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Chapter Text

“Mr. Park?” A jovial man with red flushed cheeks, a bulbous nose and small eyes extended his hand. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity to interview for this position.” God, I am so tired. Just let me please get this job, Seonghwa prayed to a god that he didn’t believe in. Seonghwa shook his had firmly and the other man nodded in appreciation. 

“Maxwell Dalman. I’m the trustee for the client.” He sat down behind his desk and gestured for Seonghwa to sit as well. The lawyer looked at Seonghwa’s JC Penney suit and instantly deduced his economic bracket. 

“Since the advertisement was for a live in nurse, I had been expecting a woman.” Most people did the same, but that’s not my fault. Blame society and misogyny. Seonghwa thought, but he kept his face placid and pleasant. The lawyer continued, “Nursing is a woman’s job, so why aren’t you a doctor or a pharmacist? Or something like that.” 

“I had a scholarship to nursing school. I graduated top of my class. I am very good at my job.” It wasn’t a good scholarship, which was why he was looking for a job after being laid off from the state mental hospital. Some lunatics in the government had decided that it was a waste of tax per money to treat the lunatics in the asylums.

Mr. Dalman looked him over again with a jaded eye. There hadn’t been any other candidates waiting in the lawyer’s office lobby. That boded a little better for him. “How are you with difficult patients, Mr. Park?” 

“What kind of difficult patient?” There was difficult and then there was difficult. It was an important distinction.

“Mentally unhinged ones. Occasionally violent. Often verbally abusive.” 

Ah. Run of the mill crazy. “I understand.” That wasn’t anything that he hadn’t dealt with before. Seonghwa answered with confidence. “My previous employer was the state asylum. I also worked there as an orderly during nursing school and I did a rotation through the terminally ill wards at the state hospital. Specifically the dementia ward. I found it to be a challenging, yet necessary, position. I would still be working in that field if there hadn’t been budget cuts eliminating services. That’s why I applied for this position.”

“So you know how to use a straitjacket and how to deal with loonies in the looney bin.” Seonghwa nodded at the oversimplification of his duties. “That’s good.” Mr. Dalman leaned back in his chair. “Take off your jacket and flex your arm for me.” Seonghwa slipped off his tweed suit jacket and flexed his bicep. The lawyer reached over the desk and palpated the muscle with a squeeze. He nodded in approval. “You’re slim but you’ve got some muscles on your frame. You’re stronger than you look. That’s one of the problems we had with the previous nurses. They were good ladies, but they couldn’t maneuver the patient when he was being difficult.”

“And how often was that?” Seonghwa asked. 

“Frequently.” Mr. Dalman grimaced, then he leaned back in his chair. “This is a very person question. You’re not a homosexual, are you Mr. Park?” 

Seonghwa lied through his teeth. “No, I am not.” Like his sexual orientation ever made a lick of difference in patient care. It was an unprofessional question that didn’t deserve an answer that could screw him out of a potential paycheck. 

“I ask because you have this feminine aspect— you’re a striking young man, Mr. Park and I’m trying to decide if that’s going to be a problem or not.“ 

I can’t help my face, I was born with it. I’m not feminine, I’m Korean. You alcohol bloated pasty ass dipshit. All of his inner vitriol remained unsaid behind his pleasant smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve had to deal with a difficult patient. I assure you that I act with the utmost of professional standards for caregiving. You have my letters of reference to attest to that. The troubled gentlemen in the state asylum taught me how to avoid, deescalate and solve problems.” That was a pretty way of saying that he was able to dodge flying fistfuls of feces, talk manic patients down out of their metaphorical trees and give wicked fast tranquilizer injections.

Mr. Dalman rubbed his chin and then laughed. “You’re tougher than you look, aren’t you? You’d have to be, being a man in a woman’s profession. Always having to prove yourself to those bitchy women and do all the heavy lifting. You’re Korean, right? Bilingual?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa donned his suit jacket and straightened his tie. He was perfectly aware that a great many white Americans thought all Asian faces were the same. “My parents came over after the War.” 

“Our housekeeper was Korean. She was a mean old lady, strong as a horse, stubborn as a mule. Kept me out of trouble though. A good cook too.” Mr. Dalman picked up his pen, fiddled with it and set it down. Then he asked, “What’s your favorite kind of music? Are you into rock music?”

That was an odd question. “I enjoy listening to classical music. I played piano as a child.” It was also the music of choice for the recreation rooms and the cafeteria at the hospital. Music soothed the savage beast. And he had to admit that it works quite well. 

“Good, good.” Mr. Dalman nodded as if he’d passed some crucial test and then slipped him a piece of paper. “That’s the salary that we are offering you. It is a one year contract.” Seonghwa did his best to keep a neutral face when he wanted to pump his fist in triumph. It was an incredible salary, even for personal live in care. I could buy my own house and pay off my loans. Maybe even travel a little. A small light began to shine at the end of the perpetually dark tunnel of his life. 

“You’ll be living at an estate. Room and board is provided, as is health insurance. There’s household staff so you will only have to tend to the patient’s needs.” That sounded absolutely fabulous.

I’ve had to work entire wards before with no back up. I can handle one patient. This will be like a vacation for me. 

“You cannot speak to anyone aside from myself about who you are taking care of under any circumstance. All telephone calls are recorded for the patient’s privacy and safety. There is a strict non-disclosure agreement and you waive any rights to sue if you experience any physical harm from the patient.” He must be a celebrity, Seonghwa thought. Or a celebrity’s child. He could be Elvis himself and I’d still agree to provide care for this paycheck.

“What is the patient’s diagnosis?” He ran his thumb over a small half moon scar on his left palm. Some patients made him work harder than others.

“Severe anxiety and paranoia. He has a history of drugs and alcohol but he’s been cut off from them for years now. Fried his brain with stress and pills. To be honest, we don’t expect him to live for much longer. He deserves a comfortable, calm and peaceful end of his life.” And I bet you get paid quite a lot to facilitate that, Seonghwa thought. Just like the hospital administrators who never had to empty a bedpan themselves but still got bonuses every year.

Seonghwa nodded. “If I need equipment to take care of him, like a lift, will I be able to get that equipment in a timely fashion? Or if he needs personal care supples or medication changes?”

“Of course. Money is not an issue for our client’s care.” The lawyer continued, “All of his medications will be provided in monthly pre-packs, delivered in the mail by his personal physician. Just make sure he swallows them. You’re basically going to be his mommy. Keep him safe from his own destructive whims and keep him quiet until he dies. Sound like a job you can do?” In my fucking sleep. Another nod of agreement from Seonghwa. “So, do you want the job?” 

Seonghwa looked at the absurd salary one more time and said without hesitation, “Yes.” 

Mr. Dalman looked satisfied. He opened a thick folio of paperwork. “Excellent. We have some things to sign. I do hope you pass the background check and the drug test.”

Chapter Text

Seonghwa lived in a furnished room in a house near the state hospital that rented exclusively to healthcare workers. They were used to short term renters so it was no issue to pay off the rest of the month’s bills, disconnect his landline and forward his mail to the employee post office box provided by Mr. Dalman. He barely knew the names of his roommates as they all had different shifts. He did know that they’d eat all of the food he left behind in the refrigerator and pantry like opportunistic locusts.

He stood in front of the house with all of his worldly possessions in two suitcases. One held all of his precious textbooks and the other held his clothing and personal items. If someone made him choose between the two suitcases, he’d choose the books every time. I spent too much money on those books, they’re getting buried with me like I’m a scholastic Egyptian pharaoh.

He took a deep breath and looked up at the clear blue sky, letting the sunshine warm his skin and the breeze tickle his hair. This is going to be a good thing for me, he thought. I’m sure of it. It has to be. All my life it’s been a struggle to survive. 

He didn’t know the name of his patient. On all of the paperwork, the patient’s name had been either redacted or he was referred to as Client A. Whatever. If the lawyers were so sure that he was going to die soon, but they didn’t need to hospitalize him or hire multiple nurses, he had to be pretty old. He was good with old people and children. They just wanted someone to listen to them and ask them questions about their lives. Acknowledgement of existence was a fundamental human need, in his opinion, just as essential as food, water and shelter. He’d been the last point of human contact for many people during his hospice rotations. 

An ebony-painted luxury sedan with dark-tinted windows and chrome trim rolled up to the curb. A middle-aged man wearing a chauffeur cap, maroon leisure suit and muttonchops sideburns right out of a Civil War reenactment got out of the car and asked in a thick unplaceable accent, “Are you Mr. Park?” 

“Yes.” Seonghwa responded. He held out the lawyer’s business card and the man grinned in recognition.

“Nice to meet you.” He held out a hand and Seonghwa shook it. “I’m Harold, the errand lad and driver.” He had to be at least fifty. He looked Seonghwa up and down with a skeptical eye. “I’ve never met a male nurse before.” 

That wasn’t shocking. He’d gotten a fresh new short haircut to look more masculine and to give his mystery patient less to grab if he got combative. “I’ve never ridden in a fancy car like this before, so that makes us even.” Seonghwa smiled at the driver.

Harold beamed with pride and puffed out his pigeon chest. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? The master of the manor expects me to keep her well maintained. It’s hard to find a classic car like this one.” He held open the door for Seonghwa. “You get in and I’ll get your bags.” 

“The red suitcase is very heavy…“ Seonghwa began and Harold wrestled it into the trunk with a grunt and thud.

“Did you pack your rock collection, sweetheart?” The driver wheezed after he tossed in the suitcases. Seonghwa got in the car and the driver shut the door behind him. The sedan purred to life and Seonghwa couldn’t help touching the lush leather upholstery. “I’m just messing with you, Mr. Park. While I’ll miss the cute little white dresses and those starched hats, it will be nice to have another man around the manor. The manor is outside of the city, it will take about an hour to get there if the traffic angels smile down from Heaven upon us.” Harold turned on the stereo. “I hope you like country music, because that’s are the only music this jalopy plays.”

Seonghwa did not like country music. But he enjoyed Harold’s singing even less. 

Seonghwa had always been aware that he had grown up in poverty, like most of his neighborhood. His parents did their best to provide for his older sister and himself. Their soup was always thinned with a touch too much water, he wore secondhand clothing from a different decade and surprise bags of vegetables and canned goods showed on the Park family doorstop with jaunty little messages from Jesus Christ, but until he saw his patient’s home, he’d never been so acutely conscious of that fact.

Oh, I have always been dirt-poor, haven’t I?

The main manor house was set back at least half a mile from the gated access road. Random topiary shrubs sprouted along the driveway. They were vaguely animal shaped, as if someone only had the time or the talent to do a half-assed job on the trimming. Seonghwa counted at least four dried up fountains and a surprising amount of tiny gold-plated squirrel statues, affixed to the trunks of trees. Neoclassical statues gleamed like exposed white bones amongst the overgrown hedge-mazes. It was all very… tacky. Like a rerun of Fantasy Island or Dynasty. I wonder if Robin Leach ever filmed a show here… Champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

Harold buzzed through three sequential security gates and merrily cursed out two hungry looking guard dogs that circled the car like sharks right before he closed the final gate. They wore thick collars with small locked black boxes and fled with a yelp once Harold pressed a red button on his key fob. “Be gone ya bastards!” 

Seonghwa waited until the slavering, barking dogs went back to their kennel before he even touched the car door. “Oh don’t you worry about Dee and Dum. They’ll warm up to you in three or four years. They’ve got shock collars that keep them from leaving the estate grounds and attacking us. I feed them just enough to keep them motivated. I’m responsible for all the ground keeping. Sometimes I hire a crew to come in and work with me, but I prefer to be hands on.”

So he was responsible for those awkward topiaries. Harold tossed a ring of keys at Seonghwa and he snagged them out of the air. “Good hands!” Harold complimented Seonghwa. The keys were unlabeled and the fob matched Harold’s. “Keep those on you at all times. Even in the bathroom. That button activates all the shock collars within a twenty foot range. The dogs know to back down when they get a little tingle. Dogs are smart. Dogs learn from their mistakes.” Harold smirked for some reason and Seonghwa put the keys in his pants pocket. Harold gestured expansively at the enormous house in front of them. “Welcome to Seven Gables.”

“Seven Gables? Like the Hawthorne story?” Seonghwa asked. He stared up at the extravagant brick home and counted all of the triangular portions underneath the roof. There were indeed seven of them. There were far more than seven partially gilded columns holding up the massive front porch. It looked like the architect had put Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas in a blender with Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion.

“Hell if I know. All I know is that it’s too much house for too few people. With you, there’s four folks. On the bright side, there’s eight rocking chairs out here, so we’ll never have to fight for a seat. Let’s get your suitcases before you decide to quit.”

“I’m not planning to quit.” Seonghwa said, still boggled and a bit baffled by the architectural choices of his new employer. 

“I’ve heard that before.” Harold smirked again and opened the front door. 

Dust covers, white sheets and plastic protective sheeting draped all of the furniture. The air smelled like mothballs and the curtains were drawn to keep out the fading Californian sunlight. A cross-eyed stuffed tiger that was missing an ear stared down at them from an alcove above the grand staircase. Seonghwa doubted that any of the glass-fronted bookcases had been opened in at least a decade. All of the leather bound tomes were strictly for show, to make the owner look educated. 

“The first floor has the kitchen. We eat in there. Patty’s a good cook and she makes enough for the four of us.” Harold continued his tour. He seemed very well-practiced. How many times has he had to give this tour? He pointed at the right wing of the manor. “That wing of the house is closed off. There’s nothing of interest there. That goes for the most of the second and third floors too. Your key will let you go pretty much everywhere, but be careful of bats. Sometimes the little buggers sneak in and take up residence. Your quarters are over here on the first floor, next to the patient’s room.”

Seonghwa opened the door. His room was larger than any of his previous apartments. It might be larger than my childhood house… He set his suitcases down next to the crisply made queen sized bed. He had his own private bathroom complete with a shower and a soaking tub. The illuminated mirror reminded him of Old Hollywood starlets putting on their makeup for a film. The only flaw was the color scheme. Harvest Gold and Avocado, from the toilet to the sink and the tiled floors. The Seventies puked in here. “It’s really nice.” Seonghwa said.

“I know, right?” Harold chuckled. “Just clean up after yourself, because Patty’s hip is bothering her.” 

“I’d prefer to clean my own space, if that’s alright.”

“I knew I liked you. You’re a man’s man. And a nurse. But a man’s man.” I’ve never been called a man’s man before. I don’t think I like it. Harold continued, “Don’t use the elevator, I can’t remember the last time it was inspected and I don’t know how we’d get you out if you got trapped in there. There’s a dumbwaiter if you need to get anything to the second or third floor. The laundry is in the basement. Patty takes care of the linens and towels. Just chuck the wet and dirty towels in the laundry chute. We all do our own personal laundry.” 

“Even the patient?” Seonghwa asked, still exploring the his living quarters. I have a walk in closet? Jesus Christ. 

“Oh, he doesn’t really need much.” Harold shrugged and then leaned next to a reinforced door in the middle of a wall. It looked much newer than the bathroom and closet doors. “Want to meet him? He’s right through this door.” Harold tapped on the metal door. 

“Of course.” Seonghwa opened his suitcase and retrieved his clinical notepad, ready to jot down anything of importance in the shorthand he’d learned at school. 

Harold opened the adjoining door in Seonghwa’s room and flipped on the lights. Metal mesh covered fluorescent lights hummed as they flickered to life. The familiar scent of antiseptic and human filth slapped Seonghwa in the face. The patient’s room was enormous and dominated by a huge Plexiglas enclosure studded with ventilation holes. There was a slit in the door just big enough for human arms or a food tray. Like a doggie door. Inside of the enclosure was a stainless steel toilet and a low padded bench that was bolted to the floor. An industrial drain was mounted in the floor of the enclosure and a coiled hose connected to hot and cold taps to the side of it. The barred windows had metal mesh embedded in the blackened glass. Not a single ray of California sunlight came through the windows. It was a strange hybrid of a science fiction jail cell and a zoo exhibit. 

This is fucked up, Seonghwa thought, as he paid careful attention to locks on the enclosure. But they’ve done a magnificent job constructing this prison. It had to be a prison cell. Only a very dangerous, very special person would be kept in this crystal cage. All of his internal alarm bells were buzzing and chirping for attention but Seonghwa ignored them. I need this job. 

The mystery patient sat crouched in the corner farthest away from the door. He only wore a dingy straitjacket and a collar like the dogs wore. His long, stringy hair hung in tangles around his face. He looked strung out, too thin for his own bones. He hid his face from them in a classic guarded posture. His long toenails touched the concrete floor. Long toenails usually meant long fingernails too.

Harold clicked his tongue to get Seonghwa’s attention. He pointed at a massive wall of wooden cabinets and supply shelves. “Medicine cabinet is over here. Supplies in the cabinet over here. Charts and papers over there.”

I can handle a chart. Charts are familiar. If it’s not documented in the chart, it didn’t happen. His patient’s name was H. Kim. Mr. Kim. Age 32. I’d been expecting a geriatric. Seonghwa flipped through the notes. There hadn’t been any vitals taken on him in months. “When was the last time he’s eaten?” 

“I think Patty fed him yesterday.” Harold shrugged. “He only eats liquid food. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Harold shook his finger at the patient like he was an annoyed parent at the playground. “Play nice.”

Liquid food? Did Mr. Kim not have any teeth? There was no mention of dysphagia or other swallowing issues in the chart. There weren’t a lot of specific physical ailments or conditions noted at all. He frowned. Was this purely a mental health case? Why was Mr. Dalman so convinced that Mr. Kim was a hospice case? Mental health patients could live a normal lifespan.  

He looked at the list of approved and stocked medications. Injectable benzos. As needed. Enough to knock out a horse. Jesus Christ. They want to keep this guy tranquilized, drooling and docile until he dies. It’s been at least two weeks since his last dose. Am I going to have to deal with detox too? There was fuck all about that in the chart. 

There wasn’t a single painkiller in that supply closet or the medication list. Not even a Tylenol. Either they’d never been stocked or someone had used them all up or sold them. He’d seen it happen before at the hospital. Pain relief wasn’t something that the personal physician was worried about.   

At least I don’t have to deal with opiates. Poor bastard. What the hell did he do? He set down the chart. Shitty charting and patient neglect pissed him off. 

He moved slowly and calmly, deliberately minimizing any sudden movements. “Hello.” The man in the plastic cage startled at his voice. “My name is Nurse Park. I’m going to be your caregiver. I’m going to get closer to you, don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.” Seonghwa knelt down next to the patient; the clear prison certainly made it more convenient to do a visual assessment of the man. The patient whimpered and Seonghwa made a soothing sound. I’m not here to pass judgement on this man, I’m here to give him a better quality of life. But what the fuck did he do to get locked in this place?

“I hurt.” Mr. Kim whispered through one of the ventilation holes. “I hurt.”

“Where do you hurt?” Seonghwa asked. He hadn’t seen any wounds on any visible skin. 

“Under this.” Mr. Kim twitched his straitjacketed shoulders. “Blister on my belly. I hurt. Please help me.” He started to shiver.

Seonghwa’s first instinct was to go to the supply cabinet for wound care. It was the normal and correct thing to do for skin breakdowns. He located the topical ointment and the dressings. The cabinet appeared to have been repurposed for storing supplies. There were dark speckled mirrors mounted on the interior of the mahogany doors. Seonghwa just happened to glance in a mirror at the right time to catch a flicker of movement. One of the binding straps of the straitjacket drooped low and the patient twisted his body to hide it. 

Mr. Kim wasn’t restrained at all. 

Seonghwa gritted his teeth. He almost got me. I’ve been here for less than an hour and he almost got me. He wants to lure me into the enclosure. He’s either got a weapon or intends to knock me down to escape. He’s lucid enough to make a plan and follow it. And I don’t have three other much larger orderlies to back me up. 

The patient whimpered to get his attention. “Please help me. I hurt. I just want the pain to stop.”

Seonghwa made a show of washing his hands and gloving up. He watched the patient duck his head to conceal a smile, then he drew up a syringe of high-potency tranquilizer, capped it and slipped it in his pocket. 

I think I’ll go to Cancun after this, Seonghwa thought. Somewhere warm and sunny. I’ll get a tan and go swimming in the ocean. Drink too many rum drinks in coconut shells. 

He snapped the cuff of his glove and gave Mr. Kim a smile as warm as a tropical breeze. “You poor thing. I’m going to patch you right up.”

Chapter Text

Seonghwa unlatched the slit in the door and opened it. It was just big enough for a tray of food, some magazines or a human arm. Most of the wards he’d worked in only had a viewing port. The very dangerous patients were restrained, drugged and isolated, much like vicious animals at the zoo. I know that you’re a clever man, Mr. Kim. I just have to determine how dangerous you are. Will you need a muzzle to go with a new jacket?

“Mr. Kim. Would you like me to clean you up? Wash your hair? Give you a haircut like mine?” Seonghwa stood just out of grabbing range. Frustratingly close. “After I take care of your wounds, I can do that. Would you like me to care for you?” He kept his tone light and friendly. 

After a while, Mr. Kim whispered, “Yes.” Seonghwa smiled. It was always best to get permission from the patient before touching them. It respected their bodily autonomy and also gave them the illusion of choice. One way or another, Seonghwa was going to care for this patient. It didn’t have to be confrontational unless the patient insisted on it. Seonghwa loosened the needle cap on the syringe in his pocket with his thumbnail. Perhaps he’ll decide to be compliant. He took a big step closer to the door and waited.

Mr. Kim scooted towards the door, dragging his bare ass on the concrete floor with each little scoot. It was impressive that he still managed to give off the impression that the straitjacket was fastened. It was easy to see that none of the buckles were clipped now that Seonghwa was looking for the signs. Seonghwa decided to speed up the little charade. It had been a long car trip with terrible music and he had a soaking tub for the first time in his life. He reached in his pocket with his free hand and pulled out the keys that Harold gave to him.

Mr. Kim froze at the sight of the black key fob with the red button. Seonghwa almost pressed it at that moment, just to see what it did, but he resisted the urge. Nurses don’t inflict unnecessary pain or discomfort on their patients. I’m not a sadist. And I’m not stupid enough to trust an unknown device for my own safety and security. I’ll stick with what I know works. Good old pharmaceutical science. 

He dropped the keys in front of the door with a clatter that echoed in the silence of the huge room. “Oops. I’m so clumsy.” Seonghwa knelt down to pick up the keys. In the blink of an eye, Mr. Kim shrugged off the straitjacket and lunged at the door! The door shook from the impact as Mr. Kim slammed his body against the door and shoved his entire arm through the slit. Seonghwa twisted his body just out of reach and grabbed the patient’s arm. He used Mr. Kim’s own elbow to force down his forearm and prevent the patient from yanking it back in. Mr. Kim spat unintelligible obscenities at him and thrashed about, smearing spittle all over the plexiglas barrier. Seonghwa used his body weight and one hand to hold him in place, then he grabbed the syringe in his pocket, flicked off the needle cap and picked a juicy forearm vein. “There you go, easy as pie.” He emptied the syringe and tossed it out of the way. Seonghwa applied pressure to the injection site with his gloved thumb and watched Mr. Kim’s furious face slowly succumb to sedated slackness. Seonghwa let go of the patient’s arm when it was obvious that his grip was the only thing holding Mr. Kim upright. He stayed crouched down so he could visually monitor the patient.

Mr. Kim had vicious clawed nails, sharpened to raw points on the concrete floor, blackened with filth. Well, you’re getting a manicure along with your shampoo set, sir. Seonghwa wrinkled his nose. Fuck. I’ll have to use my own manicure kit. Great. He stood up and went to the supply cabinets. He located a washrag, a travel sized bottle of baby shampoo and a single bar of simple soap next to a stack of clean but dingy towels. There was a hair trimmer, a blow dryer and an electric shaver with an extension cord. Everything was unused in the packaging, which did not bode well for the quality of nursing care that Mr. Kim had received in the past.

He turned on the hot and cold taps and tested the pressure on the garden hose sprayer in the utility sink. After gathering all of his supplies, Seonghwa went back to the cage. He took a deep breath, kicked off his shoes and socks and opened the cage door. Mr. Kim didn’t move. Seonghwa gently pried open one of his eyes to check for reactivity. He was out cold. His breathing was still slow and regular, his pulse was the same. Seonghwa opened the patient’s mouth and visually examined the insides. He seemed to have all of his own teeth. Beautiful teeth. Maybe veneers. The canines were a little longer and sharper than usual, but nothing unusual. 

“Welcome to my medical spa, Mr. Kim.” Seonghwa patted him on the shoulder and got to work. 

Seonghwa lifted Mr. Kim from the floor and put him on the long padded bench. He turned the nude patient on his side and arranged his limbs so that if he vomited then he wouldn’t asphyxiate in his sleep. He gathered up the rest of his supplies, then used a squeegee mop to push the leftover rinse water into the drain. Can’t have him slipping and failing, hitting his head and ruining all of my hard work. Seonghwa locked the cage door behind him, tidied up and finally took off his gloves. He reclaimed his shoes and socks, then dragged in one of the plush recliner chairs from his room. Seonghwa grabbed a pen, the patient’s chart and a clipboard, then sat down in the chair to document. If it wasn’t written in the chart, it didn’t happen.

The room was silent except for the humming of the HVAC system, the rhythmic snoring of the patient and the tiny ticking of the second hand of his watch. It felt like any night shift at the hospital except he only had one patient and no one was actively coding. His stomach growled and Seonghwa glanced at his watch. It was well past dinner time. He stood up, checked the locks on the cage and did a visual assessment of the patient. He’s drooling and sleeping soundly. Can’t ask for more than that. Seonghwa yawned. Maybe there’s coffee in the kitchen.

There was only one entrance and exit to the patient’s room. I’m pretty sure that’s a violation of the fire code. It’s probably also a violation of his civil and human rights to be in that room, but I’m a nurse, not a lawyer. Seonghwa tried to remember where Harold had said the kitchen was located.

He took a wrong turn, flicked on the lights. Guitars, keyboards and drums lined the walls and a cherry-red baby grand piano dominated the center of the room. Seonghwa looked up at a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the glittering prisms dulled by cigarette smoke and dust. Seonghwa flipped up the dust cover over the keyboard and played a scale. It was wretchedly out of tune. Seonghwa sighed at the waste of a beautiful instrument and settled the dust cover back into place. 

“Oi. Can you play the piano?” Harold asked from the doorway. He had a bottle of beer in each hand. “Care for one?”

“Yes and yes please.” Seonghwa said. Mr. Kim would sleep until dawn with the dose he’d gotten. Harold popped the cap from Seonghwa’s beer with his belt buckle and Seonghwa gratefully accepted it. He gestured at the piano. “You should have a piano tuner come out. It’s a beautiful piano.”

“Eh.” Harold shrugged, clearly dismissing the idea. “The patient gets all agitated whenever people visit. You can plug in one of the electric ones. You can even move it into your room if you want. No one else is ever going to use them. This whole place will be put up for auction eventually.” Seonghwa’s stomach growled loud enough for Harold to hear it. “You missed dinner, so we saved you a plate. Follow me to the kitchen.”

The kitchen was massive, but the current cook had made it their own domain. There was a bowl of fruit on the island. Harold got a hearty plate out of the refrigerator and popped it into the microwave. It beeped and the savory aroma made Seonghwa’s mouth water. “Patty calls it hot dish.”

Seonghwa ate the entire plate of mystery beef casserole and finished his beer. “It was delicious. Please tell her that.” He rinsed off his plate and loaded it into the dishwasher. “I should get back to my patient.” 

Harold nodded. He was on his second beer. “How did the shock collar work?”

“I didn’t use it.” Seonghwa said and Harold’s eyebrows shot up.

“Everybody uses it.” Harold murmured. “I didn’t even hear any screaming. There’s always screaming. Every single time. They all needed hugs and cuddles. But not you. I guess you really are a man’s man.” Seonghwa had the feeling that Harold had enjoyed comforting the previous nurses.

“My last job was at the state mental asylum. I’m just happy there’s only one patient here for me to care for.” There was a newspaper on the kitchen island. “Could I borrow this? I haven’t read the paper.”

“Sure!” Harold said. Seonghwa tucked the paper under his arm. “There’s cable tv in the den two doors over too, if you get bored. Ah! You should know where his food is kept.”

“That would be a good idea. He’ll be hungry when he wakes up.” Seonghwa covered a yawn. “Excuse me, it’s been an eventful day.” 

“Yeah.” Harold pointed at a stainless steel refrigerator at the far end of the counter. “That’s where the meat milkshakes are kept. Protein powder, fiber powder, water and some other junk that Patty puts in a blender. She makes a big batch according to the doc’s orders and chucks the pills in there too.” 

Seonghwa opened the door. The shelves were stocked with reddish-pink plump plasma bags. Is this a protein shake served like a Capri-Sun? How can anyone be sure of the correct drug dosages if they make a big batch? He picked up one of the bags and hefted it in his hand. It was chunky and curdled looking. This is disgusting shit. Whatever happened to applesauce and saltine crackers? It does solve the problem of feeding him without utensils though.

“We put the bag on the floor, the straw in one of the holes and he sucks it dry. It’s fucking gross, isn’t it? But he slurps it all up.” Harold finished his beer. “If I had to eat that shit every day, I’d have offed myself years ago. He’s no better than a wild animal.”

Seonghwa put the bag back in the refrigerator and closed the door. “The straitjacket wasn’t buckled. He pretended that it was.” Harold blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Wild animals don’t pretend. They fight, hide or run away.  He’s not an animal. He’s a human being and much more dangerous than any beast.” A slow smile spread over Harold’s face. “Is something funny?” Seonghwa asked, a bit annoyed.

“Nah. It’s just—“ Harold shook his head and then barked out a laugh. “It took the previous nurses a while to figure that out.” He clapped Seonghwa on the shoulder, almost staggering the nurse. Harold said conspiratorially, “You know, it’s a good thing you didn’t use the shock collar. His collar has this special long-lasting battery, but the fobs just use AA. I think I forgot to replace the batteries after the last nurse left last week. She used it so many times that his neck was smoking. It smelled like pork chops in there.” Harold laughed again and then he yawned. “I’ll get some batteries for you tomorrow. I’m beat. Patty and I live next door in the servant’s house. Pick up any phone and press ONE and it will ring over there. I can’t promise that I’ll answer though. I sleep like the dead. Patty doesn’t speak a lot of English either. G’night Nurse Park. Sweet dreams.”

Seonghwa grabbed an apple and a banana from the fruit bowl before returning to his room. There were small lights along the carpet, preventing him from tripping on random taxidermy in the hallways.

He commandeered a small table and brought it into the patient’s room, setting it next to the chair for the newspaper, apple and banana. He used the en-suite bathroom and washed his hands. 

Seonghwa looked in the bathroom mirror at his own neck. He touched the tender skin on his throat. Last week, Harold said that his skin was smoking from the collar, last week. There hadn’t been any evidence of any burns or scarring on Mr. Kim’s neck. I looked at every nook and cranny of that man. I even made notations of his birthmarks and that tattoo of an angel with spiderwebs for wings on the back of his calf. He was dirty as hell, but there weren’t any wounds or burns on him.

Maybe Harold is just fucking with me. He seems like the type. I feel a little sorry for all the other nurses who came here woefully unprepared to deal with whatever kind of crazy lives in this house. But I’m different. He looked at himself in the mirror, cataloging his stubble, dark circles and pale skin. I already look better than I have in weeks. He smiled at himself. 

Finally, things are going my way.

Chapter Text

Seonghwa found a little reading lamp in his room and he took it with him into Mr. Kim’s room. He’d turned off the main overhead lights so that the patient could rest without fluorescent lights glaring in his eyes. The patient was still resting on his bench, his chest rising in deep and slow respirations. Seonghwa turned on the lamp, sat down, lifted the recliner leg rest and fluffed open the newspaper. He started with the front page. Wars, politics and business. The usual things that kept the media in business. He started to read an editorial about traffic circles, then gave up on that to read the comics. Seonghwa set down the paper on his lap to grab his apple and paused.

Mr. Kim was sitting cross legged on the bench, facing him. His posture was rigidly straight. Well, someone has built up an incredible tolerance to benzos, I see. Seonghwa noted the time on his watch. Mr. Kim’s brown eyes gleamed green then gold as they caught the lamplight and Seonghwa thought once more about apex predators captured and put on display at the zoo. A lion? No, he’s too lean. More of a leopard. He’s looking at me as if I’m a particularly lucky gazelle at the savanna waterhole.

I’ll let him watch me for fifteen minutes, let him make his impressions. We have all the time in the world. Seonghwa took a bite out of his apple and the sound of his teeth in the crisp flesh seemed as loud as a gunshot. He picked up the newspaper in his other hand and half-heartedly perused the funny papers. That cat sure does like his lasagna.

Mr. Kim ran his fingertips over his trimmed nails, one after the other, as if testing the keenness of their edge. His gaze never left Seonghwa. It would have been disturbing if there hadn’t been a cage of plexiglass, steel and concrete between them. 

Stare all you want, Mr. Kim. At least, you’re not jerking off while staring at me. Improper sexual impulses were a common thing in the asylum. Between the gay bathhouses and the mental hospitals, I’ve seen more dicks than I care to count. The eye contact makes it so much worse. Mr. Kim wouldn’t get any clothing until Seonghwa was sure that he wasn’t a danger to himself. He didn’t want to explain to Mr. Dalman that his client had strangled himself with a pair of briefs.

Wickedly intelligent eyes glittered then narrowed as if Mr. Kim knew that Seonghwa had been reading the same comic strip about a working woman craving chocolate for the twentieth time. It still wasn’t funny, no matter how many times he read it.

Fifteen minutes passed and Seonghwa set down his apple core. He carefully folded up his newspaper and addressed the patient, “Hello, Mr. Kim. My name is Nurse Park. How are you feeling?”

Mr. Kim licked his lips, then said in a clear tenor, “I haven’t decided yet. It depends on what you did to my hair.”

Clever. He had a sense of humor and the mental facilities to craft a subtle joke. That was promising. “Would you like a mirror?” 

Mr. Kim laughed, a rippling giggle. “I can’t see myself in mirrors.” 

“Why is that?” Seonghwa asked, mentally taking notes about his patient’s lucidity. 

Mr. Kim smiled condescendingly. He reminded Seonghwa of one particular shitty art history professor that had almost tanked Seonghwa’s undergrad grade point average with pop quizzes. “Because I have no soul. Mirrors reflect the soul.” He folded his hands and rested his chin upon them as if patiently waiting for the next stupid question from his class.

“Mirrors reflect light that bounces into our eyeballs for our brains to decode.” Seonghwa smiled back at Mr. Kim. “They don’t have anything to do with souls.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to look in a mirror. If I don’t look in a mirror, I can’t see myself in one.” Mr. Kim sniffed.

Perhaps it would have been easier if Mr. Kim had been a drooling jerk off enthusiast. He’s already giving me a headache. I do not like him, Seonghwa decided. And the feeling appeared to be mutual from the smirk plastered on the patient’s face. We’re just going to have to learn to get along, won’t we? 

Seonghwa decided to indulge his patient. “Can you be seen in photographs?”

“I certainly hope so.” Mr. Kim sneered. “The paparazzi will be so confused if none of their photos of me develop.” His tone went cold and brittle, the antagonistic taunting vanished. “What did you do to me?” 

Seonghwa answered, “I gave you a shot of tranquilizers because you tried to attack me. You’ve been asleep for about six hours. If you cooperate with me, I won’t sedate you in the future.”

Mr. Kim sneered, “Oh, I’m never going to cooperate with you. I don’t even want to know your name.” He spat on the floor of his cell, his words dripping with venom. “Pretty Boy.” That was not particularly creative, Seonghwa thought. It felt almost like a compliment. 

“My name is Nurse Park. What would you like me to call you? Mr. Kim.” 

“That’s my dad’s name, Pretty Boy.” 

At least they were communicating. Seonghwa folded his hands in his lap. “It would be very rude of me to refer to you as ‘hey you.’ So, I’d like to know how you’d prefer to be addressed.”

“It would be very rude of you to drug me too, but here we are. What else did you do to me?” Mr. Kim touched his body, exploring the magical changes that a little basic hygiene could accomplish.

“I gave you a shower, a shave and a haircut. And I trimmed your fingernails and toenails.” It set a baseline for care as well as establishing a relationship with caring, clinical human contact. 

Mr. Kim demanded, “What else did you do to me?” He reached behind himself to check his bottom. Seonghwa’s attitude softened just a little bit. Oh. Oh no. Life has not been kind to you, Mr. Kim. Not at all. I’ll need to work very hard to reassure you that I am not the kind of man who would molest someone in their sleep. 

“I blow dried your hair. Are you ready for something to eat? Sometimes the sedatives can make your tummy feel queasy.” He kept his voice calm and soft.

The patient slammed his fist on the plexiglas wall. “What ELSE did you do to me, you freak!? Did you touch me? Did you take pictures of me? I swear to God, I’ll rip out your throat if you--”

Seonghwa interrupted him. “Mr. Kim, I did none of that.”

The young man visibly deflated and hugged his own nude body, trying to shield himself from Seonghwa’s gaze. “I don’t believe you. Everyone wants something from me. You’re no different.” 

It was a losing battle to argue with him, so Seonghwa surrendered the skirmish. “Alright, Mr. Kim. I understand. Let me know when you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry, you idiot.” Mr. Kim grumbled.

“Nurse Park.” Seonghwa picked up his newspaper again. “My name is Nurse Park.” Titles held power. Honorifics indicated respect.  

“Oh you want me to be polite? You drugged me.” Mr. Kim chafed at his arms. “You want respect? Well, respect is earned, you bastard.”

Seonghwa nodded. “You are correct. Respect is earned. And once we treat each other with mutual respect and courtesy, then we’ll get along just fine. I want to make your— treatment, as pleasant as possible, considering the circumstances.” But I will drug the hell out you if you provoke me. I’m not an idiot. He ran his thumb over the scar on his palm. No one is going to bite me again.

”Oh, so you’re one of those bitches. Fake, fake, fake. Are you going to pretend to be my friend?” Mr. Kim hissed impotently. “Are you gonna suck up to me with sweet little words and make cute little promises that you can’t keep? Are you gonna make me hope that I’ll get out of this stupid fucking cage? Are you gonna whip out your carrot or beat me with your stick?”

“Is that what the other caregivers did?”

Mr. Kim flipped him off with both hands. “Fuck you. Shut the fuck up.”

“I am here to listen.” Seonghwa set down his newspaper shield again. 

Mr. Kim demanded, “What’s today’s date?” Seonghwa told him and Mr. Kim barked out a laugh. “Then I’ve had over fourteen years of people promising to listen to me but none of them have ever listened when I told them to just shut the fuck up!”

Seonghwa nodded again and silently watched his patient. The silence lasted for about two minutes before Mr. Kim blurted out, “So that’s it? You’re just going to sit there and stare at me?” 

Seonghwa pulled a ballpoint pen from his breast pocket and clicked it open. “I’m going to do the crossword puzzle and then the daily jumble.”

Mr. Kim seethed. “I am not afraid of you. No matter what you do to me, no matter what you say to me, I will not be afraid of you. My will is stronger than fear, stronger than hate. You will not break me.”

“I understand, Mr. Kim.” 

“I don’t think that you do. But you will. Eventually.”

“Alright Mr. Kim.” The conversation wasn’t going in a constructive direction. Seonghwa scratched at the stubble on his chin. “What’s a five-letter word for “stop”? Starts with an A.”

“Abate.” Mr. Kim spat. “As in my eternal torment will never abate. My disgust and displeasure at seeing your smug face will never abate. The hatred for everyone who keeps me in this cage that smolders in my heart will not abate. My rage--”

Seonghwa wrote in the word and smiled. “It fits. Thank you.”

“I wasn’t finished.” Mr. Kim huffed and tried to curl up on the padded bench. His skin squeaked as it dragged on the vinyl.

There was a thermostat on the way set to 68F. That was a bit cold for a nude patient, in Seonghwa’s opinion. “Would you like me to turn the heat up in the room?” 

“It won’t matter. I’m always cold. It’s just how I am now.” Mr. Kim shrugged with his entire body. He didn’t look like a thirty-two year old man. He looked much, much younger, even with the harsh shadows from the desk lamp. “And stop talking to me. I don’t like you.”

Seonghwa returned to his crossword. “Alright Mr. Kim.”

“That’s not my name, damn it.” Mr. Kim sighed as if he were a weary general accepting a deep concession in their intimate war. “It’s Fangs. My name is Fangs.” 

That was a dramatic name choice. Seemed more appropriate for a movie werewolf or a soap opera vampire than a slender young Korean man. Whatever. If using his chosen name helps him to stop attacking me, then I’d call him Pollyanna Snickerdoodle. “Alright, Mr. Fangs. Let me know when you’re ready for your food.”

Fang grimaced. “Drop the Mister. What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Seonghwa rubbed at his eyes. “I’m a bit sleepy. I’ll probably doze off soon. It’s been a long day.” 

“Don’t you know who I am? I’m Fangs! The one and only!” Seonghwa looked at him blankly and Fangs’ shoulders slumped. “Holy shit. You really don’t know who I am. Did you grow up under a rock? Are you a time traveler?” Fangs touched his own face as if reminding himself of who he was as well. He looked haunted, genuinely distraught. “Have people forgotten about me? I’ve been in show business since I was six years old— I have a Grammy—” 

“I don’t recognize your name. I’m sorry. I’m not really into pop culture.” Seonghwa apologized. “My parents were very strict—“ Why am I explaining this to him? “Sorry.”

“Fuck you, Nurse Park.” This time, Fangs sounded miserable instead of defiant. But he used my name. 

Seonghwa leaned his head back and thought as hard as he could about any celebrity named Fangs. A glimmer of a memory sparkled in his brain. “Are you a singer?”

“Yes!” Fangs brightened, his brilliant smile transformed his face into something delicate and lovely. Oh. That is the face of a celebrity, isn’t it? 

“You had a song in one of those Christmas specials. The one with the little clay animation squirrels that save Santa with their nuts! Am I right?” Seonghwa was convinced that he had the right singer. He hummed a few bars of the catchy little tune.

Fangs screamed, “I am going to pop out your eyes like ripe grapes, roll them around in my mouth while you scream and spit them down your mother’s throat!” Spittle spattered the plexiglass as he raged. “None of my work is in any fucking Christmas specials! I would never approve such a creative abomination!” Fangs’ chest heaved and he clutched at his own hair. He scrunched up his face and asked in a sad, small whisper, “Clay squirrels? Are you sure?” Seonghwa nodded and Fangs crumpled into a miserable ball upon the concrete floor. “Fuck you. Fuck everything. All I had was my music. My legacy. I have no reason to live anymore and I’m a fucking immortal.” He slammed his fist onto the padded bench in impotent rage. 

Seonghwa set down the newspaper and collapsed the recliner chair. He leaned forward and asked as kindly as he could, “What do you mean?”

“You won’t believe me. No one ever does.” Fangs looked at him over his arm, his bloodshot eyes wet with frustrated tears. “I’m a goddamned vampire, Nurse Park.“