Chapter 25: S#5. The Lloyd (2)
by fnovelpia
The old professor picked up a piece of chalk.
He drew a cute bee on the blackboard above the podium.
“Bees don’t get lost. Even if they’re released in a remote area, they eventually find their way back to the hive.”
The undergraduates were listening to the professor’s lecture.
“Pigeons, toads, and salmon do the same. Even if they’re placed in locations where they can’t orient themselves, they find their way home.”
Nancy Strode was among the undergraduates listening to the lecture.
“This instinct to return to their distant homeland is known as the homing instinct. It’s far more developed in animals than in humans. Unlike humans, who rely on memory, animals use an internal compass to…”
Suddenly, she thought of Summer.
He claimed his homeland was Korea.
Of course, it’s an unbelievable story.
To anyone, his origin seems clearly American.
Summer must have some mental issues.
But she couldn’t seek help.
The best they did, Dr. Johnson, ended up buried in the backyard.
Calling another psychiatrist might just add another grave.
“Haah…”
Nancy sighed softly.
She had a strong desire to help Summer.
Plus, Summer’s birthday wasn’t far off.
She decided to give him a present.
Something that could be a warm comfort.
Nancy’s heart pounded.
The next morning,
I went to work at Hive Hospital.
The phrase “A strong body houses a strong soul” written on the exterior wall of the hospital building greeted me.
I remembered what happened yesterday.
I tried giving Ellen a massage.
The moment I grasped her slender shoulders and applied pressure, Ellen screamed.
It hurt so much she almost cried.
Even when I tried to massage gently, she said it hurt.
It seemed I couldn’t control my strength well.
I was worried.
If I couldn’t control my strength during physical therapy, I might hurt or even kill a patient.
“Don’t worry, rookie.”
My mentor said that.
“The muscles of our hospital’s patients aren’t satisfied with just any stimulation.”
His name was Stallone.
He wore a red band on his head and a tight sleeveless shirt, a muscular man who didn’t look like a healthcare professional at all.
And he had a unique accent.
“Stallone, where are you from?”
“From a place far away from America. Want a cigar?”
“No.”
Stallone bit on his cigar.
We entered the first patient room.
A muscular male patient sat on the bed, his leg apparently broken and in a cast.
Seeing us, the patient pulled out a brick as if he had been waiting for us.
“Why is he taking out a brick?”
Confused, I asked Stallone.
“What’s that for?”
“The patient is a bricklayer by profession.”
That didn’t explain why he took out a brick.
He surely wasn’t planning to build a wall in the hospital room.
Stallone chewed his cigar thoughtfully.
“Rookie, if you were a bricklayer with 10 years of experience, could you remember how many bricks you’ve laid?”
“I wouldn’t remember. I can’t even remember how many loaves of bread I’ve eaten, let alone how many bricks.”
“Right. You wouldn’t remember with your brain. But your muscles remember. The experience of laying bricks accumulates vividly in the bundles of muscle fibers.”
“……”
“It’s a kind of association technique. By using the tools involved in the exercise, it helps to recall the memory stored in the muscles, maintaining strength and pushing limits.”
…What is that?
It sounds like cheap pseudoscience.
However, I’ve heard about muscle memory.
The theory that if you repeat an exercise for a long time, the muscles, not just the brain, retain a memory of the activity.
It’s what people mean when they say “the body remembers.”
The bricklayer patient placed the brick on a shelf and focused on it.
Stallone began physical therapy in that state.
The therapy was violent.
He twisted and bent skin and muscle together.
He showed no mercy to the patient.
Yet the patient endured, screaming but bearing it.
Apparently, having more muscles made him accustomed to pain.
The sound of cracking came from the leg.
It seemed like the leg bone had broken again…
After the physical therapy session, we administered an injection.
It was a syringe filled with pink liquid.
“Stallone, what is this medicine?”
“It’s steroids.”
“St… steroids?”
“Don’t worry, rookie. These are medical steroids. They help prevent muscle loss.”
The treatment continued in other rooms.
Each patient had their own “exercise tool.”
These tools were used for physical therapy.
A tennis player received acupressure with the end of a tennis racket.
A boxer was hit with gloves.
A rock climber received a massage while hanging from a wall.
It felt like Stallone turned into a giant muscle, exercising on behalf of the patients.
The finale was always the injection of pink steroids.
A unique treatment method of Hive Hospital.
I’m not sure if it actually works.
But all the patients liked it.
They said it felt like they were exercising themselves.
It felt like it would help maintain their skills.
“Rookie, you get it now? We’re doing rehab and training at the same time.”
“Isn’t treatment supposed to come first?”
“Of course, they get treated. Now, you take care of the next patient.”
“It looks challenging.”
“I’ll coach you. Just remember this. Never touch the scapula, the wing bone.”
“Why not the wing bone?”
“It’s a very sensitive area.”
Aren’t the spine and pubic bone more sensitive?
Anyway, I was thrown into the field.
It was a difficult patient.
He looked like a gorilla that had just escaped from the zoo.
His size was intimidating.
The patient pulled out a chair and a folding ladder.
I asked Stallone.
“What about this patient? Is he a furniture maker?”
“No. He’s a professional wrestler.”
A professional wrestler.
His shoulder muscles were as big as bowling balls.
Before starting the actual treatment, he asked me to slap his back.
“Hit me as hard as you can with your palm!”
I didn’t hesitate at his request.
I swung with full force.
Whack-
The patient passed out with a death rattle.
I woke him up with cold water.
“Gah…!”
“You asked me to hit you as hard as I could, didn’t you?”
“That was too hard…”
Under Stallone’s guidance, I carried out physical therapy.
The professional wrestler patient seemed satisfied.
He screamed in pain, but he took it.
That was my first treatment session.
The next room I went to was Room 404.
“A patient who was admitted today,”
Stallone said.
I felt an inexplicable tension.
Maybe it was because of the ominous number ‘404’.
I even felt a strange chill.
I opened the door to the room. A patient was lying on the bed.
He had a cold look.
It was hard to guess his age.
He looked like someone who had stripped away all expression.
Upon seeing us, the patient pulled out a machete with rust spots here and there.
He also took out a stiff and thick rope.
That’s…
Serial killer equipment.
“Could I ask what your profession is?”
“……”
The patient didn’t answer my question.
Now that I looked, his body was covered in scars.
It was eerie.
Having a machete and rope as exercise tools. What kind of exercise had he been doing?
I could only think of a murderous exercise of tying up victims and slicing them with a machete.
The frightening patient silently underwent the physical therapy.
From beginning to end, there was no response.
He kept his gaze fixed on the machete and rope, not moving his scar-covered body.
After administering the pink steroids, we left the room.
“Stallone, what does that patient do?”
“He was admitted today. How would I know?”
The cold gaze of patient 404 lingered in my mind.
It was the unmistakable look of a murderer.
Stallone lit a cigar.
He used a flint, not a lighter or matches, like a real man.
“Hive Hospital’s opening anniversary is coming up.”
“The opening anniversary?”
“Yes, next month. I’m looking forward to that day. I’m going home then.”
The opening anniversary of Hive Hospital.
Coincidentally, that day was also my birthday.
It had been a week since I became a physical therapist at Hive Hospital.
Fortunately, nothing significant happened.
Sometimes during a massage, patients would experience muscle spasms or faint.
But those were just minor medical mishaps.
Perhaps because they were all tough guys, they felt refreshed after waking up from fainting.
The patients were very satisfied with my no-nonsense massages.
They all praised me.
But the man in Room 404 was different.
He always pulled out a machete and rope and then remained silent as if dead.
His body was more like a mannequin than a human.
The broad blade of the machete added to the sense of fear.
Out of curiosity, I pinched his thigh hard.
It was an attack that would have made anyone else pass out, but the man just glared at me.
When I got home, Nancy greeted me with a wave.
“Summer! How’s work going…?”
“Yeah, it’s manageable.”
“Your birthday is coming up…! Is there anything you want as a gift?”
“Um, not really. Haven’t thought about it.”
“……”
Lately, my relationship with Nancy had become a bit distant.
Due to our schedules for school and work being mismatched, we spent far less time together than before.
On the contrary, I became much closer to Nancy’s mom, Ellen.
Thanks to the special massage techniques I learned from Stallone, I relieved Ellen’s fatigue.
“Summer, can I ask for your help today too?”
“Of course, Ellen.”
Ellen sat down on the sofa in front of the TV.
I stood behind the sofa and placed my hands on Ellen’s shoulders.
Unlike the bulky muscles of the patients, Ellen’s body was very soft.
I couldn’t be as aggressive as I was in the hospital.
I touched Ellen’s shoulders as gently as if handling a baby.
“Ah, that hurts a bit, Summer… softer, please…”
“How about this?”
“Oh, this is just right.”
My fingertips moved along the muscles.
I had become accustomed to controlling my strength.
And I had learned which areas were sensitive.
I focused on the spots that often tensed up, adjusting my pressure.
Ellen twisted her body a bit.
“Your skills have, uh, improved tremendously…! You’re like a massage genius.”
“That’s too kind.”
“Do you have female patients at the hospital, Summer…?”
“There are a few, but it’s rare.”
“Do you give them massages too?”
The female patients also received physical therapy.
Though not as muscular as the male patients, they were fit.
“A lady like me must feel different to you,”
Ellen said with self-mockery.
I shook my head.
“No, Ellen, you’re very healthy. I’d believe it if you said your physical age was in the 20s, even teens.”
“Hmm~ I think you need to explain more for me to understand?”
“Like the elasticity of your skin, or the flexibility of your muscles…”
Ellen laughed.
“Ha-ha. I know it’s flattery, but it’s nice to hear.”
It wasn’t flattery.
I thought so as I touched her elastic and smooth skin.
The news was playing on the TV in front of the sofa.
-[At around 5 PM today, the dismembered body of a woman was found behind the church in Tromaville.]
Suddenly, my hand, which had been massaging Ellen’s shoulder, stopped.
A dismembered body…
The man from Room 404 flashed through my mind.
-[Based on the analysis of the cut surfaces, it is presumed that the weapon used has a broad blade like an axe or machete…]
…Maybe his machete held more than just rust.
0 Comments