He downed the hard liquor, his head aching. But even if he was drugged, he would still recognize her at a glance. She came at odd times. At odd places. He could never predict when she would appear.
Tonight, he lacked the energy to deal with her. He had no interest in seeing her at all.
Despite the exhaustion, he knew there was no escape. She sat across him, her red lips in a smirk. He stared at her lips, then her nostrils, then the rest of her nose which disappeared underneath the black hat she wore.
She was charming. She had always been charming. Despite how many years had passed, whenever she came over, he couldn't help that dangerous magnetic pull.
"It's a nice night, isn't it?" She asked, her voice mellow and smooth as the whiskey in his hand.
He gulped, his throat dry. It took several seconds before he could find his voice.
"Why are you here?"
"It's a bar, I can be here if I want." She said with a soft, melodic laugh.
"That's not the question." He said, shutting his eyes in annoyance, hoping she would disappear.
"What? Are you afraid I'll do something to you?" Her voice dropped a few degrees, becoming a low, intimate rasp. "In your current state, it wouldn't be very hard."
He opened his eyes and stared at her. He couldn't see her eyes, only those red lips. Those damn red lips.
...
Drip. Drip.
The clear liquid dripped into the small tube of the IV pump.
Slowly, her consciousness returned. Her eyes fluttered open. She was static for a while, surveying her surroundings before sitting up. She touched her head and found it was wrapped in a gauze.
The curtain to her ward was drawn and the doctor and nurse approached her bed.
"You need to rest for at least three days with minimal physical activity." The doctor explained, her face stern.
"If this advice is not followed, the injury will be at risk of further complications. We found infectious cells at the site of healing. It's fortunate you were found in time; if they had been allowed to grow, we would be talking about sepsis."
The doctor adjusted the chart. "The nurse will give you your prescription. Take the medication regularly and on time. Is there a family member you'd like us to call? The man who brought you here left a while ago."
Han Bo-young scoffed and pulled at the plastic tube connected to her hand. With a yank, it had come off and she stood up.
"I'll be fine." She said nonchalantly, already searching for her coat.
"It's important to at least take the prescription, Sunbae." Song Min-ho's voice loomed over her, but Han Bo-young didn't turn.
"I want bibimbap." She demanded. "And where the fuck are my clothes?" She said and turned, standing akimbo.
"We'll fetch them for you as soon as you complete your dosages." The doctor said, her eyes calm.
Han Bo-young rolled her eyes. She didn't like medical practitioners. They always felt like they had ultimate power because they knew a little bit about the human body.
"The car is in your house. It hasn't been tampered with." Song Min-ho explained.
The doctor seemed clearly annoyed by being ignored, turned around and left in a huff.
"Sure." She replied absentmindedly and turned her back towards Song Min-ho. "Help me with the straps at the back." She said.
It was a rather awkward moment for Song Min-ho. He saw her fair and smooth back, her snake-like spine, and the small knob of bone at the base of her neck. He coughed and did as he was told, fingers fumbling slightly with the hospital gown ties.
Together, he and Han Bo-young walked out of the hospital, after checking out and got into the police car.
They headed towards a restaurant.
"This is a new one. Heard a lot of talk about it. Their bibimbap is supposedly good." Song Min-ho explained to which Han Bo-young nodded.
Han Bo-young stared out the window, observing the heavily industrialized streets of Seoul.
"I did a deeper dig into Yoon-a's past. She was a high school bully. I've invited the victims of her abuse over to the station. But I wonder if in your current state, you'd be able to..."
"What time are they coming in?" She asked, cutting him off.
"12 pm." He replied.
"I'll be there. Anything else?"
"The SUV involved in the accident last night... the driver was found dead. He has no leads to this case at all. He works at construction and father's two children. He was 47." Song Min-ho said, his eyebrows scrunched.
Han Bo-young frowned. Something was wrong.
"How quickly did you guys get to the site of the accident?" She asked.
"From the time you called me, it was 32 minutes." He said.
Her frown deepened. She hadn't seen the driver during the car chase because he had blinded her with his headlights from the start. She didn't know what he looked like, any of his physical qualities and even more disturbingly, if he had been switched out with someone else after the accident.
"There was nothing suspicious at the accident's site?"
"So far? Nothing." Song Min-ho said.
"At what time did you find me?"
"The tracker in your cell was jammed in the accident and there was no CCTV around the path you followed. You called me and told me where you were. That was about 3 hours after the crash."
Han Bo-young nodded. She must have momentarily regained consciousness after fainting. Long enough to make a phone call.
The car pulled slowly into the parking lot of the restaurant.
They both got out.
The bibimbap was indeed good. It was mouthwatering. Han Bo-young slid another piece of kimchi in her mouth and drank from the bowl of bean sprout soup.
She nodded and exhaled loudly.
Song Min-ho across from her drank from his water glass, his eyes on her.
"You should have some of this." Han Bo-young said. "It's really good."
He shook his head. "I'll pass."
Han Bo-young shrugged and continued eating.
...
At the station.
Han Bo-young stared across at the young man in front of her. He looked like grief. His skin was pale and his eyes were shadowed. He was dressed in a pair of washed jeans and a pale blue shirt.
He raised his sleeves to show her the burn scars on his hand.
"She did this with her hair straightener." He explained, his voice low. "Her and her clique of friends. They did this to me and Mone. Mone got it even worse than I did."
"Did you report this to the appropriate authorities?" Han Bo-young asked calmly. It wasn't her first time seeing victims of abuse.
He scoffed and then laughed out loudly for a while. "We did. They silenced us."
"Who did?" She asked, even though she knew the answer.
"A man told us to keep shut if we cared about our lives and our teacher told us to sweep it under the rug for fear that our safety would be threatened. Yoon-a had transferred anyway, right?" He said, hatred in his eyes.
"Do you remember what this man looked like?" She asked.
"Not really." He shook his head. "I only saw him once and for a short time. He was using an umbrella, so I couldn't see his face in the rain."
Han Bo-young nodded and noted it down.
"I'm glad she's dead." He said.
"Mm." Han Bo-young hummed absentmindedly.
"I can refer you to resources that could help with the post-traumatic stress." She said, looking up at him.
"I can't afford that. And Mone needs it more than I do." He said.
"What's your relationship with Mone?" She asked.
"We didn't have a relationship until the episode with Yoon-a. I'd say we're victims in solidarity." He said and sneezed into a kerchief.
"Did you or Mone meet Yoon-a in the past few months?"
"We didn't want to see her again for the rest of our lives. Mone would scream and have a panic attack anytime her face came up on our screen. And it came a lot." He said and wiped the tear that rolled down his face. He was 20, but didn't look 20.
He sniffled.
"Detective, I want to leave now. This is about seeking justice for that despicable person. I don't want to be involved. I'm grateful for the murderer." He said, his voice laced with deep hatred.
"Sure. Leave," Han Bo-young said and waved him off. She looked unconcerned about his grief.
The woman who came in next looked a lot worse than the young man. She was tall and skinny. Too skinny. And she was so pale, she looked like a sheet of paper. She was visibly trembling as she pulled out the seat.
Han Bo-young placed her chin on her knuckles, interested.
"What was the nature of your abuse?" She asked right away.
"I'd like a glass of water, if that's okay." Her small voice replied instead.
But there was something wrong about the request. It sounded practiced. It was like a doll talking or a robot making requests.
Han Bo-young squinted her eyes.
Yoon-a, Yoon-a. What kind of monster were you?