Chapter 68: Marita

Chicago, North-South Memorial Hospital.

The hospital was as crowded as ever today. The afternoon influx was so heavy that the registration queue stretched all the way to the glass doors. A security camera in the corner of the wall silently monitored the lobby, its lens sweeping past nurses and doctors who hurried by, pushing stretcher carts while shouting to clear the way.

The Chicago news headline broadcasting on the LCD screen mounted on the lobby wall was the thrilling highlights of last night’s much-anticipated matchup between the Chicago Bulls and the Los Angeles Lakers. The former narrowly defeated the latter 93 to 91, a two-point margin that sent basketball fans across all of Chicago into a frenzy of continuous celebration.

Clearly, as the sports broadcaster joyfully discussed how brilliantly their city's team had performed, no one noticed that a horrific serial murder case had recently transpired within the walls of this Chicago public hospital.

Last night, the Chicago Police Department had taken over North-South Memorial Hospital overnight. All news media outlets were collectively silenced; not even a single reporter could set foot past the main entrance. Blocked by some mysterious force, the morning newspapers of Chicago did not carry a single mention of the murder case. The usual self-proclaimed champions of the news had all turned into mutes, and not a single "brave soul" stood up to criticize the Chicago Police Department for its weakness and incompetence.

Even so, within the inpatient building of North-South Memorial Hospital, last night's homicide was still known to many of the hospitalized patients. Suppressed by the official media, the bizarre and terrifying murder case grew increasingly chilling and grotesque as it passed from mouth to mouth. Rumors that "the killer has not left the hospital" intensified by the day, and the most widely discussed topic of all was the "girl targeted by the demon"...

The Inpatient Building, Twelfth Floor.

A wheelchair was being pushed slowly down the corridor. Although the faint friction of the wheels against the floor was quiet, it drew the gazes of countless patients lining the aisles and filling the rooms on both sides.

Discussion.

Whispers.

Sympathy.

Fear.

Aversion.

A multitude of complex, unwarranted emotions converged and fell upon the person in the wheelchair. She said nothing, only burying her head very low. The nurse pushing her from behind desperately wanted to offer words of comfort, but when she thought of the terrifying ordeal the girl had suffered the night before, all words failed her.

It was too much. The girl had endured far too much.

Death, the killer, blood, corpses.

That nightmare would push anyone to the brink of a nervous breakdown, and the girl was no exception. She was only an ordinary person; she felt fear too, which was why she was trembling. Her hands were clenched into tight fists inside her sleeves, as if she were trying to grasp onto something to make herself feel secure.

The nurse saw it all but felt completely powerless. She could only manage a strained smile as she pushed the wheelchair all the way to the end of the corridor, toward the girl's private room, as if hiding the girl away was the only way to truly give her peace of mind.

Room 1201. The nurse stopped the wheelchair in front of the door. She reached out to turn the doorknob, but accidentally pushed the door open instead. This caught her somewhat off guard, because prior to this, Room 1201 had been occupied solely by the girl in the wheelchair.

The girl in the wheelchair instinctively reached out and grabbed the wrist of the nurse who was pushing her, her eyes wide with terror. The nurse panicked slightly as well, but after glancing at the patients lingering in the distant corridor, she mustered a surge of courage and pushed the door of the hospital room open.

The wind rolling in from the shores of Lake Michigan swept into the room, gently lifting the bangs on the forehead of the girl in the wheelchair.

The girl widened her eyes slightly, her fingers unconsciously loosening their grip on the nurse's wrist. In her hazel pupils, the reflection of a boy by the bed came into view.

It was a sunny afternoon.

In the distance, the shimmering waves of Lake Michigan rippled endlessly. The boy was wearing a light-colored hospital gown, leaning lazily against a chair by the bed with his head resting against the half-open glass pane, dozing with his eyes closed. His profile was turned precisely toward the clear blue sky outside the window. A wisp of willow-like brow, budding with the early arrival of spring, gave him a delicate and somewhat feminine beauty. His black eyelashes had been bleached white by the sun, and amidst his naturally swaying black hair seemed to reside the wind of midwinter, blowing from one side to the other, smoothing out the chaotic heartstrings of everyone in the room.

Outside the doorway, the nurse noticed that the wheelchair in her hands had moved. Surprised, she looked down and saw that the girl was independently pushing her wheelchair toward the boy by the window. She stopped at a distance of two to three meters, quietly and curiously studying the boy.

For some reason, upon seeing the boy, she felt an inexplicable, causeless sense of deep peace. The nightmares that had plagued her were suddenly as clean and untainted as the scrap-free blue sky above the boy's head. There was nothing left except the sky, the lake, and the person—no, the sky, the person, and the lake. The blue sky was above, the boy was in the middle, and far in the distance behind him lay Lake Michigan, placing him right between the two, as if cradling all the beauty the eyes could possibly behold.

Suddenly, the boy's eyelashes fluttered slightly, as if he were about to wake up.

He slowly opened his eyes, and those pitch-black pupils locked onto the girl in the wheelchair watching him.

The girl had a cascade of golden hair, but compared to the lovely shade of gold the boy was familiar with, her hair color was still a bit too youthful—not pure enough, not dazzling enough. It seemed to require the sunlight streaming through the window to render her long hair into a color as beautiful as a Madonna’s gold, stirring a sense of wonder in the heart.

Thus, the boy shifted his body slightly, allowing the previously blocked sunlight to shine upon the girl's face. At that moment, the room seemed to brighten unexplainably, causing the boy to widen his eyes slightly.

Interestingly, both of them, meeting for the first time in this hospital room, reacted in the exact same way. They were both carefully examining each other's faces, their minds racing with countless thoughts. Perhaps what they wanted to see was not the same, but the common thread among the images surfacing in their minds was that everything represented pure beauty—like a modern painting, like a white dove, like the rows of white sails on Lake Michigan, like a statue of the Virgin Mary.

Neither of them spoke. Both were waiting for the other to break the silence.

The room remained utterly quiet, so still that the sound of distant waves beating against the lakeshore could be heard, until the boy finally collected his thoughts and spoke first.

"Hello... My name is Lin Nian. And you are?"

"Helena," the girl said hurriedly. "My name is Helena."

The moment she spoke those words, the girl let out a long breath, like a drowning person finally breaking the surface of the water, seeing the first ray of salvation descending from the brilliant sunlight behind the boy.

***

"An 'S'-grade and 'Marita's' first meeting. Who's betting on whether the 'S'-grade will be dumbfounded?"

In the Executive Department’s temporary operations briefing room, someone let out a whistle, and all the agents watching the real-time surveillance feed of the hospital room couldn't help but click their tongues in admiration.

The scene was as beautiful as a new work of art. For most of them, this was their first time seeing 'Marita,' the girl targeted by the demon. Upon beholding her appearance, they all more or less understood why the Tactical Department was so certain the Blood-Faced Killer would strike again.

She was like the Mona Lisa hidden in the Louvre; as long as she hung there for a single day, the thieves fantasizing about stealing her smile would never run out of ambition.

"'Marita' was the first one to be dumbfounded. Looks like a tie; I guess I won't have to throw away my lunch money today." The agents in front of the screen shrugged and stuffed the stacks of cash on the table back into their bags.

"After all, our 'S'-grade isn't bad-looking either, and he was meticulously groomed by our makeup master before making his grand entrance." Many agents chuckled as they looked back at the corner of the briefing room, where Special Agent Gloria stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall and watching the screen with a slight nod.

Wanting to pass off as a patient required makeup techniques to produce a sickly appearance. In this operation, Gloria was the only agent who understood makeup, but it seemed everyone had underestimated Gloria's mastery from the makeup classes taught exclusively to female agents. After a bit of refinement, their 'S'-grade had bloomed with a beauty that did not pale in comparison to 'Marita.'

Because of this, mischievous senior agents had even opened a gambling pool. The wager was simple: when the 'S'-grade and 'Marita' crossed paths for the very first time, which of them would be struck dumb by the other's "beauty"?

Judging by the feed on the screen, they had fought to a draw. The 'S'-grade had successfully defended the dignity of a Hybrid's superior genes.

"Seriously, has anyone investigated whether she's a Hybrid?" the agent monitoring the room's conditions fixed his gaze on the screen at the girl's well-defined, beautiful facial profile and couldn't help asking.

"She's not a Hybrid. 'Marita's' background has been thoroughly mapped out by the Executive Department. Her father is a Hollywood blockbuster director, and her mother is a Victoria's Secret model. She’s naturally gorgeous and even worked as a child star for a few years. She was quite famous a few years ago, but later withdrew from show business due to her studies. Her background is completely clean; her beauty is just the result of superior natural genes. Even among ordinary people, one or two such 'monsters' are bound to be born." The door to the operations briefing room was pushed open, and Ryder walked in carrying a stack of files. He slammed the files onto the table, crossed his arms, and stared at the screen. "Has there been any activity on the twelfth floor or the other floors?"

"No, everything is normal," replied the agent monitoring the floor feeds.

"Looks like 'Beta' has already made contact with 'Marita,'" Ryder said, sitting down in a swivel chair and looking up at the screen. "Now, it's just a matter of patiently waiting for the fish to bite."

"Captain, by the way, I have a question," someone suddenly raised a hand.

"Speak."

"We made the 'S'-grade look so good... Won't the Blood-Faced Killer suddenly take a fancy to our 'S'-grade instead?"

Many people in the briefing room froze. Ryder was stunned for a few seconds as well. He turned to look at Gloria, then back at Lin Nian on the screen. After a few moments of silence, he rubbed his chin and said, "Surely... not, right?"

His tone was fraught with uncertainty.