Chapter 19.1

Chapter 19.1

The monotonous tone of the dial rang out. Tuut, tuut. It stretched longer than usual.

I stared down at the twisted cord of the phone, trying my best not to show how tense I was. It wasn’t just because I’d finally been allowed to make a call. It was because I could feel the weight of the gaze fixed on me, arms crossed, standing by the door.

When I first asked to use the phone, Deputy Ki’s reaction had been instantly negative.

For inmates, letters were the only means of communication. Each one was screened by the guards before being delivered to family or acquaintances. Those letters were the only way connecting this closed world to the one outside.

Even that ignorant Wangnyeo, at least once a month, would sit at her desk with a pen clutched awkwardly in her hand, big as a pot lid, asking her family to send money or things she needed.

Phone calls were only allowed under extreme circumstances, when someone was dying, or as good as dead. Only under the supervision and permission of a guard.

I wasn’t dying. I wasn’t injured. I had no reason that could justify a phone call, so Deputy Ki had refused me immediately, for the first time since I’d begun asking him for things.

“My family… I just miss them so much.”

I cried when I said it. The tears and the words were both real.

Even if she’d been a criminal, a daughter in her prime locked up in prison, how could her family not visit, not write, not send a single word? I truly was curious about Ham Yoehee’s family.

But the tears came because I was desperate. I needed to talk to someone outside, no matter what it took. I needed to find someone who could help me, someone who would believe me.

As I trembled and wept, Deputy Ki silently helped me back into my p2n.t!i2s and pants. He pulled down the collar of my prison uniform, which had ridden up and exposed my chest, and lifted me to my feet.

I thought that was the end of it. That he meant for me to give up the idea of a phone call entirely. I told myself it must have been too reckless a request.

But just before we stepped into the corridor that led back to the cells, he suddenly spoke.

“If I don’t let you use the phone, will you hate me for it?”

What had I said to him then?

“…I’d still like you.”

Of course I would! Deputy Ki was far too useful to give up over a single phone call. Letting go of such a handsome, good-in-bed lifeline with my own hands would’ve been plain stupid.

He only stood there silently, watching me as I walked back into the cell that day. Then, two days later, before the evening roll call, he told me to come with him.

It wasn’t a day for cleaning the infirmary, so I followed him curiously. He led me into a small room where a single phone sat on a metal desk. That’s how I ended up here now, clutching the receiver.

Tuut… the line had already rung more than ten times, but there was still no answer. I turned to Deputy Ki.

“What time is it now?”

He checked his wristwatch and told me. Inside the prison, it was nearly time to sleep after dinner and roll call, but outside, it was still early evening, the busiest hour. Especially for someone working in broadcasting.

I placed the receiver back onto the rotary dial and asked carefully.

“My family… they must not be home yet. They’re usually there around this time. Could I maybe… wait another ten minutes and try again?”

The first request had been the hardest, but once the line had been opened, asking for a mere ten more minutes wasn’t much. Deputy Ki nodded right away.

The phone sat between us on the steel desk, the kind you could find in any office. I was seated, while Deputy Ki stood beside me, arms crossed. It occurred to me that, given our positions, I should probably be the one standing.

“Have you had any contact with your family?” he asked.

Who knows. From what I’d heard, Ham Yoehee had been transferred to Cheongjin Women’s Prison about three months ago after serving two years in another facility.

No one had come to visit in that time. Maybe her family was too ashamed of their daughter in prison, or maybe the distance made it difficult. Either way, the fact that no one had come was proof enough that Ham Yoehee was broke and forgotten.

“I don’t really know… Honestly, I don’t have much to say about my family.”

There wasn’t much I remembered. Only a faint fragment of memory, one that told me Ham Yoehee had an older sister.

“My sister. I mean… I have a sister. She’s really pretty, and… she’s good with words too…”

In Ham Yoehee’s memories, the faint image of her sister carried warmth. She couldn’t remember her face, her voice, or even how she spoke, but one thing was clear: Yoehee had always thought of her sister fondly.

Maybe that sister could help me. After all, it was her younger sister’s body that another woman had taken over. She might even bring in a shaman to drive me out.

That thought barely crossed my mind before a sharp pain shot through my head. It felt like I’d just been struck, a dull ache spreading through my skull. Maybe it was a memory overlapping—the moment when Geummi’s body had been in the accident.

I shook my head lightly to chase away the throbbing pain and looked toward Deputy Ki.

“Are you close with your family, Deputy Ki?”

The question slipped out before I realized it.

What?! Get a grip! What are you trying to do, chat him up now? Why the hell would you ask something like that?!

He didn’t answer, and a heavy silence settled between us. Just days ago, we’d been tangled together, panting, our bodies slick with each other’s fluids, and now it felt absurdly awkward. Trying to break the tension, I changed the subject.

“Um, Deputy Ki… if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“…”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it… It’s just, you know, since we’re… like that. I mean, people usually get curious about someone they like, right? That’s all…”

Maybe I’d gone too personal. If all he wanted was my body, maybe I looked like I was trying too hard to get close. I glanced up, watching his expression carefully.