Chapter 55: Shocked Roger for a Whole Year

The interior of the mall was utterly silent.

Only the occasional drip of water echoed through the vast, empty hall, monotonous and maddening.

Walking through it, Roger's nose and mouth were constantly filled with a stale, rotting stench—not merely the odor of garbage, but a cloying mix of mold, accumulated dust, stagnant water, and something like spoiled sweets.

The three ascended the dim staircase to the second floor, where the air grew even heavier and the shelves stood completely empty.

Faint moonlight revealed scattered, misshapen mannequins, some lying on the ground, others standing in the center of the hall, twisted into bizarre, unnatural poses.

As they passed them, Qiangsen trembled violently. Though the mannequins had no eyes, he felt as though unseen gazes watched his back, forcing him to clutch the crucifix hanging around his neck.

"In the name of Christ, I command you! Stay away!"

The low reprimand eased his nerves somewhat.

But still uneasy, he asked: "Boss Roger, is this really the place? Could we have gotten the wrong one?"

"No, this is it." If he'd been uncertain before entering, the oppressive, sinister atmosphere now left no doubt—the mall mentioned in the intel was this one.

"The only question is which floor the restroom is on."

Juan, holding Jose, spoke up: "Let's split up and search."

The mall had only four floors; apart from the first, all had restrooms—perfect for three people to divide the search.

Qiangsen's face paled: "Do I have to go too?"

"Of course." Roger clapped his shoulder. "You take the third floor. That way, if anything happens, we can reach you fast."

Qiangsen bit his lip and nodded stiffly.

"Then no more waiting. Move out."

Roger pushed Qiangsen up the stairs. Once they reached the third floor, he picked up a wooden stick from the ground: "If you're scared, take this."

"Okay." Qiangsen took the stick, held it upright beside his head, gripped it tightly, and swallowed hard.

Like a baseball batter in the bottom of the ninth, one home run away from ending the game.

Roger smiled at the sight and headed up to the fourth floor alone.

The higher he climbed, the stronger the unease in the air became, and the more pronounced the sewer stench grew.

He switched on his phone's flashlight; the beam cut through the darkness like a murky path, dust swirling wildly within it, dense as swarms of insects.

Following the signs along the corridor, Roger searched for a long while before finally locating the women's restroom.

Before he could examine it, a horrific scream echoed from below!

"Fuck!"

Roger sprinted down to the third floor, leaping down the stairs three steps at a time, just as Juan arrived with the pit bull.

"Jose!"

The pit bull sniffed, barked twice toward the right, then dashed off ahead.

Roger and Juan followed close behind, quickly spotting Qiangsen slumped on the ground, shaking uncontrollably.

"Help! Help!" He scrambled backward at the sound of footsteps.

"What happened?" Roger grabbed Qiangsen's arm.

Qiangsen's face was ashen; he gasped for breath several times before speaking: "I saw someone—no, a ghost!"

"What?" Roger frowned. "Explain clearly."

"At the end of the hallway, in the restroom." Qiangsen explained. "I just got there and saw light, and shadows on the wall. Shit! I was about to get closer when I suddenly heard a weird sound."

"Like… like…" Qiangsen strained to find words: "Like someone stirring water with a stick, mixed with a woman screaming. God, could it be a lake spirit or a water ghost?"

Seeing Qiangsen's incoherent description, Roger gave Juan a glance, then pulled a weapon from his waist and crept slowly toward the end of the corridor.

Just past the corner, he noticed something wrong.

The women's restroom door, slightly ajar, faintly glowed with dim light inside!

The light flickered unpredictably, radiating an inexplicable, eerie aura.

How could this be!

Where did the electricity come from in an abandoned mall?

Roger frowned and moved closer.

As the distance shortened, the muffled moans from behind the mildewed door grew clearer.

They sounded like muffled sobs forced from deep in the throat, as if the vocal cords were crushed, mixed with bubbling gurgles—like soul-calling sounds rising from a rotting swamp.

More terrifying was the intermittent "crack" sound—the scraping of fingernails on tile, each scratch accompanied by a grating, nauseating resistance. In the lifeless, abandoned mall, it was like a saw tearing through Roger's sanity, sending an involuntary chill down his spine.

"What the hell is going on?"

Roger felt everything was far stranger than he'd imagined.

Still, to investigate, he forced himself to stand before the women's restroom door.

But just as he reached out to push it open, a thin, bloodstained hand suddenly shot out from inside!

"Holy shit!" Roger instinctively reached for his gun.

But the next second—

"Don't make noise. Wait a minute, okay?"

A girl with mature makeup and a nose ring poked her head out, a brown ponytail trailing down her neck.

Instantly, all fear vanished.

Roger exhaled deeply and peered through the door crack.

He could barely make out the girl wearing a loose, light-colored men's T-shirt that covered half her body.

She held a cigarette between her lips, her face weary, her tone sharp—as if she were occupied with something urgent inside the restroom.

"Uh, sorry, keep going." Roger quickly tucked his hands behind his back and stepped back.

"Bang." The restroom door slammed shut.

Juan walked over with Qiangsen: "What's going on?"

"There are two girls inside." Roger had sharp eyes—he barely glanced and spotted another woman lying on the tiles, her face pale as paper, a wooden stick clenched between her teeth.

If nothing unexpected, the sound of nails scraping the tiles came from her.

"See? No ghosts." Juan patted Qiangsen.

Qiangsen looked like he'd seen a specter: "God, why are these women scaring people in the bathroom at midnight? Are they homeless too?"

"I don't know."

Though Roger had a faint suspicion, he still shook his head: "Wait until they're done—we'll know then."

But silence didn't last long—suddenly, a cry of pain came from inside the bathroom.

"Ugh… ah…"

"Luola, hold on! Fuck!"

A frantic voice came from within, then the bathroom door swung open—the girl with the brown ponytail rushed out, face pale with panic: "Do you have any stimulants? Or leaves, painkillers—even those would help! She can't take the pain anymore!"

"Ah…"

Hearing the agonized screams from inside, Juan shook his head first: "I didn't bring any."

"Neither did I." Qiangsen spread his hands.

"Shit, I'll pay you money!" The ponytailed girl paced like an ant on a hot pan, desperate and lost, her eyes instantly reddening.

Seeing that someone might die, Roger pulled out the painkiller he'd won in a draw and dropped one tablet into his palm.

"Give her this."

"Thank you!" The ponytailed girl didn't even ask about the effects—she snatched the pill with her blood-smeared hand and rushed back into the bathroom.

Not long passed.

The cries of agony gradually faded.

More than ten minutes later, a rush of water sounded. Then the bathroom door opened, and two girls in loose clothing emerged, leaning on each other for support.

Faint traces of diluted blood stained the floor.

"Thank you for the medicine," the ponytailed girl said, her expression complex—gratitude mixed with wariness.

She handed over ten dollars: "Here's payment for your medicine."

Roger wanted to tell her that ten dollars couldn't buy a painkiller this effective, with zero side effects.

But after thinking it over, he decided the pill was a necessary expense for the intelligence system. Besides, ten dollars per pill wasn't cheap.

So he took the money and shoved it into his pocket.

Seeing the man take the money, the ponytailed girl exhaled slightly and continued: "Also, tell the madman—we only came here to handle private business. We're not trying to run. We'll pay him back on time."

"No, you've misunderstood," Roger explained. "We only heard rumors of baby crying here, so we came to check."

"Really?" The ponytailed girl clearly didn't believe him.

"Really!" Roger spread his hands. "We don't know any madman."

"Good." The ponytailed girl, one hand holding a bottle of mineral water and a clothes hanger, the other supporting the visibly weaker blonde girl, began to leave.

But the blonde girl spoke then: "Wait, Xiaer."

The ponytailed girl named Xiaer stopped. The blonde girl lifted her head, her beautiful green eyes fixed on the three of them.

Only now did Roger see her face clearly—she wore heavy makeup like Xiaer, but her skin suggested she was very young.

A butterfly tattoo adorned her neck; five silver earrings pierced her ears; her nails were glued with colorful tiny rhinestones.

But if you looked closely, you'd notice many of her nails had chipped off.

"Want to let off some steam? I'm not in a good position right now—but I can use other methods. Twenty dollars each."

The blonde girl said this with calm serenity—words that would shock Roger for an entire year.

"Are you joking? If I'm not mistaken, you just used a clothes hanger… to miscarry, right?" Roger said in disbelief.

In Meilijian, clothes hangers aren't just for hanging clothes.

Because conservative states ban abortion, many women resort to self-managed methods—and clothes hangers are a common tool.

But Roger remembered Seattle didn't oppose abortion.

"Yes. I have no legal status—I had to do it myself. Luckily, Xiaer knows how." The blonde girl clenched her fist and bumped it against Xiaer's.

"Sisters," Xiaer smiled.

"And yet you're still offering services under these conditions?" Roger's throat felt clogged.

"Of course," the blonde girl nodded, as if it were obvious. "If we don't take clients, we can't afford food or stimulants, let alone pay back the madman."

"Want it? We can do it right here—three of you, fifty dollars."

As she spoke, the blonde girl and Xiaer simultaneously lifted their shirts.

"Wait, wait," Roger raised his hand to stop them, then whispered a few words to Qiangsen.

Qiangsen nodded and left the hallway.

Turning back, Roger took a deep breath: "Let's make a different deal."