A century of history flowed past the artificial park, tenths of decades of births and reconciles, of bloom and wither. A short walk through the winding path, gradual turn, beyond two ancient pillars lined with tiles, liver-coloured bricks replacing the grass-outlined pathway and finally, Junmyeon catches sight of a lone figure seated on a country bench under an elm tree, legs crossed and brows a wavy slit. She greeted Junmyeon unsmilingly, with tight lips and a cold stare.

Lee Ji-Eun, aka Dr. IU – platinum degree in Psychology and former (Hons) specialist in Human Aggression. It took one handshake to tell Junmyeon, that she was not in the mood for beating around the bush.

“I've said it before,” Jieun commenced even before Junmyeon had begun to sit down beside her, over pages of his small black notebook, “and I'll say it again, I won't disclose personal info on my patients' medical condition.”

“That's just fine,” Junmyeon nodded, ripping off the cap of his ballpoint with his teeth, “I'll keep things above the record.”

“Fine.”

“How long has been Chaelin taking sessions?”

“15 hours with me, 19 altogether since February 2014, three days after she was found.”

“What were her medical conditions?”

“That's classified.”

“Was she subject to any form of trauma?”

“Of course she was.”

“I'll rephrase – has she revealed on how she might have been physically abused in any kind of way? As in agression and...”

“No.”

“I understand from our doctors that she was steamed with olive oil, do you have any theories based on your medical point of view why that might have been carried out? Do you have any inkling on the abductor's point of view?”

“There arre too many possibilites, it might be sadism, revelation in media attention, or violent schizoid personality.”

“Could you explain the last one?”

“Schizophrenia,” Jieun looked at him as though he was a moron, “don't tell me you've never dealt with that before.”

“My science was always lousy,” Junmyeon shrugged, “why do you think I ended up being a cop?”

“It's general madness, well not as general as split personality disorder, but still, very common these days. Some of them turn out harmless, but there can be cases where the patients turn out aggressive.”

“Could you define it? Filing purposes.”

“It's a psychological disorder,” Jieun uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, “for extreme cases, patients might be predisposed towards extreme violence.”

“Ah – general madness, right,” Junmyeon clicked his tongue.

Jieun watched him in silence as he scribbled into his notebook like a child taking notes in a classroom, an eyebrow raised and her lips parted.

“You know,” she went on, as he flipped a new page, “you look nothing like a cop.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Which department are you in, again?”

“Seoul Investigation Unit.”

“Ah, your department worked on Chaelin's case with Dr. Yesung.”

Junmyeon looked up in surprise.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Close friend.”

“Wait,” Junmyeon managed a surprised smile, “you must know Jinki too.”

“Yes.”

“He's Chaelin's brother.”

“And Hayi's.”

Junmyeon stopped writing.

“She's stopped by my clinic before,” Jieun smoothed a crease on her skirt with nervous fingers, teeth biting the edge of her tongue. The tip of Junmyeon's pencil rested on the page again, posed readily.

“Jinki told us she'd never experienced disturbance.”

“It was after her sister's abduction, she was feeling depressed,” Jieun explained, “she wanted me to prescribe her antidepressants and sleeping pills – I declined because she was underaged and required adult verification. Then, she blurted out that she felt paranoia.”

“Is that normal?”

“Very. I told her to sleep on it with weaker drugs, but she told me that she felt eyes.”

“Pardon me?”

“I quote, 'I feel eyes around me, eyes following me, eyes haunting me in my sleep and wake,' she was a mess – her sister was gone, her brother was sinking into depression; whole family was in havoc.”

“I understand their parents are working overseas...”

“Yes, and Jinki has this complex – he will absolutely refuse to enlighten his parents about his sisters' abduction unless desperate... it's safe to say that telling them will kill him,” Jieun slid a file out from a briefcase Junmyeon hadn't seen tucked behind her, and she slipped through it, “I had to undergo a family checkup on them, and it seems that Jinki had abandonment issues as a kid, he fell into a water tank at the top of their apartment and hovered between life and death for two days, clinging to a corroded ladder. His parents didn't even notice – they were too occupied in research, and it was the janitor who found him, floating on the surface in comatose state,” she flipped through the papers again, “he woke up two weeks later.” Then, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Strange though, I had an interview with his child therapist after that,” she traced paragraphs with a finger, “and she told me that he was never the same after that – he was 'thoughtful and beyond his years', and 'produced strange monologue'.”

“Who was the therapist?,” Junmyeon scribbled.

“Dr. Sandara Park.”

“Thanks, wait... wasn't she interviewed a few of years ago? When she saved three kids from a burning house?”

“Yes,” Jieun tensed, “I asked her about that.”

“Uh huh?”

“She told me she didn't do it.”

“What?”

“You might find this strange,” Jieun murmured, “but I have a record in clearing multiple extraordinary cases, even those that involve abnormal occurances.”

“I've heard about the... 'Jiyeon Case', the serial killing of the students?” Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrow.

A shadow crossed her face.

“It was 0419 hours in the morning,” she diverted the subject, “Dr. Park was asleep at her house, so how could she have known that a fire would break out 5 minutes later at a townhouse five blocks away and miraculously rescue three children in time?”

“I thought she was in the neighbourhood.”

“She said she was in the neighbourhood – that's the problem with the public, they believe everything they read about in the papers, it's almost funny.”

“Then why did she...”

“She was covering it up, she gave the public something they wanted to hear, she was protecting someone.”

“What?”

“I shouldn't even be telling you this.”

“Do you feel that this would have any concern with Hayi's disappearance?”

“Everything may be connected, I don't know – I don't take chances. I like Jinki,” she paused, “he seems like a nice person, but I don't like surprises.”

“What are you getting at?”

“At 0419, Sandara received a call from Lee Jinki, crying through the receiver – he was nine years old. He told her he'd had a dream about the house burning, and he wanted to sleep at her house. The parents were out. She'd driven over, decided to take Jinki out for a breath of air, but he'd cried and begged her to take his sisters out from the house as well. He was behaving strangely, as though scared out of his wits and screaming about a nightmare. Two minutes after Sandara had evacuated the house and was two kilometres down the road, when the Lee family house exploded into a ball of flames.”

Junmyeon listened intently without interrupting, his pencil forgotten.

“Reports revealed that a bomb had been planted by a serial bomber under the house, in midday when the children were in school. So how could Jinki have known?”

“He said he dreamt about it.”

“A month ago,” Jieun opened her file again and pointed at the newest entry, “I interviewed him off the record to learn about Chaelin's records – there were periods when he'd zone out and talk nonsense. Eventually I learnt to record these monologues and listen to them, as a shrink, I was qualified to point out any form of dementia and drag him off parole.”

“What did you gather?”

“I quote, 'a car came and ate her up, I wonder if I stop sleeping, she'll come back?'”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm not sure,” Jieun snapped the file close.

“But I'm pretty sure Jinki saw something about Chaelin's abduction.”

*

The spatula slipped between his fingers and clatter with a shrill, resounding clatter, ringing through the ward like shattered glass in an empty hall. Patients turned to look from their beds, eyes wide and spoons frozen in midair. Clumsiness in a doctor was a rarity, and perhaps worth a look, because Jinki was soon the centre of the entire wards attention. Ignoring the prodding megrim in his hand, he picked up the spatula, placed it into a plastic bag for later disinfectant, and picked a new one from the cupboard, scooping out powder and stirring it into a glass of lukewarm water.

“Here, finish it,” he said curtly to his patient, a little girl in crutches and hurried off, allowing the smiling nurses to relieve him and crowd the sick girl. Holding a clipboard in one hand and the plastic bag in another, he hobbled into his office, tossing down the cardboard piece and slumping into his desk for a rest of his neck to soothe his migraine by at least a percent. He was about to heave himself back up when he was pulled back into his swivel chair by Yesung, who appeared behind him, white coat gone – and grinning slightly.

“You look like .”

“Thank you.”

“No, really,” Yesung nodded, “you look terrible.”

“I haven't been sleeping – it's been 3 days. 3 frickin' days.”

“They're working on it.”

“I don't know,” Jinki sighed, “I really don't know.”

“Get some rest, go home.”

“I can't sleep.”

Wordlessly, Yesung tossed a tube containing two capsules into his lap.

“No,” Jinki couldn't even shake his head, it was searing so bad, “I can't sleep. I don't want to – whenever I sleep, I have nightmares.”

“Brain working overtime is...”

“Do you belive in premonitions?”

Yesung froze.