Do-eun: Overly empathetic psycho

The spring in Seoul had turned stubbornly chilly, and along the Han River, the cherry blossoms were already dropping their petals into the dark water. Do-eun was finishing his night patrol along the embankment, his mind on something entirely mundane: that he needed to buy a new bed for his dog tomorrow, and that there was probably still some cooled barley tea left in his thermos. The beam of his flashlight glided across the bridge railing and suddenly caught a slender figure in a school uniform standing on the wrong side of the barrier.

Please, not this.

Her grip on the railing was just beginning to loosen, yielding to gravity, until... A sudden spring, a skidding step across the damp asphalt, and his hands locked onto her shoulders, pulling the fragile, almost weightless body back onto safety. His heart hammered so violently it echoed in his teeth.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here,” he repeated breathlessly, not letting go. “Can you hear me? I’m right here. Everything is okay.”

The girl did not fight back. She went limp in his arms, staring somewhere past him, and that faded, empty expression struck him as strangely familiar, as though he had seen it somewhere before. Perhaps in the mirror? Or perhaps in someone else's eyes, long forgotten.

“What’s your name?” he asked as gently as he could.

Silence. Slipping off his uniform jacket, he draped it over her shoulders on top of her school blazer, ignoring her faint objections, and added a little firmer, as far as his kindness would allow.

“We’re going to the hospital. And... no, please don’t argue. I’m not leaving you alone until you’ve been examined. And then I’ll drive you home. Okay?”

She gave a barely noticeable nod, and that was enough for him.

The emergency room smelled of chlorine and stale coffee. The overhead lights hummed with that bureaucratic persistence that makes you want to shatter the bulbs just to extinguish the glare. The reception desk was empty, save for a slip of paper taped to the glass with uneven handwriting announcing that the physician on duty would be back in a minute. Do-eun led the girl to a bench, still holding her by the elbow.

“Let’s sit down,” he said. “Someone will be here soon. Surprising there aren’t even any nurses around...”

Right then, he felt the arm in his hand turn to stone. She shrank into herself, her shoulders hunched up to her ears, and her eyes darted down the hallway with such primal fear that Do-eun instinctively followed her gaze; there was nothing there except an empty strip of linoleum. Yet even her breathing turned soundless.

“Hey,” he said, leaning toward her. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” She remained silent. Then, at last, he heard a barely audible whisper, more like the movement of lips than words.

“I was already here with him. Last time.”

“With whom?”

“The doctor. On duty.” Her voice trembled and broke. “He said, ‘Try again. Maybe this time you’ll actually succeed.’”

Do-eun’s blood ran cold at her words. He stared at the girl, unable to grasp what was stronger: the horror of what he had heard or that strange, dull feeling that somewhere at the very bottom of his soul something had stirred – something nameless and dark, like the water beneath the bridge. But then, footsteps echoed from the corridor. Do-eun turned around slowly to see... the approaching doctor. His gaze locked onto the man, looking tense. The girl flinched, quickly turning away.

“And... have you been talking to patients like that for long?”

The first thing to return was the sound... A rhythmically persistent beep somewhere to his right, as though an invisible metronome were counting down someone else’s life. Then came the scent of cheap starch, and only after that, with a delay, arrived the pain. It unfolded deliberately, like a scroll: first the left shoulder, then the ribs, then the back of his head, heavy with dull, hot lead.

Do-eun fluttered his eyelids open.

A white ceiling. A light panel overhead, with one bulb flickering, hesitating to go out completely. Habit – stronger than pain, stronger than fear – immediately went to work: four cots against the wall, three of them empty; a curtain at the window, not fully drawn; a strip of light on the linoleum, long and pale, the kind that belongs to dawn. Early morning. He noted it almost absently, as he noted everything, only to realize a moment later that he had no memory of how he had ended up here.

Memory returned in fragments. A dark stairwell in an abandoned building. Someone’s breath behind his back. A short, vicious shove to his chest, and stairs – so many stairs – dropping out from beneath his feet, and his own hand, which at the critical last second had failed to rise to strike back. He could have. He knew he could have. But the person in front of him had been alive, and that alone was enough for his body to hesitate in the deciding moment.

Foolish, he thought with a sluggish, bitter smile. I was warned.*

He tried to move, and the pain in his ribs flared into a short, sharp jab that stole his breath away. Do-eun squeezed out a quiet gasp, turned his head on the pillow, and his gaze – still blurred – glided across the ward until it caught on a silhouette by the window. He froze.

At first, his mind refused to piece the image together; the figure was far too out of place in the morning light, yet far too familiar in outline. Then he recognized the posture of those shoulders and the white coat. He recognized that gaze—the very one that had sent a chill down his spine during their first meeting. A blankness must have still lingered in his eyes, for several long seconds passed as Do-eun stared, unable to blink, as one looks down into a bottomless well. Then something inside shifted, and he became himself again: a bewildered, bruised patrol officer with unruly hair poking out awkwardly from beneath the bandages.

His lips were dry and hardly obeyed him. He licked them, forcing out in a raspy, hoarse voice:

“Doctor... What are you doing here?”

The night over the lively town was warm, the kind that belongs only to late April when winter has surrendered and summer is just around the corner. The streetlights in the alleys burned with a steady amber glow, turning the cherry blossom petals blown in by the wind from the embankment into something seemingly weightless. Do-eun walked his usual route, stooping slightly under the weight of his tactical vest, lazily thinking that there was still half a thermos of brewed coffee left, and more than three hours remaining on his shift. The radio on his shoulder crackled occasionally with unfamiliar call signs. He listened with half an ear, habitually taking in everything around him: the dark sign of a laundromat that had been promised a fix for a month now; a cat perched on the lid of a trash bin; an open second-story window wafting the aroma of spicy noodles alongside some melodramatic music. I wouldn't mind eating something myself, he thought, deciding to drop by a nearby convenience store later. He turned into a narrow alley between warehouses and came to a stop.

Something was wrong, and he felt this "wrongness" before he could even comprehend it. The silence here was different—not empty, but tense, like the air before a thunderstorm. The beam of his flashlight glided across the wall, over the crates stacked against it, across the wet asphalt, and suddenly snagged a foot in dark trousers protruding from the shadows, awkwardly twisted to the side.

“Hey!” His voice tore out raspily, and he instantly broke into a run. “Sir! Can you hear me?!”

The man lay on his side, facing the wall. His expensive coat was soaked in something dark and sticky under the light of the flashlight, and before Do-eun could even process what he was seeing, he felt his stomach leap into his throat. He swallowed dryly, desperately, and forced himself down onto his knees. Not now.. Not now.. Now not.

“Okay, stay calm, stay calm,” he muttered, uncertain whether he was speaking to himself or to the victim. His fingers found the neck and caught a faint, irregular pulse. “Alive. Thank God, alive!”

Blood was pouring from a wound under the ribs. Pulling off his gloves, he pressed a folded handkerchief against it, then his palm, applying all his weight, but the warm, slippery liquid immediately seeped through his fingers. With his other hand, he fumbled for his radio.

“Dispatch, this is Officer Byeom Do-eun, Mapo unit, in the alley behind the warehouse on Dove-ro. Unconscious male with a stab wound to the abdomen, severe bleeding. Requesting an ambulance, urgently!”

“Copy that, Patrol,” a female voice responded through the speaker. “A unit is dispatched, estimated time of arrival seven minutes. Can you administer first aid?”

“Already doing it. Holding pressure. Pulse is present, but weak!”

“Remain on scene, Patrol. Do not leave.”

“I won’t...” He spoke while keeping his eyes fixed on the victim’s pale face. The man’s lips were turning blue before his very eyes. Seven minutes. Seven minutes felt like an eternity, and he began to speak simply to break the silence, so the man would hear a living voice. “Just hold on. Do you hear me? They’ll be here soon, everything will be okay. You still have to get back home. Someone is surely waiting for you. So hold on, for their sake...” Then he abruptly cut himself off.

Something had changed behind him. The distant hum of the city faded, as though an invisible hand had turned down the volume of the space around him. A sudden chill crept up the nape of his neck – the distinct sensation of being watched. The officer slowly turned his head. At the far end of the alley, where the light of the streetlamp couldn't reach, stood a figure. Tall, dressed entirely in black: a cap and a hood pulled down so low that his face was completely obscured. He stood utterly motionless, his posture not relaxed in the slightest, but acutely attentive – like someone admiring the results of his own handiwork.

“Police!” Do-eun shouted, his voice ringing out far firmer than he expected. “Stand right there! Show me your hands!”

The silhouette didn't budge. For a second, then two, it seemed to Do-eun that the figure even tilted his head slightly to the side, as if studying a curiosity. Then the figure turned and stepped into the shadows.

“Halt!” Do-eun leapt to his feet, and in that same moment, the hand pressing down on the wound slipped. The victim let out a weak gasp. Do-eun froze, torn in two; before him lay a man – a dying man whose pressure could not be eased for even a second—and ten meters away, the person who was most likely the cause of it all was disappearing.

“Dispatch,” he gasped into the radio, already breaking into a sprint. “Dispatch, suspect on scene! Male in black heading toward the abandoned sector! I am in pursuit! Send the ambulance straight here, the victim is in the alley, pressure can no longer be held, tell them to hurry!”

“Patrol, confirm: are you leaving the victim? Officer Byeom? Wait for backup!” But he was hardly listening to them now.

The soles of his boots slammed against the asphalt as his tactical vest thudded against his ribs. The black figure ahead glided between the streetlamps like a drop of ink in water: dissolving into the darkness one moment, drifting into the light for a split second the next. Each time, it felt to Do-eun as though the figure were glancing back, as if simply checking to see if he was still following!

His breath scorched his lungs. A single thought beat desperately in his head: Why did he stop? Why was he watching? People running from the police don't look back... not like that.

The alley gave way to a vacant lot, the vacant lot to a deserted street with dark, lifeless windows, and up ahead at the end of the road, the shell of an unfinished building rose out of the gloom. But what caught his attention most was the staircase inside, stretching upward without handrails. The silhouette slipped inside without slowing his pace. Do-eun paused at the entrance for one brief second. His hand instinctively rested on his holster, but he didn't unbutton it. He caught his breath, swallowed the dry lump of fear in his throat, and stepped into the darkness after him. I need to catch him. I have to. If I don't, the body count will only rise. Do-eun kept reassuring himself as he looked around the pitch-black space.

At that hour, the hospital lobby resembled a dimly lit aquarium. People moved slowly, speaking in low voices, and even the wheels of the gurneys rolled across the linoleum with caution, as if afraid of waking someone asleep. Do-eun walked half a step behind the detective, involuntarily taking in every detail around them. The signs on the walls, the rows of empty chairs, a vending machine with a forgotten paper cup left beside it. Habit. He knew Gyeong-dal hardly approved of this, but he couldn’t help himself.

“How are you holding up?” Gyeong-dal threw out without turning around.

“I’m fine, Detective.”

“That’s not an answer. I asked how you’re feeling, not if you’re ready to work.”

Do-eun hesitated slightly.

“A bit uncomfortable. It still smells the same in here as it did back then.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Gyeong-dal grunted without malice. “Or you won’t, and you’ll keep walking in here with that face until you learn to hide it. Take your pick.”

“I’ll try to pick the first one.”

“Good then.”

They stopped in front of the wide reception desk. Above it hung a board with the consultation schedule, and slightly lower, on a corkboard, notice fliers for donation days and paid vaccinations stood out in bright colors. An elderly nurse in thick-framed glasses slowly shuffled papers, pretending not to notice visitors until they were right in front of her. “Good afternoon,” Gyeong-dal began, pulling out his badge from his inner pocket. “Detective Han Gyeong-dal, Major Crimes Division. We need the head of surgery.”

The nurse raised her eyes and scanned the document with a quick, professional glance.

“Dr. Choe? He isn’t in today.”

“What do you mean he isn’t in?”

“Just that.” She shrugged. “He’s at a conference in Daejeon and will return late this evening. Or tomorrow morning, depending on how it goes. Do you have an appointment?”

“We’re here on official business,” Gyeong-dal replied dryly. “It’s urgent.”

“Then perhaps see his deputy? Dr. Baek is currently in the operating room, but in an hour or an hour and a half...”

“We need Dr. Choe specifically.” Gyeong-dal did not raise his voice, but that steel tone Do-eun had learned to recognize over years of working together shone through. “It concerns a surgery he performed personally. Six months ago. Patient Park Tae-ho. I need to pull the records and clarify the details.” The nurse frowned, a crease forming along her forehead.

“Park Tae-ho?” She glanced at the screen and tapped the keys. “Wait... yes, there was such a patient. Elective kidney surgery, kidney stone removal. But...” – she suddenly cut herself off and looked up – “Wait. Is he the one who was found in that... well, the one in the news?”

“Yes,” Gyeong-dal confirmed succinctly.

“Good Lord,” she gasped, involuntarily pressing a palm to her chest. “Forgive me. We were all in shock. He was discharged completely healthy; we even joked around with him.”

Do-eun stood in silence, but something shifted heavily, unpleasantly in his chest. He remembered that day when he and the detective stood in the autopsy room, and the forensic pathologist – a gloomy older man with a quiet voice – showed them something on the table that Do-eun couldn't bring himself to look at closely back then. A wave of nausea hit him, and he averted his eyes, staring at the wall.

«The left kidney is missing. Removed in its entirety with surgical precision, and not during the autopsy. Prior to death or at the moment of death. Yet according to the medical record, the victim only had kidney stones removed; the kidney itself was supposed to remain in place.»

Gyeong-dal had remained silent back then, noting only one thing. The bastard knew what he was doing.

“Could you print an excerpt for us?” the detective continued in the meantime. “At least a copy of the operative report and a list of the attending staff.”

“I’d need the department head’s authorization for that,” the nurse said apologetically. “Or an official request from the prosecutor’s office. I’m sorry, I would gladly help, but without a signature, I don’t have the authority.”

“There will be an official request,” Gyeong-dal nodded. “But I would like to speak with Dr. Choe before the paperwork gets bogged down in red tape. Could you perhaps give me his direct number?”

“I don't have the authority,” she repeated, lowering her eyes apologetically. “But I can pass along your request to him.”

After a moment's pause, Gyeong-dal pulled a business card from his wallet and held it out with two fingers.

“Tell him I dropped by. My personal number is on there. He can call at any time.”

“I’ll make sure to pass it along,” she promised, neatly tucking the card under the edge of her keyboard.

At that very moment, Do-eun felt it... First on his skin, as if a light, barely perceptible draft had brushed the back of his neck. A familiar, disquieting presence, accompanied by an inexplicable sense of peace in his soul. He turned around before even realizing why. Deep in the corridor, where the crowd thinned, a white coat flickered.

“Doctor!” he called out, his voice ringing louder than he had intended, causing a couple of patients in the lobby to turn their heads. The footsteps at the end of the hallway ceased. “I... Hello...”

Gyeong-dal whipped around at the call, casting a quick, questioning glance at Do-eun before shifting his gaze to where his partner was looking. He gave a brief, polite nod – the kind one gives to strangers in public places – and swept his eyes over the doctor from head to toe in a sharp, evaluating manner, disguised as casual, almost offhanded. Then his brows knit slightly. He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, slowly and thoughtfully, like someone with a word on the tip of his tongue that refused to form into a clear thought. His gaze never left the doctor’s face. For several seconds he remained silent, and in that quiet, Do-eun could distinctly hear the hum of the ventilation behind the wall and the nurse shuffling papers behind his back. Then Gyeong-dal lowered his hand, speaking unhurriedly with an open, mockingly harmless directness.

“Have we met somewhere by any chance? I just get the feeling we’ve run into each other before.” A slight smirk even touched the corner of his lips, though he was genuinely curious as to why he had such a firm feeling he had seen him somewhere before.

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