Chapter 129: 0129 Father & Son
Lawrence gently closed the door behind him, leaving only Bryan and the man lying on the hospital bed in a coma in the cold and sterile room. The only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic ticking of the muggle machines that monitored the man's vital signs. They looked like alien devices to Bryan, who had never seen such things before.
Bryan glanced at the man's shriveled body, which looked like a dried-up leaf that could crumble at any moment. His life seemed to have come to an end, and he was only waiting for the final breath. Bryan felt a tremor run through his body, and his indifferent expression turned into an indescribable complexity, as if there was a heavy stone pressing on his heart.
He walked slowly to the window, opened the curtains and pushed open the closed window, letting the cool breeze take away the unpleasant smell of medicine and decay that filled the room. Then, leaning against the window sill, Bryan took out a cigarette from his pocket and sniffed it under his nose, regaining his calm gaze and falling on the man's triangular face that had become thin and pale.
"Ufff–"
After a long time, Bryan uttered an incomprehensible sigh, as if he was feeling sorry for the man, or for himself, or for both of them.
Perhaps it was the cold wind that broke into the ward that made the man uncomfortable. In a blur of murmurs and moans, the man struggled to open his eyes, which had been closed for a long time. He stared at the white ceiling with a hollow gaze, and it took him about five minutes to see some clarity in his cloudy eyes.
Soon, the man who was about to die realized that there was someone else in the room. He looked at the window, but the dazzling light made his vision blurry. He was puzzled why someone dared to open the window of the room, which was supposed to be sealed and isolated. So he blinked hard to see who the person at the window was.
The cool wind made his stiff consciousness more and more smooth, and the blurry light and shadow gradually faded away. As the person's appearance became clearer and clearer, the man's mouth opened wider and wider, and his cloudy eyes swelled as if they were about to jump out of their sockets.
The silence continued, he was looking at him, and he was looking at him, too. There was no introduction, but both of them knew very well who the other was.
"Can you give me a cigar? Ever since I was diagnosed, Lawrence wouldn't let me smoke one. Haha, I think it doesn't matter now–"
Bryan threw the cigarette in his hand over, and said lightly,
"No cigar, make do with this–"
The man picked up the cigarette that had been squeezed a little out of shape, and frowned unhappily, but in the end, he didn't insist on his request. He shakily put the cigarette in his mouth and muttered,
"Fire–"
Snap!
After a crisp snap, a small flame appeared on Bryan's thumb and lit up the cigarette tip. It flickered with fire and emitted wisps of blue smoke.
The man took a deep breath of the cigarette and showed a look of enjoyment. With the help of nicotine, his grayish brown eyes showed some brilliance, and his withered body also regained some strength. He even had enough strength to prop up his body and lean back on the head of the bed in a more comfortable position.
"What was that just now, a trick?"
"Just take it as a trick–" Bryan said lazily.
For a person who might die the next second, there was nothing new in the world. The man nodded and didn't ask any more questions.
"So–"
The choking smoke put pressure on the man's already collapsing organs. He coughed heavily twice, then wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth as if nothing had happened. After a short breath, he said with difficulty,
"It was Lawrence who found you, wasn't it? I know he's been looking for you behind my back, especially in the last two or three years since I was diagnosed. He spent a lot of energy on this."
Bryan took out another cigarette from his pocket, and suddenly felt a strong urge to light it, but in the end, he overcame this desire and just played with it in his hand. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, feeling the rough texture of the paper and the softness of the tobacco. He looked at the man on the bed, who was still smoking his cigarette with relish, and said in a bored tone,
"If I were you–"
He paused, as if he was thinking of something, but then he shook his head and continued, "I wouldn't waste the little life I have left on such a boring question."
The man nodded in agreement, then fell silent. The cigarette in his hand was burning fast, and the ashes fell down, scorching ugly black spots on the snow-white quilt that covered his thin legs. He took another drag of the cigarette, feeling the smoke fill his lungs and then escape through his nostrils. He exhaled slowly, making a ring of smoke that floated in the air for a while before dissipating.
"What kind of life are you living now?" He asked in a hoarse voice, breaking the silence. This time, the silent person became Bryan. He rubbed his brow, and his eyes, which were never easily shaken, wandered around the room. He saw the flowers on the bedside table, which were wilting and losing their petals. He saw the cards on the wall, which were full of words of encouragement and sympathy. He felt a surge of mixed emotions, but he quickly suppressed them.
"How should I answer your question?" Bryan sighed. "A free and easy life, a hopeful life, anyway, it's not bad."
"Is that so." The man said softly. "That's good–"
Both of them seemed to have lost the desire to speak. The man on the bed cherished probably the last cigarette of his life, staring blankly at the slow but firm flame that devoured the cigarette. One by one, the past events flashed through his mind, and finally, they stopped on a face that was already blurred. He wanted to see through the fog on that face, but no matter how hard he tried, the fog never dissipated. So, he could only laugh mockingly,
"I can't even remember what that woman looked like."
"Not hard to understand." Bryan said calmly, "After all, it's been many years, and I don't remember much either–"
His words revealed a message, and the man who accurately captured this message on the bed was stunned, and then asked,
"So, she. I mean, your mother, she's already."
"You guessed it right," Bryan nodded, "She's been gone for many years–"
Perhaps it was a habitual practice to activate the Occulumency shields when his emotions were unstable, Bryan's tone always maintained an incomprehensible calm. His calmness made the man feel a bit dazzling, and a bit angry, but after thinking about it carefully, he knew that he had no right to say anything.
"So–"
Seeing that the man seemed to have nothing to say, Bryan straightened up from his leaning position. He nodded at the man,
"Rest well, Mr. Watson, I'm leaving now."
The words 'Mr. Watson' that Bryan uttered burned the man's pride like a flame. His breathing became rapid, and his body, like a candle in the wind, suddenly surged with a strange strength.
"Do you hate me?" He shouted at Bryan, who was at the door, "Do you hate me for what I did to you and your mother?"
Bryan stopped at the head of the bed, and looked at the man's eyes for a long time, before saying slowly,
"There's nothing to resent, Mr. Watson. After all, you're just an innocent victim."
The man collapsed back on the bed, looking dejected. The strength that had just emerged in his body was quickly stripped away. He seemed to hear the footsteps of death becoming clearer and clearer.
"Can you please call Lawrence for me?" The man called out to Bryan, who was about to leave, "I have something to tell him."
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