"What happened?" I asked.
Cindy's face was bright red. There is no doubt that she has been crying for several hours. "I need to talk to you." Her eyes were fixed on Ryan, her voice filled with snot. "If you can, be alone."
"Of course," he said. "I want to prepare some food for Fan Fan."
"Thank you," I told him. I squeezed his arm and he softened.
"I'll help you," Gloria said, and followed Ryan into the kitchen. Winston was also very interested. He always liked the clinking of pots and pans.
I led Cindy into the office. I made a gesture for her to sit in my chair. She shook her head, seeming to be more willing to keep up with the rhythm. So I slid onto the chair by myself and watched her walking back and forth in my office, her arms folded on her chest and her hands under her armpits.
Cindy's hair is more golden than Ellie's blonde hair, and whiter than honey, but not all platinum like Eve. Cindy has a small mole on her cheek and her teeth are white, matching her beautiful French nails. How often does she redo those nails? They must be destroyed during the replacement process. Wearing knee-high boots, a thigh-length coat and overlapping necklaces, she looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. In the neutral area of my office, between the walls of Misè and the white furniture, she looks like a strange bird. I was wearing ragged jeans, a hoodie with a zipper, and my dirty, out-of-match sneakers, supported on the wreckage of a table.
"I need a minute," she said.
"Let us solve this problem as soon as possible," I said. "I took some painkillers, so before they start treatment, it's best to take some painkillers first. I don't know what kind of sympathetic ears I will become once I become unconscious."
"I have a problem, Gloria asked me to see you."
I was surprised that Gloria would introduce Cindy to me to do anything. I can't do anything, Cindy can't do it. After all, she is also a hard-hearted person.
"She thinks that if I talk to you, I will feel better. Or, if I talk to you, we may be able to figure out a way that will make me feel better."
Eve suddenly appeared in my mind. "Has anyone attacked you?"
She shook her head. "No, not exactly."
I thought she would elaborate, but she paused and assumed a neutral posture. I want to shake hands with her. "What? Just tell me."
"If I told you, would you think I was crazy?" She swallowed. "If I tell you I see something very, very strange."
"The dwarf clown is weird or Ripley's believe it or not?"
"Like a guy with wings," she said.
My throat twitched, as if my throat might have a seizure. I took a deep breath. "Have you seen him too?"
She exhaled, as if she had held the air in the room in her lungs. "Thank God. I thought I was crazy. Of course, I didn't feel any better."
"When was the last time you died?" I asked. My God, I don't want this to become a Rachel incident. Then I remembered all the strange questions Garrison asked me about Rachel, wondering if there was any connection.
"Nine days ago," she said. "But I have one tomorrow."
"Why is Gloria bringing you here?" I asked.
"Maybe she wants us to think we are not crazy," she said. "But we are exactly like this."
"Of course. I was shocked," I said, thinking of the first time I saw Gabriel leaning against the wall. "I mean, who would see Gabriel, right?" I bit off the word archangel, and suddenly felt strange to give Gabriel such an official title.
Cindy's ecstatic relief disappeared. "Gabriel?"
"Tall man, black hair, wings, green eyes, stupid beauty,"
"No. I didn't see such a person." Cindy's fear quietly entered her eyes.
"Who did you see?" I asked. I can't forget Rachel, seeing her covered in blood. I tried to imagine finding Cindy in the same way, but my blood became cold.
"Tall man with red hair and brown eyes. He has white wings and says his name is Raphael."
"Are you dating someone?" I desperately tried to remember what Rachel said about angels, but that was a few years ago. All I can think of are good angels and bad angels. "But—" I kicked the stone, and the wheels turned too fast. "What did he say to you?"
"He wants me to go to church," she said. "He wants me to confess all my sins."
I bit my lip, but it was useless. I can't suppress my laughter. "Are you kidding me."
"No." Cindy's face flushed red, and the sound of sobbing erupted from her lips. "He told me that I would die within a week, and I'd better do it when I have the opportunity."
I frowned and pinched together. "Raphael sounds like a bastard."
"I don't want to die," she said. "I am single".
God, I don't want to have a relationship with her. It's as if my life is messed up in that department. "Have you talked with Jǐng Cha?"
"Why, are they cute?"
"I'm not talking about dating," I shook my head and said.
"If we mention this, you know they will lock us up faster than honey sticks to the butt of a bee."
I don't know what that means. "It sounds disgusting, but it's true."
Brinkley told me that Rachel lost it because she died too much. Too many deaths can cause irreparable damage to the brain, until one day it appears. But Cindy and I have far fewer deaths than Rachel, and we have seen similar hallucinations that are unreasonable. Everyone's thoughts belong to DúLì. Each of us will "throw away our things" in our own way, as Cindy said. One thing is certain, we cannot tell anyone about it. I don't want to be locked up for the rest of my life and eat mashed bananas.
"Can you drive?" I asked. We have to leave this house and have a good talk.
"Of course," she said.
When Ryan found us at the door, I put on my shoes and jacket. "Wait." Where are you going?"
"We have to go to the hospital quickly," I told him. "I don't have much time, no time to take medicine, so I have to go now."
Gloria showed up with a full dinner. I don't know what it is, but it is warm and has a wonderful smell, like sweet tomatoes and basil, the last taste of summer.
"I will be here when you come back," she said.
"Thank you." I accepted the food.
Ryan won't let me leave so easily. The frowning man said so. I don't know what happened to me, maybe taking drugs, but I kissed him on tiptoe until I realized that this was what I wanted to do. His mouth is very hot to mine. He was tense, maybe as surprised as I was, because I had never kissed him in front of anyone.
I broke the kiss.
"I'm here," he whispered. But I pretended not to hear.
Dr. York walked into this small examination room, barely leaving the files in his hands. He did reach out to help me get up from the floor, where I was bored, half of the pain pill was high. He turned on the light and threw us all into the darkness. After a while, a small light box fixed on the wall flickered, buzzing, and lifelike. He placed several transparent pictures side by side on the box, and the light illuminates its shadow.
"This is yours, this is yours," he said. He pointed to Cindy and me respectively.
I looked at the fuzzy brain picture on the right. I blinked a few times, trying to clear my mind so that I could understand what other people were saying.
"Look at these scars," he said to Cindy. "Fan Fan's scar has been reduced. It has almost reached 0%."
He took another photo from the file. "This is her photo a year ago."
"I don't know what it means," I said. Obviously, I kept leaning back because the good doctor straightened my shoulder.
"It hasn't fully healed yet. There are some small areas of damage shown here, as we usually see in death substitutes, but since the last scan, the situation has indeed improved. The damage is reversing, especially with the temporal Damage related to the lobes and cerebral cortex. Look here," he said. He pointed to Cindy from my scan. "Every time an agent dies, a small mark like this appears in their brain."
"I thought we were cured almost everything," I said.
"Your brain can repair your body, but the loss of oxygen to the brain during death can only be partially repaired. Lack of oxygen can cause small scars.
"Do these scars affect memory?" I asked to be clear.
"Yes," said the doctor.
"They certainly didn't mention this in the booklet "Being an Agent," I told him. These so-called repairs can explain why I suddenly thought of my mother. This may also mean that more memories will come back to my mind sooner or later, for better or for worse.
Cindy bit her lip. "That's why we are crazy, right?"
He said: "I didn't see any signs on the scan that your girl's mental state was unstable, and then the doctor's eyes narrowed. "What are you looking for?"
"We told you," I said. I shook my head, and it was Cindy's turn to push me straight. "I have always had a terrible headache."
"How about you?" he asked Cindy.
"I just want to use my brain, my completely normal, ordinary and non-crazy brain to compare the normal test," she said, her tone too high.
"How forgiving." He clicked a few times, as if trying to decide who was more rubbish. "Well, to answer your question, no. There are scars, but given your occupation, this is very typical. I don't see any abnormalities. Physically, you are all fine."
He didn't smile. He studied us, as if he wanted us to admit the real reason for our visit. Finally he asked: "Anything else?"
"No, nothing else," Cindy said.
"Nothing," I added. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)