Because of the attack, Officer Maurice arranged for me to stay in the hospital while they investigated my place. Yesterday, Sam had stayed with me at the police station until dawn. And today, he was the first to come to visit me at the hospital.
"Does the wound still hurt?"
It's gotten better, I told him. Though in truth, it hadn't hurt that much—until they gave me the anti-inflammatory injection, and then it hurt a lot more. I thanked him over and over again for saving my life.
You probably have experienced someone saving your ass, but saving your life is a different concept.
I had never revered someone so much.
"No need to. I was just carrying out my duty. To serve the people." He replied with a smile and then asked, "Have you contacted your family?"
"No—I didn't want to make them worry."
Hearing what I replied, Sam frowned for the first time.
"Put yourself in their shoes. If something happened to your parents, would you prefer them to hide the truth from you? I think this whole 'don't bother' logic is very self-centric. If you really care about someone, you need to be honest. Not letting them be part of your life would only make them worry more."
Maybe it was the uniform, or maybe my respect for him had been retained strongly, his words carried commitment and authority. Under his adamant eyes, I couldn't say no and called my parents.
They were gravely shaken when they heard I'd been attacked and immediately insisted on coming to see me. I instantly refused them.
"But you don't know anyone in that town. Who's going to take care of you?" My mom asked.
I told her it was just some superficial injuries and that I had a few friends here who would look after me.
"You don't need to worry."
"Don't lie to us."
She said, "Your dad and I haven't been back to that town in over a decade, but we know exactly what it's like. A place where the only way in and out is by bus? There's no chance young people would stay. All the kids you grew up with have long gone off to the big cities. You've only been back two months—how could you have met anyone trustworthy? We will come to take you home."
This woman knows me too well. When brainstorming a legit reason to prevent their visit, I glanced sideways at Sam. He was leaning by the window in composure, flipping through a thick file, seemingly oblivious to my conversation.
I mumbled into the phone, "The police officer will take care of me."
"A man?"
"Yay. A tall handsome policeman."
My mom was not reassured. She got flustered and started criticizing me with all kinds of hurtful words. A strategy she subconsciously applies when she wants to change my mind.
I know it too well.
I thought about everything I'd been through the past few days—all the fear and chaos, the nightmare that didn't seem to end—and how I'd managed to survive it all. Why did I have to suffer her scolding? Did she feel more pain than me?
In a burst of resentment, I cried and vented all my frustrations into the phone.
There was a long silence on the other end. Only after I'd poured out every last bit of my grievances did she finally speak again.
Mom started crying.
"Sweetheart, we know it's not easy for you out there, but you have family to rely on. You don't have to bear everything alone. Our biggest wish is for you to be safe and happy—nothing else matters…"
"Come home." Dad said, "We need you."
I couldn't control my tears. Their voices felt like a shaft of sunlight breaking through the grimy rain cloud that had shielded the town, shimmering on me.
I suddenly felt at peace.
I had always thought that being a grown-up meant solving my own problems, cleaning my cr*p emotions by myself; not bothering others. But wasn't it also causing trouble not asking for help when needed?
Not communicating with those who care about me, and keeping things to myself, I bred malice out of my private hell.
After hanging up, I booked a ticket to leave the town in three days.
"How do you feel, after talking to your family? Good, doesn't it?" Sam said.
I nodded in gratitude, seeing him walk over with a box of tissues.
"Wipe your face," he said with a comforting smile. "The tall handsome policeman will take care of you."
**********
Although I planned to leave the town, I wasn't going to stop following the developments of Vivi's disappearance. I took Amelia's file out of my bag and handed it back to Sam.
"Are you sure it was this girl who attacked Vivian Evans?"
I told him it wasn't an attack—I wasn't exactly sure what that girl had done, but she definitely had something to do with Vivi's disappearance. Then I asked the question that had been bothering me since yesterday: why was Amelia's file placed together with Vivi's?
"Coincidence," Sam replied, his lips parting just enough to let those two syllables out.
That's it?! Just that simple?! But… but… I was too agitated to argue, yet the words stuck like thorns in my throat.
"I know what you want to say," he gestured for me to calm down. "This kind of thing does seem incredible at first. I've been through it myself. But that's just how things are. People are easily misled by the illusion of the unbelievable. Some can let it go, others get stuck. The more you fixate on trying to force meaning out of something that might just be random, the further away you drift from reality."
"In police work, there's a certain procedure we follow—and at the core of it is one principle: 'It is what it is.' If you become obsessed with something, your brain starts justifying it no matter what, and soon you're only seeing what you want to see."
Those words might have been important, but given the situation—talking reason to someone with a head injury and frayed nerves—felt almost like a provocation. I punched the blanket in frustration, ready to lash out, but then I saw Sam switch back to his usual carefree demeanor.
"However," he added with a grin, "I personally trust my instincts more. What I said is just food for thought. In the end, the judgment is yours to make."
"You what?" …Forget it. I forced down the rising distress in my chest. "So what's your take on this?"
Sam shot me a sly look, then casually tossed his police cap up and down like he was playing with a basketball as he answered.
"When it comes to things like this, personal opinions are always biased. We all think differently, have limited perspectives, and we're constantly influenced by outside factors… So that's where the computer comes in handy!"
"You mean it can find clues?!" My eyes lit up.
"I won't say a hundred percent, but there's an eighty percent chance, at least… The database is full of infinite data, and the variables go way beyond just time and place… Things that seem like coincidences to us—well, in the system, they're just a matter of probability… All in all, you could say, fate has its patterns…"
He threw his police cap a bit too hard—it flew across the room and landed squarely on Officer Maurice's face just as he walked in.
"Samuel!—"
**********
The rain… had soaked into my wound…
I ran through the downpour toward Sam's car, feeling more than a little annoyed at him. Seriously! Couldn't he have just pulled up in front of the hospital? Why did he have to park all the way across the street? And he said ten o'clock—it was already half past! I'd been standing in the cold wind for so long!
At the time, I got into the car with a scowl, completely forgetting the fact that not only had he once saved my life, but he'd also kindly offered to accompany me on this trip home.
"Morning!"
"Mm." I nodded coolly. With such awful weather, I had no idea how he could still be grinning like a blooming flower.
"You don't look so good—does the wound hurt again?"
"No."
Sam sighed, then turned and handed me something from the back seat. "I just picked this up. Drink it while it's hot."
Ah… thank you… The sweet scent of chamomile and jinger hit me right in the face, instantly awakening my sense of guilt. I immediately felt ashamed for being in such a mood.
Today Sam was in ordinary clothes, his light-colored trench coat bringing out a laid-back, youthful vibe that made him seem much more approachable than he had the day before.
I couldn't help glancing around his car.
The front seats were tidy, with nothing but two bottles of cola in the door pocket. The back seat, however, was stacked with document folders—just like the ones I'd seen back at the police station. I vaguely remembered that night he came to my rescue, he seemed to be holding a gun. It was entirely possible there was one in the car right now, too.
"Aren't you scared?" Sam gave me a quick sideways glance. "You were just attacked, and now you're going back to the scene. Most people would avoid going back."
To be honest, it wasn't until this morning that I could bring myself to really look at my reflection in the mirror. I remembered that when I was first brought to the hospital, the corners of my mouth were torn, my forehead was covered in bruises, and one of my eyes had turned completely red from burst blood vessels. That kind of pain and fear—I would never forget it for the rest of my life. But I'd survived, hadn't I? Right now, I was safe and sound, sitting in a car, sipping a warm cup of tea—what burden could there possibly be?
"That's good to hear," Sam said, nodding in satisfactory relief.
What I didn't tell him was that, truthfully, I wasn't all that fixated on the man who attacked me.
After all the strange things I'd experienced, he no longer seemed that frightening. He hadn't succeeded—and I was still alive. As a survivor, and as a witness, I would track down his trail and bring him to justice.
Now, he's the one who should be afraid!
Thinking this way, a wave of warmth unexpectedly welled up in my heart. Watching people in this town disappear, get hurt, and even die, I came to understand how incredibly fragile we all were.
If we don't accept the unknown—at least in some sense—then we'll always be controlled by fear, retreating step by step in trembling terror. If I wanted to get closer to the truth, I couldn't keep being a coward.
At some point, a change had occurred in me—one that I couldn't quite explain. I thought, if I had another chance, I definitely wouldn't lose track of Amelia again.
"You seem more invested in Vivian's case than your own," Sam remarked.
I didn't deny it. Vivi was probably the only person here I could honestly call a friend. At the restaurant, she'd always looked out for me. Now that something had happened to her, I wanted to help however I could… But as I spoke, I suddenly noticed a glimmer of judgemental scrutiny in Sam's eyes.
Was he not believing what I said?
My heart instantly clenched. Or worse—was he questioning my motives?! The very thought lit a fire in me, and I snapped back sarcastically,
"Well, you didn't exactly bother with the corpse at the wastewater plant either, did you?"
Screech—The car lurched to a sudden stop. The tea nearly flew out of my hands.
…
At the intersection, there wasn't another car in sight. It was as if we were the last two people left in the world. The sound of rain outside grew heavier, and I noticed the mist cloaking the town had grown even thicker.
Sam's face had gone pale. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly, as though suppressing some overwhelming pain.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have joked about a case like that," I quickly apologized, realizing I'd crossed a line.
He shrugged, but didn't say another word for the rest of the drive.
**********
Almost home.
I didn't want to finish our conversation in such an awkward way. Sam had been kind to me. I didn't want us to fight, so I initiated to break the tension.
"Officer Chow, I actually think what you said to me the day at the hospital made a lot of sense. There are too many things in this world that seem inexplicable, but eventually turn out to have logical explanations. Like how what we call 'coincidences' are really just the accumulation of countless trivial events—like the butterfly effect. Have you ever seen a movie called Final Destination? The kill move is just a series of small details working together."
Sam finally responded. "Judging by your tone, I'm guessing there's a 'but' coming?"
"But," I continued, "don't you think the butterfly effect itself is random? Why does the flap of a butterfly's wings cause a tsunami instead of a drought? I don't think using one coincidence to explain another is a scientific method!Sure, coincidences don't exist outside the laws of causality—but why, out of the millions of little details, do only a few actually create impact? Why do events unfold in such a specific sequence that they become anomalies? Is it simply because humans don't yet fully understand the world? Or is it possible that amidst the chaos, something truly unnatural exists?"
He didn't immediately respond, so I took the opportunity to push further:"In Final Destination, even though the characters die from real-life coincidences, what drives those coincidences… is Death itself."
"So you think the cases of Vivian and Amelia are supernatural?" Sam asked directly.
Someone once said that the most disturbing part about supernatural phenomena is their ambiguity. The most terrifying things are those we can't name, can't describe. From the beginning, I had never said the word supernatural out loud. Though my original intent in writing everything down was to seek the truth, rereading my words, I realized I'd been vague, hesitant, and always skirting the edges.Sam, on the other hand, went straight to the heart of what I'd only dared to hint at.
I was so flustered I didn't know what to say. I'd assumed the idea would be met with mockery—but instead of scorn, Sam looked at me seriously and said:
"Don't you think this rain is… ...strange?"
Strange? It was more than that!
"I believe some very unusual things have happened around you."
Wait… could it be that he also—? I clenched my fists tightly.
"But I don't believe it's supernatural." Sam looked ahead, both hands steady on the wheel. "People do normal things under normal circumstances. But in this kind of heavy rain? I wouldn't be surprised if someone went completely mad. My mentor once told me: Some people will use this rain as a cover to cause trouble.I'm sorry you had to go through all this. But maybe what you saw was just an incomplete version of the truth."
"Some things really can't be explained by logic!" I protested.
Like the procession I saw in the street. The footsteps that wouldn't go away.Or Amelia's mouth—those freaking teeth!
Sam suddenly raised his voice. "Don't forget, this is a closed-off town! Anything could happen here. You've only just come back—how much do you really know about this place?"
"But didn't you say you've experienced those kinds of 'unbelievable' coincidences too? Why are you so sure that's all they were?" I couldn't let it go.
"Because I risked everything to prove they weren't coincidences!" he said, almost shouting."Because I paid a terrible price to see the truth…"
Sam leaned back in his seat. A faint sorrow drifted across his features.
What kind of price…? If I truly made up my mind—could I also…
"My little brother died."