The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 488 Ch.487 Wells’ death decision

Mr. Wells decided to die.

He thought it over.

Or decided to die.

In addition to lying on the yellowed sheets with deep thoughts on weekdays, accompanied by the chicken bones, empty wine bottles and cigarette butts that made it difficult for him to turn over, the pain like needles in his spinal cord made his two eyebrows grow again. There was no distinction between them either: he had not been magnanimous for a long time.

Maybe this is retribution.

he thought.

But if it happened again, he would do the same thing.

The trench coat and cloak covered in mud marks and folds were scrawled on the badly damaged floor. All the windows in the house were tightly closed, and the air was turbid, as if half the street's people had just come here to relieve themselves.

His underwear, which resembled the scarred soul of a lovelorn man, hung where the gloves should hang, and the gloves hung in the box where the socks were worn on his feet, pierced by the toes.

He turned over.

Wail out.

He had been ill for many years, getting worse and worse.

A doctor once came to see him, but the same doctor gave different answers at different times: a few days ago, or a month or two, he couldn't remember - he was still quite wealthy at that time, and women changed their ways. She behaves well in front of him, posing and posing just for the sake of the neither soft nor hard, aged laughter in his pocket.

Until someone whispered to him about a ‘big investment’.

Big projects.

A special, secretive organization (it is said), a project not for making money, just for investigation (it is said), a friend who has indeed received a lot of reports (seeing is believing).

Then.

He became what he is now.

Like a girl who has just started working late at night and has not yet learned how to please a man, Wan Guanjia Cai didn't make a single sound during the whole process.

——They just disappeared.

Wells went from Mr. to Mud Toes. These days, he hasn't heard anyone call him Mr. for a long time.

So do doctors.

He no longer had the medicine that made his body numb, and he couldn't afford the medicine, nor could he afford the doctor's warm welcome. The good advice they gave him was useless but sounded extremely comfortable - even his wife began to dislike him. , and left quietly on a quiet night.

He has no children.

Now I have no wife, no money and no house.

"But I still have an incurable disease."

The man who was thinking about how to die muttered.

——Who would want to die if they really couldn’t survive?

That's going to hell.

But Wells could no longer stand the torture, both mentally and physically.

He didn't even dare to leave the room that was about to collapse.

He was sneaky and wandered around the East District, fearing that he would meet his former friends who would come to 'check in' with him. He would tell a few tragic anecdotes from him, and then walk away contentedly - in fact, there was no way he could meet his former friends in the East District.

Wells wondered how to die.

Rope?

When people find him, he will probably be hanging in the room like a piece of dried meat?

Wells groaned again, endured the severe pain all over his body, sat up from the bed, and stepped on the slippery floor a few times with his big feet.

He simply got off the bed with his bare feet.

He pulled out the tie he had not worn for a long time and shook his head. He picked up a frizzy hemp rope from next to the toilet, looked up at the beams, and made a few gestures.

It took several tries.

He scratched his scalp a few times.

His aging body no longer supports him to make such large-scale movements, just like he can't let a woman give birth to a child, and his arms are not accurate enough.

He walked around in circles for a while, and finally decided to put on some clothes and try his luck on the street:

Maybe some shabby coachman could free him.

The end of winter is the end of a cycle, and all things are about to experience another revival.

But Wells' life came to an end.

He looked at the young, tall guys wearing felt hats and making fun of the girls passing by. They were squatting in a corner or next to a shoemaker's stall, wrapped up thickly, breathing white air, holding cigarettes between their arms, and they were full of life.

Old Wells just shakily passed by, and their eyes did not stay on him for even a second——

He just wanted to be hit by a carriage.

Jumping into the river had been a good idea, but Wells couldn't get to the river. Thinking of the long journey the carriage took, the bumps, and the need to find a way back if he failed - thinking of these, he had already ruled out jumping into the river as an option. outside.

‘Give me a result. ’

He was shivering with cold and pain. He held on to the wall and leaned against it for a while when he was tired from walking.

There weren’t many horse-drawn carriages in the East End.

He'll have to wait here for a while.

Old Wells lowered the felt hat (once a top hat) on his head and not only recalled his life a few months ago: at that time, he didn't even need to walk by himself.

No matter walking, spitting, or defecation.

There are beautiful boys or girls to serve.

In the blink of an eye.

The world changes.

He muttered a mouthful of phlegm, spit it viciously in the corner, cursed in a low voice the gang that had defrauded him of all his wealth, and then began to curse the government and the superior woman.

‘Don’t do anything serious. ’

he muttered.

Not even a splash.

Old Wells exhaled hot air, rubbed his palms, and a pale golden halo filled his eyes: The sun was rising, but it could not dispel the cold wind that penetrated into his arms, melting the little bones in the seams of his bones. Steel needle.

'Father of all...'

He subconsciously recited the prayer, but he let out a wry smile in his confusion.

‘This is retribution. ’

he thought.

About twenty minutes.

When he almost thought he was going to freeze to death, a carriage drove up from the end of the road, from the corner of the bakery that he had never even looked at and now had no chance to eat.

'Maybe I should freeze to death, at least it won't be that painful? ’

Old Wells rubbed his dry and stiff face, hesitating in his heart.

Da da da…

The carriage entered.

It was a silent carriage.

He recognized that he had owned one (mortgaged with the house to the bank for the damn ocean trade).

People who can ride such a carriage have an extraordinary background - this kind of silent, customized special vehicle is very different from those creaking public carriages. To keep a carriage, you need to keep several horses, two or three in turns. Drivers who run errands often spend money on maintenance costs that poor people would never dare to imagine.

not to mention.

Who among the truly respectable wealthy people would only buy a carriage?

If you go to the salon in the same carriage every time, you might as well not go.

Da da da…

The car came in.

The timidity in Old Wells's heart took over. He had seen people who had been crushed to death and whose heads had been crushed under the hoofs of horses.

He thought about it and decided to let the cold wind of late winter end his painful and hopeless life...

Ta-ta.

The car stopped.

Parked not far from Wells.

He saw a girl with gray hair and blue eyes, who looked like a child, getting out of the carriage.

The driver lowered his head and handed over his satchel, then followed her towards him.

A navy blue dress, surrounded by mouse-colored fur, and a Bonnet hat with light gray lace on her head.

The graceful girl took small steps and came towards him.

"Mr. Wells."

Her blue eyes were like a kettle of hot water, giving Wells a touch of warmth in the winter.

"I finally found you."

she said.