Spider

After the tape was broadcast, Dr. Neef's office fell into a brief silence similarly to the eve of a tempest.

"My God..." Jason murmured, feeling like he was watching a weird thriller, but couldn't say a word when it came the time to project his impression.

Douglas kept tapping the desktop with the tip of his pen as he looked at the screen, and finally stopped now. "...It's illegal to install a camera in a hospital ward without permission. We may take you to court for voyeurism and invasion of privacy, Mr. Westchester."

"That's only after you explain to me why a patient who your hospital claims is 'unconscious due to brain tissue damage' would crawl up like a resurrected zombie in middle of the night," Adrian said calmly. "Or did a miracle patronize this vegetative gentleman, allowing him to suddenly recover overnight and then become nimble enough to play on computers and do push-ups?"

The doctor who was being questioned exposed a rare helpless expression. "I'm as puzzled as you are about this. But this is a fact, after all. My personal opinion is that there's absolutely nothing wrong with Mr. Lange's brain, and he's been pretending to be sick all along."

"Not all along. At least when he was sent to our hospital from the scene of the car accident half a year ago, he only had half his life left." Simon, who sat silent beside him, suddenly spoke up. His face was pale and somewhat abnormal, and a careful observation would reveal the fingertips of his crossed hands trembling slightly in anxiety. Warren Lange was the first patient he took over after he became a full-fledged doctor. Although he wasn't his attending doctor, he still devoted himself to his work with the same enthusiasm as every memorable 'first time.' Until today, he still regarded him as the most meaningful patient for himself, but now he discovered that enthusiasm to simply be the greatest irony.

His superior nodded. "That's right. There were multiple comminuted fractures throughout the body, extensive internal bleeding, and a severe concussion. It took us a lot of effort and almost three months to treat him, during which time we had to issue two critical care notices alone. Just when we thought he was gradually recovering, the patient developed symptoms of comatose, and mechanical examination couldn't find the exact cause because the brain's neural network is enormous and sophisticated, and inherently has many unknowns. We couldn't understand this up to now, so it could only be judged based on the pathological characteristics displayed by the patient that it may be due to brain nerve damage — an inference that seems to be a mistake at present."

"Typical case of doctor's occupational disease, always thinking that everyone has such and such a problem, and even if it looks ok, it's just because the problem hasn't been found!" Jason took the opportunity to vent his resentful feelings.

Simon stood up and said listlessly, "Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom." His back seemed somewhat gloomy as he walked out, his footsteps weak and flabby.

Jason watched sympathetically as he disappeared behind the door, turned his head and then asked, "But why the fuck is he still pretending to be sick in the hospital when he's healed? This isn't Paradise Island, I don't even want to stay for a minute longer!" When he said the last sentence, he rolled his eyes quite rudely. "He was able to lie in a hospital bed like a vegetative for three months! Good gracious, isn't he afraid to lie down until his muscles atrophy? It's truly hard to understand how some people think."

Adrian shook his head. "I think it's pretty understandable and worthy of admiration. Or it can be said that Mr. Warren Lange has quite amazing tricks and fortitude, otherwise he should've checked in to the family graveyard three months ago."

"What does that mean?" Jason asked. Douglas also showed an interested expression.

Adrian pulled up a piece of information on his computer screen and pushed it over to them. "Don't tell me nobody knows who Warren Lange is? Check it out, he’s one of the directors of the multinational transportation giant Cyril Lange & Co. Two years ago, he made a name for himself in the industry by planning the acquisition of Basel Kogan's transportation company, known as 'Ohio Fox.' He's been on TV and won the Illustrious Contribution to the Economy and Outstanding Public Service medals awarded by the government, and donated funds to build electronic street surveillance equipment throughout New York City. Even two of the satellites in the sky have W.L. engraved on their wings, and if it weren't for the car accident half a year ago, I'm guessing the White House would've given him another Presidential Citizenship Award or something. That accident happened right in the heat of the battle for the chairmanship, so he was unluckily deprived of the opportunity to succeed the late Lange, who died of illness, and now his uncle Dawn Lange has taken over that position. It's just like a Hollywood movie, isn't it."

"Oooh, a modern version of Hamlet!" Jason cheered up at once when it came to movies, as he liked to watch those special effects edited into dazzling commercial blockbusters. "So, the famous and unlucky Mr. Lange had to endure humiliation as part of his mission to make himself look non-threatening, lying in bed in a vegetative state during the day, turning into a remote-controlled underground Avenger by night, while also not forgetting to do rehab exercises. I bet his opponents were all hit by smoke bombs and are still holding wine in celebration! Hah, that scene must be shot out of a sense of irony: the one who thinks to be the hunter has become the prey instead. If it weren't for my presence, Mr. Hunter would've laughed smugly every time he thought of his masterpiece. No wonder he knocked me out," Jason concluded, looking in high spirits.

A little surprised, Douglas asked, "You're not angry?"

"Why the hell should I be? It's not like he came into my bed and put his hands on me!" Jason gave him a sideways glance. "Actually, if he'd say hello to me and say that he didn't want to be disturbed in his nightlife, I wouldn't mind keeping this little secret for him."

Douglas looked at him with interest and slowly pulled out a distinctly shaped smile. The blond boy before him was simply like a fantastic piece of laboratory test paper. Even if you put it into a familiar solution, you can't guess what color will be displayed. In theory, when it ought to be green, it may become red. It was so unique and full of infinite possibilities. He even felt that as long as he saw his rich, vivid expression and glistening smile, something gradually numbed would jump up in jubilation as if injected with a shot of stimulant.

He remembered he had this feeling in the past, when he was still very young — he was still a student at medical school at the time. He once attended to a camping party in the countryside, and a young man who ran up a steep slope to fold flowers to please his sweetheart accidentally slipped down the mountain. A dead branch almost punctured his stomach, and he was likely to die of massive blood loss before the rescue helicopter arrived. Not yet qualified to practice medicine, he performed emergency surgery on the other with only a first-aid kit and some simple instruments. He still remembered the feeling at that time; the immense mental pressure made his hands practically shake, but he knew he could do it! His heart was pounding because of this extremely difficult challenge, and the blood made an inexplicable chirp in his ears, as if something was restless in his body, trying to break through all constraints and be released into flying. He finally heard the sound of wings flapping when he made the first cut, and he froze for a moment, then exposed a satisfied and delighted smile. He also got into a lot of trouble, though. When the two silly lovers in distress sent him a wedding invitation, he was under judicial investigation and almost had his upcoming medical license revoked.

Later, after he had seen more flesh and blood and corpses and had become used to them, although the crisp sound of life breaking gradually became hard to hear, that exciting feeling of throbbing at that time disappeared. He felt like a carcass that had been bled a little, something that he was chasing but couldn't grasp was slowly escaping with the temperature. There were times he wouldn't feel his own heartbeat, suspecting that the bird inside him had long frozen into a stiff corpse and died, and he was nothing but a cage with a carcass therein.

The feeling left him anxiously empty in his heart until he met this blond boy. Would he revive that bird? Or another one? He couldn't resist the urge to capture it and put it in his cage. Perhaps it would still fly out every now and then, yet it would always come back here, and he'd once again be filled with the satisfaction and excitement joy of being enriched.

You'll have plenty of opportunities to get mad at me later, but I don't mind at all. He smiled at Jason, thinking to himself.

There was no doubt that if Jason had known the thoughts swirling in his mind, he would've bounced up and grabbed him, beating him back together with his report just now. However, at the moment he didn't notice the meaningful look in the other's eyes, as he was racking his brains in pondering, "But there's something else that's puzzling. Question one, how did His Highness make me sleep every night? Chanting a spell?"

Adrian pulled down his glasses frame as always, and his roommate, knowing that this often meant the problem was solved, looked at him expectantly.

The former gave an awfully blunt answer, "No idea."

Jason's face slumped, hearing the sound of bubbles popping.

Douglas suddenly got up and walked to the video recorder. He pressed the fast rewind key, paused the picture somewhere, and tapped the screen with the tip of his pen. "I think it was with this."

"Calla lilies?"

"Yes, most people love the beautiful spathes of calla lilies, but not many know that they contain toxins. Its petals hold a lot of calcium oxalate crystals and alkaloids, which can cause confusion, drowsiness and other poisoning symptoms if ingested by mistake. As long as you calculate the right portion and crush it up in some food — milk, juice or anything that can mask its taste — it's not a big deal for your roommate."

"Mr. Lange's fortunate floral banquet," Jason laughed, "bet I'm not the first to enjoy it. Where are the unlucky ones at the head? Transferred to the psychiatric unit?"

Douglas softened his tone as if he didn't catch his sarcasm. "I'd consider it if they also showed severe symptoms of psychosis like you do. Too bad that's just you."

Jason twitched his lips in disdain. "Okay, question two: who's that pervert who harasses me every night? It can't be you, can it, doctor?"

"Oh, no, of course not," the doctor said with a smile. "You saw it yourself. There's no pervert in the tape, he's in your head."

"Shut up! You just want to get me into the psychiatric unit, I'm damn aware of that!" Jason snorted and turned to his roommate. "Adri, didn't you get a shot of that bastard last night? I'm sure he showed up."

"No, Jason." Adrian looked at him with a helpless sense of comprehension and sadness in his gaze. "I think I already know who he is."

"Who is it?"

"That person is you."

"What?!" Jason jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and shouted in an agitated tone, "The person harassing me is 'me'? Fuck! Then who's that person lying in bed?"

"You know who he is," Adrian explained. "Someone you deeply long for in your heart but can't touch in any way. You thirst for him, you want to see him, smell him, caress his body, but that will always be impossible in reality. Hence, in the depths of your unconscious, due to the fear of loss and the inability to accept it, your places were switched. You wish he was just sleeping soundly, right? Like a castle full of thorns in a fairy tale, with people slumbering in waiting for the bell to ring to wake them up. I don't know how much the toxins contributed to the fire, but I believe everyone has a time when their hearts are fragile, and you simply chose a way to heal by refusing any help. It's not shameful, Jason, but I'm a little sad that even I was kept outside the door."

Jason's eyes widened. "Do you have a fever, Adri? What nonsense are you talking about..." he muttered, sitting down slowly as if his whole body had been drained of strength and clutching his head wearily. "I don't know who you're referring to, I don't... and I don't want to know! I never want to hold on to what's past. As long as I'm still alive, I have to go forward without looking back. I know I can do it...." He breathed sharply, making a nasal sound like airflow blockage, clinging his fingers tightly around his arms, as if afraid that something would suddenly rip him apart and come out in a frenzy. "But... God, what's this feeling... I regret it! I regret it so much! Had I known it'd be like this, I’d have kissed him in spite of everything at that time and pinned him down. Even if he had shot all the bullets from his machine gun into my body in disgust, what does it matter! But I chickened out then. I missed my fucking chance! So, God punished me for not even getting a real kiss, and that was the purest fucking romance I've ever had!" He bowed his head deeply and let out an inarticulate laughter that floated up in the air, sounding like the night sob of some kind of beast.

Adrian looked at him quietly. He didn't want to interrupt his vent, as it would maybe make him feel better. He remembered what he said: some things, if you think of them as wounds on the skin, will heal if given enough time. He was convinced he'll heal, if not now, someday.

After a long time (or maybe just a while, the concept of time always became very blurry in some cases,) Adrian saw him finally stop shaking, leaning back weakly in his chair, and taking a deep breath.

"...I feel much better, Adri," he muttered. "I don't think anyone will visit me in my sleep anymore, though I don't find that worth celebrating."

Adrian went up to him and held him by the shoulders. "You're going to be okay."

"Yeah... The dead are already dead, but the living are still alive," Jason said.

Douglas, who had been silent for a long time, spoke up, "At least this matter is worthy of your glee — I've decided to take back my diagnosis on you. You see, I seldom make mistakes, but you're always an exception."

"I'm glad you realized, doctor. It wasn't too late, luckily." Jason pulled out a tiny smile, although still looking a bit weak. That eternal flame seeped back out of him little by little, trying to slowly fill in the parts that had been hollowed out.

Douglas greedily and obsessively absorbed the temperature of the smile, which made him feel that the frozen stiff carcass within his body was a little warmer, and he heard the gurgling sound of blood in his heart. So, there's still hope for everything, he said to himself.

"Well, it should be Mr. Warren Lange's turn next. The hospital is not obliged to have a recovered patient in care. He has to leave here and go wherever he likes. I'll go to the director to explain this clear and arrange his discharge immediately. I have to lay my cards before him in advance, and I might need to borrow the tape, but let's hope he's a gentleman."

The door was opened after two knocks and Simon walked in. His face was even worse than when he went out, without even a trace of redness. He shifted to the nearest chair in feeble feet, put his whole body weight on it, and covered his face with the palms of his hands.

"Perfect timing, Simon," his superior said. "Don't look so downcast. I want you to come with me and talk to Mr. Lange."

The young doctor lifted a pair of light-colored eyes from his palms, and the limpid glimmer that once rippled in them faded like a falling star, leaving only a dim blue of painful perplexity and lifelessness. "...No, Mr. Lange can't talk to anyone anymore." He strained to spit out the words like a child just learning to speak.

"Say what?" The others looked at him in stupefaction.

"I injected 250mg of morphine into his glucose IV, and then sat on the chair outside for fifteen minutes, waiting his death by respiratory and circulatory failure caused by respiratory center paralysis," he said stiffly.

The air was as static as if the pause key was pressed, as if to give those present enough time to digest his astonishing words.

"Are you insane, Simon! You used what you've learned to murder!" Douglas roared loudly. Jason had never seen such a ferocious expression on his face. It was almost like a men-eating beast, with suppressed wrath and disappointment written all over his visage. He slammed his marker to the ground and rushed out of the door as fast as he could.

"Simon!" Jason rushed over and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You're kidding, right? You wouldn't do that! Why are you doing this?"

Simon held his hand. Jason found that his palm was icy and damp, and more cold sweat was seeping from his forehead. "I'm sorry, Jason. I'm not kidding... I know I've done something thoroughly terrible; I killed someone! But I had no other choice..." He gasped with difficulty. "You know the Newbolt Foundation, the one with the blue lightning logo? They provide economic aid to many students, and they paid for my expensive tuition in medical school. At the time, I thought they were philanthropists, but the old saying is true: 'there's no such thing as a free lunch.' I finally figured out what they wanted me to do here after I was referred to this hospital..."

"They wanted you to keep an eye on Warren Lange and get rid of him if he recovered his health?" Jason asked incredulously. "My God, you are telling me that that Newbolt Foundation is a criminal organization!"

"Yes. They netted a lot of college students, from all walks of life, who they thought would be of use, pretending to sponsor them through their studies for free, and eventually controlling them to work for themselves..." He bit his lip restlessly, where a slight cyanosis began to appear. "My God, what am I doing. I sold myself to act as a lackey of evil! Because I couldn't give up my job. That's the whole meaning of my life... Nicole, my girlfriend left me because of spontaneous pneumomediastinum. At that time, I could do nothing but watch helplessly as her health declined rapidly day by day. Even breathing was so matchlessly painful for her that she didn't even make it to her lung transplant... I was so desperate. If I had the ability to heal her maybe she wouldn't have died! So, I enrolled in medical school to become a famous doctor. Even if I couldn't save her, at least I could save those who are suffering from the same disease as her. I know Nicole agreed with my thinking. She was such a gentle and kindhearted girl; she'd likely look at me from heaven and smile..."

He twisted his whitish fingers hard, as if to break them one by one, and sobbed in despair. "Ah, but at what cost. I let these hands be stained with the blood of slaughter. These are supposed to be hands that save lives! Why did I do this? I should've thought of that sooner! Nicole's watching from heaven, she must be crying with grief... I'll fall into hell and never see her again..."

Jason grabbed his hand tightly and pulled him into his arms. "Simon..." His chest felt like a mass of foreign objects, and he was suffocating. He thought he had to say something, yet he didn't know how to comfort him. "She'll forgive you. She's an angel, isn't she... My coworker Mike always says, 'repent sincerely to the Lord, and He shall forgive you, for He always loves you as you are.' The same goes for angels. As long as you cleanse your sins, you sure will be forgiven..."

"I'm going to cleanse me of my sins, in the only way I can..." Simon's breathing became increasingly labored, issuing irregular huffing sounds. Jason noticed that the ends of his fingers also appeared visibly cyanotic, and he cried out, "Simon! Jesus, what happened to you?"

The man in his arms was breathing so slowly that he almost ceased, and his eyes began to slack in focus. "I injected myself with dextran. I'm allergic to that..." He strived to concentrate, trying to control the gradually blurred consciousness, but that effort seemed so futile.

"I always wanted to be a good doctor, as good as Dr. Neef, but I didn't make it..." He exhaled fraily, his eyes looking into the mid-air at a loss. "Do you feel disappointed, Nicole?"

"No way! Simon, you're a good doctor... You'll be fine, Adri's gone to call someone. Hang in there a little longer..."

"Ah, I feel better..." Simon murmured. "I want to kiss your blonde hair, can I?" His hand strenuously reached out to Jason, who held it and lowered his head. He touched that brilliantly soft golden hair with his lips and smiled happily. "I love you, Nicole..."