Hongjoong had visited pathologist San Choi thrice during his training, and every time had been worse. Back then, Yunho told him he would get used to it with time, but Hongjoong vividly remembered his nightmares. The first time he inspected the mortuary, he had also thrown up.

As he ankled down a sterile white corridor towards the postmortem room of the local hospital, Hongjoong felt that same queasiness. Through the scent of disinfectant and the sharp tang of chemicals, he always found this area of work to smell like going into a butcher's. Even if no blood was visible, he knew it was there, and it churned his stomach the same way a killer taking apart a victim did. 

San's laboratory was right next to his main access point for dead bodies. Though he knew they were meeting, he was likely still at work. Steeling himself, Hongjoong peered through the large window offering a view of the corpse room. Most steel doors along the wall were closed, but one unveiled its grisly contents. San stood next to the stretcher with a clipboard in hand, studying his findings with his assistant Jongho, whom everyone lovingly called 'little Choi.' How a young gee such as him landed in this field of work was a shared riddle among everyone associated. He smiled so brightly, yet he never looked perturbed at the sight of a stiff.

Hongjoong's pale visage stared back at him through the glass. Finally, he lifted his fingers to knock on it.

San lifted his head and nodded at him. After giving instructions to Jongho, he snapped his gloves off and dipped outside.

"Detective Kim," he greeted Hongjoong, and they shook each other's hands. Hongjoong wasn't wearing his lid today, but he could swear the stench of death already settled in his clothes. It surrounded San like his personal perfume.

Pathologist San Choi looked exactly like one would imagine someone from his line of work. Strong arms and shoulders for sawing through bones. The perpetual ghostly white uniform and terrifying hands that were experts with tools. His smirk was ever so sly and unnerving and the sharp slant of his eyes glommed everyone with the mulling of how their body could best be taken apart.

Hongjoong got the heebie-jeebies whenever he saw him. Though Jongho's genuine happiness might be even more unnerving to deal with when his front was splattered with blood.

Thankfully, all four of Seonghwa Park's husbands were already below the earth. There was no body left for San to pluck on and study until Hongjoong's stomach flipped over.

Thus, they left the corpse hall, which made Hongjoong's skin tingle and blood slow in dread to steer for San's office. One day, he would also be on one of those stretchers. Depending on who ended his existence, San would have a field trip prodding at his leftover skin.

Shuddering when memories of a past event he had to attend came up, Hongjoong closed the door to San's office behind them. Blood wasn't so unnerving when the body losing it still moved and made an effort to retrieve it. But a body void of blood, just stretchy skin and red organs, that was the true horror.

Sometimes Hongjoong wanted not a shred of his body to remain after curtains, so no one would intrude in his final rest. But San did essential work. And he tugged the according files right out of his cabinet.

"Yunho already rang me, so I prepared. Never knew all four of those old eggs shared the same wife," San snickered. He sunk into his chair to grab for a pen and somehow, those fingers made it look like a scalpel.

"Husband," Hongjoong corrected as he tugged the file in. "He's deceptively beautiful, with a sharp tongue. I'm not surprised everyone scrambles after his beauty, especially at a certain age. He is in for the money"

"Even better when it gets them killed," San purred. "I ordered them chronologically."

With a nod, Hongjoong flicked open the first page.

Marcus Gallagher, aged 83 at the time of curtains. He had died of a heart attack. Seonghwa Park should have been in his late twenties at the time of marriage. Since he had an otherwise clean record, this might have been his first victim, or it might have been a natural death that inspired him to accelerate things in future marriages.

Hongjoong was surer than ever. No person of Park's calibre needed to spend time with some old eggs. Unless for the quick inheritance, they had no worth for him. Easily fooled by his beauty, they married him and offered him the world and red lips smiled like those of a demon as he reaped their lives.

San hadn't mentioned anything notable back on the report. The victim had been regularly examined since there was no reason to suspect a violent death.

"He can't have hidden poison or a strike to the heart beneath natural symptoms?" Hongjoong asked, sharp to even the smallest details. These reports were his first evidence of Park's crimes.

"A random, beautiful vamp wouldn't know how to wield a shiv, even when the goal was murder. We can assume he is no trained killer, otherwise he would know to hide his traces. Then we wouldn't be sitting here."

Grumbling, Hongjoong flicked to the next page. It would be too easy to find an injury and the matching blade in Park's possession.

Harvey Thompson, 79. He was the one who died in that freak accident while working on the chimney. He hadn't been educated in that work, and San noted an ongoing back injury. Most likely, his age gave out on him.

"Emergency services were at the scene?"

San nodded.

"The spouse called them, but they were too late. Thompson died of shock."

Again, an internal death that wasn't easily faked. Park called for help after curtains, so he could be sure the old geezer breathed his last breath. It made him look innocent, but a person with such shrewd eyes knew the boundaries of an aged body, and he knew when to call so the fellow couldn't be saved. It cleared his conscience, but his wit was a tad too noticeable in his smiles to match his feigned innocence.

The third husband was called the bent politician Clayton Bennett, the oldest of the bunch with 86 at curtains. He was the richest man Park had been married to, but his age gave away the simple deduction of his heart attack.

"He was the first one Yunho had me examine with more caution, but again, no hidden assault. We may assume his vamp of a husband could have purposefully tried to over-exert him, but that's our best bet."

Hongjoong loosened his tie to lean over the document, soaking up every word that might hide the most relevant hint. 

Park's allure earned him that money in inheritance to his name as payment for his services. Balm money, so to speak. A weaver signed with his husbands as repayment in case of an untimely death. His part of the bargain was to bring heaven upon these old eggs before their final breaths. Show them youth and energy so they didn't wither away pitifully. But as soon as everything was signed, he struck. No more use for fouling old men. Not when he could have endless riches. 

"How so?"

"This one had coronary heart disease, which means clogged arteries and a higher likelihood of myocardial infarction. We cannot trace what triggered it, but one way to get blood pumping even at an old age is sex. Might just be your daisy got down on him and ended the poor egg."

An abrupt blush took over Hongjoong's features. It shouldn't be there since he was at work, but he couldn't help the vivid imagination of his mind. After all, he saw Park in the flesh and his allure was almost stifling. Sickening as that vision was, he wasn't surprised if it was how Park gathered his victims. 

"Maybe," Hongjoong muttered, not wanting to follow that thought. Park's gambits were sickening and preyed on the decline of aged brains. Was it fun to him to see them try to match his younger body? His energy? Did he laugh when their hearts gave out and he caused another end in the most natural way?

How sickening.

The last husband, Albert May, had choked on an apple. It carried no poisonous substances but wasn't chewed properly by aged teeth. 72 was old enough to lose caution and Park had called the emergency services hours post-mortem. Hongjoong bet he waited purposefully, just to be sure.

With his information memorised, Hongjoong nodded at San. Those sly eyes tracked him, so intrigued by the energetic pump of blood through the detective's cheeks.

"I will meet Park in the evening and ask him some questions about these four incidents. Thank you for your work." Horrid as it was.

San rose to shake Hongjoong's hand.

"I wish you the best of luck, detective. May our next meeting not be on the stretcher." His grin was bright yet chilling in its meaning. Hongjoong hysterically ran his hand through his hair. He needed a smoke after this. San was the best suited for this work and damn, if he ever switched sides to become a button man, it was over for London.

"Have a nice day."

While being surrounded by corpses wouldn't be a nice day to Hongjoong, to San, it was. As the cutter took off with a whistle to attend to his butchery, Hongjoong scurried with his new notes. Jongho waved at him through the window and his gummy grin contrasted with the raw liver in his gloved hand.

Gagging, Hongjoong made his way out of there. Even in the fresh air, that metallic tang lingered in his nostrils. Damn cutters and their eerie gaff.

Hongjoong went home for a change of clothes. Park had contacted him for tea, dialling the number of the office since Yunho was the Jeong in association after all. He had shadowed Albert May in case he died. Glad their ruse fooled their suspect, Hongjoong dug through his closet.

His teeth were on edge at the prospect of seeing Park again. His deceptive shine hid such a ghastly personality and even if he didn't kill them, he was only in for the money.

Hongjoong needed to be cautious to see through the lies without getting caught.

In his best shirt and his new hat, Hongjoong left the house. His shoes were old and shabby, but he hoped Park wouldn't point that out as a fault.

On his way through London's streets in a hack, Hongjoong contemplated his strategy. He stared into the bleak grey of London in boredom, but a movement of uncanny grace at the entry to a building had him perk up. His eyes caught onto smiling red lips and a black coat on male shoulders. 

He tapped the driver's shoulder.

"That building; what is it?"

"'tis a blind pig. Your place to go for some smoke and b-girls," the man grunted back. He slowed the car at Hongjoong's apparent interest.

Hesitant, Hongjoong clutched his lid in his lap. A place of illegal liquor would be prudent to allow one like him in, but he might find information on Park's activities. Could Hongjoong follow him sneakily and stay undercover?

Choose now: 

1. Follow Seonghwa -> go to chapter 9

2. Go to Seonghwa's house -> go to chapter 8