Surprised but with no time to be intimidated by Detective Lee Dongjae’s speed, Geun-yeong clamped his mouth shut, quickly turned and ran out, shouting as he crossed the threshold:
“I’m going!”
Lee Dongjae, who was patting down the bedding with his back while wriggling his upper body, heard the sound and muttered:
“What nonsense is this puppy saying? Not ‘I’m leaving’ but ‘I’m going’? What’s that?”
Then he sniffed at the unfamiliar smell wafting from the blanket he had thrown and spread out.
“Hmm? This smells nice? Hyungnim, did you wash this? Why?”
No one answered his question as it disappeared through the front door that was already closing.
Geun-yeong, hurrying with quick steps behind the man who was taking large strides, got into the passenger seat of a car that seemed strangely out of place in this location.
Around the time the car was passing near the market after starting, Jiho, who had been glancing sideways, withdrew his gaze and asked:
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes.”
Geun-yeong answered without thinking about how he actually felt. He already felt bad for making the man ask such a question, so he shouldn’t delay his response. He answered first and then thought about how he actually felt.
He was fine when looking at things nearby, but overwhelmed when looking far ahead.
The self-loathing and embarrassment about being fooled and living so foolishly for those long years were fading and blurring thanks to the occasional surges of liberation. When he inevitably thought about it, he felt resentful and therefore couldn’t forgive that man, but it wasn’t enough to make him feel stupid. He could endure it.
The regret of not being able to meet Woo Donghwa or his classmates and having to give up university was alleviated by the fact that he still had Nurse Bong Tae-gu and Dr. Baek Moonjong, and could work at Boramchan Clinic for the time being.
For now, he was okay.
But he couldn’t cling to Boramchan Clinic forever without any certifications. He couldn’t remain an inconvenient burden to Professor Baek Moonjong, who had given him work simply based on his merit as a medical student, so he would have to look for other work soon.
Above all, he couldn’t stay at Detective Kyung’s house forever. Though the police officer was currently protecting him as a civilian victim out of professional duty, he would have to leave that house and become independent soon. Find a place to live alone, somehow earn money, get food, sleep. From now on, he had to do all of that by himself.
Thinking about that was overwhelming. The feelings beneath that overwhelming sensation were worse. He was depressed and lonely. Unbearably sad.
For now, he was enduring by relying on the memory of the book he had placed under the bed, but there was a limit to pretending to be okay while leaning on a book he couldn’t even bring himself to open. He needed someone to lean on, someone to depend on.
“I’ll come pick you up at the scheduled time this afternoon.”
Geun-yeong nodded. He had been told there would be a mental illness differential test at 3 p.m. today. That he would meet with a neuropsychiatrist at the prosecutor’s office. That much came from Detective Kyung. He had informed him during dinner last night. And he had heard from the news this morning that the direction of the trial could change depending on the test results.
“Think of it as comfortable. Nothing will change.”
Geun-yeong nodded again to the man who was saying something different from the news. It was an obligatory response.
Bong Tae-gu, who had stood up and raised one hand at the sight of the man entering the hospital, saw Geun-yeong who had been hidden behind Kyung Jiho and ran over with his eyes, nostrils, and mouth all opened wide.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my, Geun-yeong!”
Geun-yeong was grabbed and hugged so tightly that he couldn’t respond, and Jiho, whose mood suddenly soured, grabbed the pink nape and pulled. The man who separated with a “kek” sound received a bow from Geun-yeong.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t come because my face was rough.”
“Oh my, that’s right, your eye area is still blue. But you look like a spotted dog, cute.”
Tae-gu smiled, stretching his lips wide to show all twenty of his white teeth. And Geun-yeong, hearing the word “spotted dog,” realized why Detective Lee Dongjae had called him a puppy. Because his bruised face looked like a spotted dog.
“Enough of that, where’s Dr. Baek Moonjong?”
What was enough? Kyung Jiho interrupted the two who were greeting each other. Tae-gu, whose face instantly changed from smiling to sad, lowered his voice and whispered:
“Well… an eight-year-old came in… so he’s not in a good mood…”
Both Geun-yeong and Jiho’s expressions darkened upon hearing this. Tae-gu, who took a deep breath and forced a bright face, said:
“But still, if I tell him Geun-yeong is here, he’ll cheer up. He loved our Geun-yeong. Geun-yeong, do you want to go see the professor?”
“Yes.”
Geun-yeong gently nodded toward Tae-gu and then turned his body toward the man standing awkwardly beside him. Then he bowed deeply at the waist.
“Thank you, Detective.”
For saving me. For letting me stay. For giving me a ride just now. For coming to pick me up later. Thank you for everything.
The gesture was more like a formal bow, causing Jiho to correct his awkward posture and take his hands out of his pockets where he had casually stuffed them. Barely restraining himself from returning the bow, the man stiffened his body as Geun-yeong turned away from him and went back outside the hospital. He had to go through the building corridor to the autopsy room to see Professor Baek Moonjong.
Geun-yeong went outside the hospital. The door, which had been slightly trembling after opening and closing, became still. For a long time afterward, Jiho, who had been staring at that door for quite a while, grabbed the shoulder of Tae-gu who was about to enter the station and turned him around.
“Mother!”
After glaring briefly at the guy who was calling for his mother despite his size because he was startled, Jiho asked:
“Let me ask you one thing.”
“What is it!”
Tae-gu shouted at the man who was handling him roughly. Regardless, Jiho asked:
“Can your heart race because of guilt or remorse?”
“What nonsense! If your heart races randomly like that, it’s palpitations!”
Jiho stared at the man who was still shouting because his anger hadn’t subsided and asked:
“When I. Look at a certain guy, here—”
Jiho poked his heart with his thumb.
“It beats fast. This—”
“You like him!”
Tae-gu gave a clear answer to the too-easy question, and Jiho, who had known the answer from the start, released his grip on Tae-gu’s shoulder.
“Right… I like him…”
Jiho, who had dropped the hand that was gripping Tae-gu’s shoulder, put that hand on his forehead and then swept it up to the crown of his head. After messing up his hair that he had swept back, he let out a rough sigh that somehow sounded like a curse.
The man who was glaring at the door through which someone had disappeared as if the door itself were that person, sighed again. He lowered his hands that had been on his waist and moved with heavy steps toward the entrance. As he gripped the doorknob and opened it, he said:
“I’m leaving. I’ll come pick him up around two, so take good care of that guy.”
After Kyung Jiho left, Bong Tae-gu, who was left alone in front of the station again, clicked his tongue, “tsk tsk.”
“How can that person be so scary even when he likes someone? Whoever it is, they’re so piti-“
He stopped mid-sentence as his thought dropped, freezing his movement.
Wait. Oh my.
The man hadn’t named names, but he had expressed with his whole body who the “guy” was that made his heart race when he looked at him, and thanks to that, Tae-gu, who had been lost in thought for a while, burst into laughter, “pffft.”
Professor Baek Moonjong, who had briefly brightened up exclaiming “Oh my!” when he saw the guy entering the autopsy room after such a long time, soon returned to a troubled face.
This was because opening the chest of an emaciated eight-year-old child with protruding bones and removing the blood collected in the heart was definitely not something one could do with a smile.
“What do you think of the child’s face?”
Baek Moonjong asked the guy who was holding the dead child’s hand in between passing the necessary tools.
“Well… the skin… doesn’t look like a child’s.”
He said this out of sympathy for the dead child, but in fact, it was more than just not looking like a child’s. It was wrinkled like an elderly person’s skin.
“Yes. You observed well. The skin cell atrophy is severe. That’s why I suspect sodium poisoning. We’ll have to do a blood test to know for sure.”
“Sodium poisoning?”
“Yes.”
Geun-yeong recalled a case that had become a topic of public interest some years ago. It was the story of a stepmother who had slowly killed a child by feeding them salt over a long period. That stepmother was a medical professional who knew human physiology better than the average person.
“Children like this come in occasionally.”
Geun-yeong was too shocked to react. He thought such things hadn’t happened since that incident became a big topic. This was because it had never been reported in the news since then.
“It’s a kind of copycat crime. But cases where these children are properly examined through autopsy probably account for only one in ten. The ones that come to me are fortunate in a way. It means there’s at least someone mourning the child’s death.”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
