Chapter 122: The Terrified Boy

Chapter 122: The Terrified Boy

Closing the door was a psychological suggestion to oneself, and the subsequent action of locking it further deepened that impression.

It was a dream, or rather, this kind of mutual connection and construction of "mental consciousness" used "dreams" as a vessel; the greatest taboo was to follow a "new scene" with a face full of confusion, wandering blindly into someone else's rhythm and forfeiting your own autonomy.

Immediately following this,

Karen turned and returned to the bedroom,

Where he saw himself lying on the bed, fast asleep.

A sigh of relief escaped Karen's heart; this meant he now stood on equal footing with that "old man." The other party had requested a "chat," and he had chosen to refuse.

Inside the bedroom, seeing himself lying there asleep was no longer a subtle suggestion, but a blatant declaration, meaning that he held complete autonomy over this "dream."

Karen closed his eyes,

And when he opened them again,

Karen sat straight up from the bed.

Outside the window, dawn was breaking; it was morning.

Purr was startled awake, rubbing her eyes with a cat paw while speaking:

"Karen, you're awake."

In the dog bed, the golden retriever also scrambled up, limbs splayed, beginning to stretch.

Karen got out of bed, walked out of the bedroom door, and looked at the tightly closed study door; the key that had originally been inserted into the handle's keyhole was now lying on the floor.

Bending down, he picked up the key, inserted it, and opened the study door; inside, it was very quiet and very clean.

Karen walked over to the desk and discovered a book had been placed upon it.

Picking up the book, he looked at the cover; the title was "Only Light Can Illuminate Your Past."

The author's name on this book was blank;

Karen remembered that when he was browsing the bookshelves in the study, he had encountered this book, but he had chosen to skip past it.

Yesterday, when he entered the study, the desk had been empty, and it was impossible that Purr or Kevin had a sudden whim last night to come into the study in the dead of night to read, much less to read this particular book.

However, for the sake of caution, Karen still called out:

"Which of you went into the study last night?"

"Not me."

"Woof!"

"He says not him either."

"Oh, I had a dream last night, and in the dream, I saw an old man sitting here reading a book in the study. Now I find this extra book on the desk. In the dream, he even called me to come in and chat."

Purr tilted her head: "So, what did you two chat about?"

"Woof?"

"I closed the door, we didn't chat."

"Hmm, a wise choice." Purr nodded.

"Woof!" The golden retriever nodded as well.

"Could it be the previous owner?" Purr asked.

"I don't know. The previous owner left the furniture but didn't leave behind a single photograph. When I come back from work, I'll ask Araya about the former owner's appearance."

"So, something strange has appeared in the house, and you still have to go to work?" Purr asked.

"Are you trying to say the house is haunted?" Karen asked in return.

"Pretty much..."

"Look at yourself, then look at Kevin. Do I need to worry about a haunted house?"

"I think what you say makes a lot of sense!"

"Woof!"

"The two of you stay home today and inspect the house from top to bottom again, with the focus on this study. Alright, I am going to the hospital now to visit Alfred. There is food in the kitchen and small pastries on the dining table; you two can make do with those."

"Oh, Karen, you don't need to worry about us. No matter how stupid the two of us are, we won't starve to death at home."

"Alright, I'm leaving."

Karen picked up his briefcase, took the bag containing Alfred's clothes, and walked out of the apartment.

"Should I take the tram or not?" Karen hesitated for a moment.

He was not hesitating because yesterday's events had left a shadow making him afraid to ride the tram, but rather because he feared that due to yesterday's events, the tram on this line might not have resumed service today.

However, luck was on his side; Karen saw a taxi parked ahead, the driver leaning against the car door, eating a sauced flatbread he had just bought from a street vendor.

The Wienese were very fond of sauces; all kinds of heavy-flavored sauces were an almost indispensable part of their lives, and because of this, the Wienese were also very fond of flatbreads, as they were convenient for holding the sauce.

"Need a ride, sir?"

"Yes."

"Alright, please step inside."

The driver wrapped his half-eaten flatbread in a bag.

"No rush, you can finish your breakfast."

"No, can't delay the customer's schedule. Where to?"

"Conyor Hospital."

"Understood."

Because it was early morning, ahead of the morning rush hour, the road conditions were excellent, and the car reached the hospital entrance with almost no delays. The money to settle the fare came out of the 200 Reals left over from yesterday.

Then, Karen suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to bring his savings book out with him; he had originally intended to go to the bank to withdraw money today.

Instead of rushing into the hospital, Karen first approached a mobile vendor outside the hospital entrance.

Well,

A flatbread stall!

"Oh, handsome gentleman, what would you like to eat?"

The woman wearing an apron looked at Karen and licked her lips; her lips were merely somewhat dry and chapped from being bitten by the cold morning wind.

"Three flatbreads."

"Alright, what flavor of sauce?"

"One with no sauce, one with chili sauce, and one with tomato sauce."

"I bet your friend who said no sauce must be a lonely heretic," the woman said.

Karen nodded; he himself did not want to eat one with sauce.

"Six Reals. If one has no sauce, five Reals will do."

"Here."

"Thank you, please take care."

Karen, carrying three stuffed griddlecakes, entered the hospital, climbed the stairs, and stepped into the ward.

Inside, Xili was feeding Alfred a piece of meat floss bread.

"Young Master." Alfred smiled the moment he saw Karen.

"Young Master, you are here," Xili said, rising to her feet.

Karen handed her the griddlecakes.

"Haha, griddlecakes!" Xili was delighted. "Have you eaten, Young Master? Which flavor of sauce did you choose?"

"I will have the meat floss bread."

"Alright, Young Master."

"These are Alfred's clothes. Yours are not here because there were none at the house," Karen said.

"I am fine, Young Master. Last night, I asked someone to send word home saying I would be here taking care of my employer. This morning, my father and brother came by to bring me my clothes, and they bought this meat floss bread for me too."

Evidently, because of this highly paid maid position, Xili's status within her family had risen significantly.

"Furthermore, Mr. Alfred is doing very well. When the doctor examined him last night, he marveled that it was a medical miracle. He said that in all his years as a doctor, he had never seen anyone recover so well from such extensive burns, calling it a sweet rain bestowed by the gods."

"Cough..."

Hearing these words, Alfred, who was chewing on a griddlecake, choked.

Xili immediately patted his back and offered him some water.

Having finished the meat floss bread in his hand, Karen instructed, "I am heading to work now. Rest well and nurse your injuries."

"Yes, Young Master."

"Do not worry, Young Master, leave things here to me."

Karen nodded, walked out of the ward, washed his hands in the restroom first, and then stepped out of the inpatient building, where he once again spotted the Pavarotti family hearse.

The rear door of the hearse was open, and Pick and Dincom were loading a corpse. This time the body was not a fat man, so the loading went quickly.

Karen walked over to greet them. "So early?"

"Ha, bumped into you again," Pick responded with a smile. "We took another order this morning, fresh off the death certificate. Thanks to you, the family of the deceased chose our funeral home because we chose to rescue the injured and rush them to the hospital at the very first moment."

"It is the two of you out with the car again. Where is Mr. Pavarotti?"

"The boss went to have some pastries. We rushed over immediately after receiving the call early this morning, and the boss got off halfway. I think the young ladies were not even awake yet; the boss was still knocking on the door when we left."

"Mr. Pavarotti truly possesses great health and excellent spirits."

Dincom looked at Karen and said, "The place where you live is not far from our funeral home. Come visit us when you have time."

"Alright, certainly. Once I settle the matters at hand, I will pay a special visit to express my gratitude. Please attend to your work, I must be going."

"Are you heading back?"

"No, to the Saint-Thor Building."

Dincom spoke up, "It is not far anyway, we will drop you off. Pick, go drive."

"Right away."

"Is that appropriate?" Karen asked.

"What is inappropriate about it? It is very hard to hail a taxi at this entrance."

"Then thank you very much."

"Do not be so polite, we are all friends now."

Just then, Pick jumped back down from the driver's seat. "Dincom, there is still a form here that has not been stamped."

"Go get it stamped then."

"Alright." Pick smiled at Karen again. "I will be right back."

After Pick ran off, Dincom looked toward Karen and suddenly spoke:

"I heard from the boss's wife that the gentleman brought in yesterday is your boss?"

Karen looked at Dincom, in no hurry to answer.

He knew that between the two workers, Pick was the most careless, while Dincom was the more meticulous one—which was why Dincom had reminded Pick after he shouted "Praise Order" that day.

Seeing that Karen remained silent, Dincom continued, "But that day, I heard that gentleman call you... Young Master?"

Sure enough, he had remembered this detail.

"The boss's wife was originally hoping to earn some token coupons from you, haha."

This was a reminder to himself that a priest was your servant.

Karen nodded.

Now, it was Dincom who was caught off guard; what did it mean to just nod without saying a word?

There was not the slightest panic of a "false identity" being exposed on Karen's face; instead, he looked at him with utter composure.

"Who on earth are you?" Dincom asked.

To have a priest as one's servant at such a young age—what kind of background must he possess?

"You did not tell Mr. Pavarotti about this, did you?"

"No, I only just thought of that title from the other day when I saw you."

"Good, please keep this secret."

"Heh, on what grounds?"

Karen assumed a grave expression, crossing his hands over his chest:

"Praise Order."

"..." Dincom.

"When those who maintain Order become corrupted, the whip that represents Order is required to flog them."

"You... You are the Whip of Order!"

"Shh." Karen made a silencing gesture to Dincom. "You are merely a minor servant of God. Our investigation into Mr. Pavarotti, no matter the outcome, will not affect you, unless you insist on entangling yourself in it."

"No, I will not. The boss's affairs have nothing to do with me."

"Good. In fact, Mr. Pavarotti should have guessed our identity, which is why he was so proactive yesterday."

"I think the boss might not have... The boss has always, always been very kind," Dincom said.

"That is for us to judge, not you."

"Yes, yes, yes, I understand. I will not say a thing, I will keep it a secret."

"Mm."

"Stamping is done." Pick came running back. "What were you two chatting about? You look so serious."

"Dincomb said he wanted to take me out for dim sum, but I refused."

"Hahaha, that fool Dincomb. With looks as handsome as yours, why would you ever need to spend money to get a bite to eat?"

"That is exactly what I told him, which is why he got angry."

"Hahahahaha."

Pike laughed as he slid back into the driver's seat.

When Karen boarded the vehicle, Dincomb reached out a hand to assist him, but Karen declined and climbed into the rear carriage on his own to take a seat.

Upon entering, Dincomb sat directly opposite Karen, his posture remarkably straight and rigid.

Humming a tune, Pike drove on, entirely oblivious to the situation in the back.

Midway through the journey, they passed the site of yesterday’s tram explosion. A crowd of demonstrators had already gathered, placards at the ready, bearing slogans that read mostly along the lines of "Against Illegal Immigration" and "Purple Ghosts Out of Wien."

Yet, to Karen's slight surprise, standing before the protesting crowd was another group of well-dressed, purple-haired individuals. They seemed to be negotiating with the demonstrators. Even when subjected to verbal abuse, accusations, and outright shoving, the purple-haired group chose not to resist at all, despite possessing noticeably larger and sturdier physiques.

Pike blew a whistle and sped past before the traffic could be choked off by the march, not missing the chance to mock them:

"Well, look at that. No fists flying, they are actually trying to use reason."

The Saint Tor Tower soon came into view. As the vehicle ground to a halt, Dincomb took the initiative to open the carriage door for Karen.

"Please watch your step."

Karen stepped out and waved them goodbye.

You, a mere servant of the gods...

Heh,

And I, an exalted chosen one.

"Karen."

A familiar voice rang out. Karen turned around to find Piaget.

"That carriage you just stepped out of looks terribly familiar."

"A hearse."

"Is competition among funeral parlors so fierce these days that hearses are competing with taxis for business?"

"It belongs to a parlor very close to where I currently reside. I know the people there, and they offered me a lift."

"Ah, so that is how it is. And here I thought you were conducting market research," Piaget teased. "I half expected you to open a funeral parlor of your own in York City."

"The thought crossed my mind, but it is not practical at the moment. For now, being a psychiatrist suits me better."

"Hearing you say that brings immense comfort to me as your friend and employer."

"Heh."

"But if you ever do intend to open one, let me know. I will invest in it."

"An investment is not necessary right now, but I do need an advance."

"How much?"

"Twenty thousand Riels. I had intended to withdraw it from the bank today, but I forgot my passbook."

"I will have Bertha prepare it and bring it to your office. In cash, I assume?"

"Yes."

"No problem."

"I will pay you back tomorrow."

"We can just deduct it directly from your salary to save the trouble."

"That works too."

Karen and Piaget stepped into the elevator together. As it ascended, Piaget spoke up. "You have an appointment today."

"Yes."

"You are early."

"More or less. I certainly need time to prepare."

The elevator reached their floor. Stepping out, Karen gestured toward the waiting lounge and noticed that the father and son from yesterday were already seated there.

"I am not early; rather, I am late."

"Thank you for your hard work," Piaget said with a smile, walking toward his own office.

Bertha walked over, lowering her voice:

"Mr. Karen, your clients have arrived. They are much earlier than the scheduled time."

"No matter. Show them into my office in ten minutes."

"Very well, Mr. Karen."

Karen entered his office first and sat down. Since the boy's father was accompanying him, Karen decided to put on his professional uniform.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

The office door swung open, and Bertha led the father and son inside. She handed Karen a medical record file, while a secretary following close behind brought in a fruit platter and tea, placing a glass of ice water before Karen.

The door clicked shut.

"Do I need to step out?" the father asked, looking at Karen.

Karen scanned the medical record and spoke without looking up:

"Mr. Tadel?"

"Yes, that is me."

"Please take a seat. You may remain with your son, but until I direct a question to you, please do not interject."

"Of course, Doctor."

Karen closed the file and looked at the young boy sitting across from him.

"Good morning, little John."

"Good morning, Doctor. I am sorry to make you busy before our scheduled time. My father was terribly worried about my condition, so he brought me here very early."

A remarkably mature child. Only eight years old?

To be precise, not even quite eight yet.

"It is quite alright, I am very fond of my work. Your mother has passed away, yet you can still see her at home, and even interact with her?

By that, I mean playing together."

"Yes."

"How do you feel about the fact that your mother has died? Forgive me for being so direct."

"I quite prefer this direct approach," little John replied with a small smile. "The doctor yesterday kept treating me like a toddler and wasted a great deal of time talking about nonsense."

"Of course, ours is an exchange between equals."

"Very well, I shall answer your question. I know my mother has already passed away; she died when I was five, and I still remember her funeral."

"So, how exactly does it feel to have your mother reappear like this? Has she... returned from the dead?"

"No, Mother is dead."

"Then who is this mother now?"

"She is my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. I know my mother is dead, but I get so dreadfully lonely when I am home by myself. And so, I need a mother. Whenever the need arises, she appears, and she plays with me just like any ordinary mother would."

"Your awareness remains perfectly clear. Tell me, can you see your mother anywhere else, apart from at home?"

"I would like my father to step outside for a moment," little John said.

"Mr. Taddel," Karen said, turning his gaze toward the man.

"Very well." Mr. Taddel complied without hesitation, rising to his feet, stepping out of the office, and closing the door behind him.

"Now then, are you ready to tell me?" Karen asked.

"I am."

"When?" Karen inquired.

"Right now."

"In this very room?"

"Yes."

With a faint smile, Karen glanced around the surroundings and asked:

"Where is she?"

"Mother is sitting right on your lap."

"On my lap?"

"Yes. Mother says you are far handsomer and more attractive than Father, so she simply cannot help but want to be close to you. It is just that these words are rather inconvenient for Father to hear; it would break his heart."

Karen lowered his gaze, looked down at his own thighs, and shook his head.

"I feel nothing."

"Mother's hands are caressing your chest this very moment."

"I feel nothing of that either."

"Mother's lips are pressed against your nose. She says the scent of your body is quite wonderful."

"I still feel nothing."

"Mother is right by your left ear, blowing a soft breath."

"Ah, still nothing."

Little John let out a quiet sigh,

and said:

"There is indeed a good reason why you are more expensive than the doctor who examined me yesterday. That doctor yesterday was so terrified he hid trembling under the desk."

"Heh heh heh." Karen let out a low laugh. "So, you were attempting to hypnotize me just now?"

Little John nodded his head and said, "Your psychological defenses are remarkably formidable."

"I think you are a genius," Karen remarked, "but you ought to learn to control your talent."

"My father owns a textile mill and is quite wealthy; I can well afford the medical fees."

"And what of it?"

"I should like to come and chat with you often, if I may?"

"Of course you may."

"Mother, I am thirsty," little John spoke up.

At that exact moment,

the water glass originally set before Karen suddenly levitated into the air and was delivered straight to little John's lips. The boy opened his mouth, and the water within the glass was fed to him drop by drop, as though an invisible matriarch were truly nursing her child.

Having finished the water, little John stuck out his tongue and smiled at Karen.

The glass was returned once more to the desk,

and then,

Karen seemed to catch the faint sound of high heels lightly treading upon the floorboards, drawing closer to his side.

Immediately afterward, "she" sat upon his lap, and subsequently, "her" hands began to caress his chest. Against his neck, he detected the sensation of a breath, moving slowly upward until a stream of warm air was softly blown into his ear;

finally, his earlobe felt as though it were enveloped by a tender warmth, and teeth were gently biting down upon it.

Little John shrugged his shoulders and said, "I can close my eyes, and if you do not call my father, he will not come in. Therefore, you are perfectly free to engage in some delightful business with my mother right now."

"You do not mind?" Karen asked.

"She is my mother, true, but my mother is already dead." Little John tilted his head with an air of mischief. "I trust you can catch the underlying meaning within those words."

Karen nodded his head, his finger slowly rising as he traced a gentle circle in the air, murmuring silently within his heart:

"O Great God of Order, O Chains of Order that decree all things;

Permit me to borrow your might, to chastise this deed that violates the sacred order..."

Little John covered his eyes with both hands,

and said:

"You may begin with her now, just pretend I am not even here. See how good I am to you? I pay money to seek your counsel, you receive a handsome consultation fee, and you get to enjoy pleasure as well, heh heh.

Am I not good to you? So, hurry up and enjoy yourself..."

All of a sudden,

every single one of those bizarre sensations upon Karen's body vanished into nothingness,

"Thud!"

Little John fell straight off his chair in sheer terror, lifting his head to look up at Karen seated before him with a face full of horror and utter disbelief:

"You... you... you actually intended to kill me outright!"