you get to Lighthouse Village? I don’t see any signs for it.” He gestured toward the intersection.
I glanced at his big, powerful SUV. What was it, a Chevy?
“Hey! Did you hear me? Where’s Lighthouse Village?”
“Don’t you have GPS?”
“I’m asking since the GPS can’t find it,” the man snapped, clearly irritated.
“How would I know if the GPS doesn’t?” I said, equally irritated.
The man left in a huff and gunned his SUV across the intersection.
I turned back to my lunch. Lighthouse Village was what the locals called Sinsong-ri. He should have turned left at the intersection, not gone straight through. I knew, because that was where I lived.
The village wasn’t on any map; it was as though it was so insignificant that it wasn’t worth calling out. According to Mr. Ahn, it was the tiniest village on Hwawon Peninsula. My boss, the owner of the pharmacy, said it was a dismal, out-of-the-way place that was impossible to get to. The village’s so-called youth club president referred to it as the edge of the world. It was true that the place was remote—you had to drive down an unpopulated stretch along the coast for about ten miles before you spotted it. The lighthouse from which it had gotten its name stood at the end of the jagged, beak-shaped cliff that jutted over the sea. Rocky mounds rose from the water and a long, tall ridge enclosed the village from behind.
When we first moved here, I’d gone up to the top of the ridge with Mr. Ahn. From there, you could see the other side of the mountain, a treeless wasteland as vast as the sea. The government had purchased the land for a tourism complex, but so far nothing had come of it. I’d heard that it had been covered with sorghum once, with a small village at the far edge. It was the kids of that long-gone village who had come up with the local name for ours.