Chapter 630

"Wait, so you knew Shiler—not during your investigation of the serial killings, but since you were a child?" Constantin sat down, looking at Angela.

Angela took several deep breaths, struggling to calm herself, then shook her head: "No, I didn't know him then. I only remember that day, the expert my parents had arranged for was late, so he had the hospital's intern perform an initial diagnosis."

"That intern said his name was Shiler, but by then I was terrified—I started crying the moment I saw him…" Angela opened her mouth, then gave a bittersweet expression: "I still remember how flustered he looked."

"He had no idea why I cried at the sight of him. He tried to soothe me for ages, but nothing worked. I only stopped crying when I was exhausted enough to allow the examination to proceed."

Angela shook her head: "At that point, I was completely shattered. He asked why I was crying, but I don't remember what I said—probably a jumbled mess of nonsense."

"But overall, I told him the whole story. What stuck with me was that he didn't react with shock when I said I could see certain monsters, nor did he think I was mentally ill, like so many others did."

"He said he could help me resolve this problem, so I'd never be troubled by it again—and no one would ever detect any mental abnormality."

Constantin suddenly widened his eyes, staring at Angela: "You mean Shiler made you stop seeing those things?? That's impossible. Isn't it because the demon chose your sister instead of you?"

"He didn't explain much to me," Angela shook her head. "I was exhausted from crying. He played a soothing piano piece, I gradually relaxed, then fell asleep. What happened after that, I don't know."

Constantin froze in place, thinking aloud: "Logically, your ability to see those things stems from the occult, and your inability to see them now must also stem from the occult."

"Any psychiatric or psychological treatment should have had no effect. You stopped seeing them because the demon abandoned your soul and turned to your sister instead."

"How do you know the demon went after my sister?" Angela suddenly countered. "According to her letter, she committed suicide to unravel the occult organization's conspiracy—not because the demon came for her. So how can you be sure the demon chose her?"

"Because if the demon had chosen you, you should still be able to see them—but you can't. So…" Constantin shook his head. "Still, I can't be too certain. After all, your sister is dead now. No one knows whether the demon ever reached her before she died…"

"If the demon had chosen you from the start, there should be no way to make you stop seeing them…" Constantin sank into deep thought. "Shiler must have used some other method. This is impossible."

"If he really had such a method… if he really had such a method…" Constantin muttered to himself. Angela looked at him and said: "When I woke up, he told me I had to believe those things didn't exist at all—no matter who asked, I had to say that."

Then she lifted her head, staring at the ceiling: "But that wasn't our last meeting. After I let the serial killer escape, I fell into severe psychological distress—insomnia and nightmares tormented me, nearly killing me."

"At the time, I was working on a case in Chongcheng. During the investigation, I passed out and was taken to the hospital by my colleagues. There, I saw Shiler again—but by then, he was the attending physician."

"At first, he didn't recognize me. But I remembered his face. So when I told him I was the little girl who cried the moment she saw him, he was surprised. He said he never imagined I'd become a police officer."

"I admit, when he showed that look of surprise, I still felt happy. He probably thought I was a weak, crying child—but I'd long since escaped that shadow."

"In his office, we talked a while. He examined me, diagnosed me with anxiety, prescribed some medication. After I took it, I felt much better."

"But at that time, I was serving as an assistant detective, involved in the investigation of the Chongcheng serial killings."

"I was supposed to follow my superior, but I always wanted to do more. So one day, I became the first witness to a murder scene…"

"The case was called…" Angela paused, clearly reluctant to recall it, but finally said: "The Blood Man Massacre."

"The killer liked to peel off victims' skin, then leave them somewhere to die."

"He lured police to the scene, so the victim would see them and believe they were saved—then detonate a bomb and kill them." Angela's voice trembled again. Even Constantin felt a chill run down his spine.

"And I… was the officer lured there, the one the victim saw." Angela could no longer hold back her tears.

"I saw the victim's eyes, his gaze. In that instant he saw me, despair and agony in his eyes flickered with a spark of hope—a desperate will to live. I was right next to him. Just a few steps away, I could have saved him…"

"Then the bomb exploded. He died. I saw that hope in his eyes extinguish—completely, utterly gone. Nothing remained."

Constantin sucked in a sharp breath. Though he knew little about psychology, he understood the immense damage such trauma inflicted. Still, he asked: "... Then what?"

"I went completely mad. Lost all reason." Angela sobbed uncontrollably. "I don't remember how it happened. But when I woke up again, I saw Shiler."

"He looked at me with an expression of utter helplessness, then…" Angela gave an unnatural smile. "I didn't mean to—but I couldn't control my emotions… I cried again."

Constantin could easily imagine Shiler's expression then. He sighed, looking at Angela: "And then? Did he cure you again?"

Angela nodded: "I don't know how he did it. He played another soothing piece of music. I fell asleep again. When I woke up, those terrible memories had grown hazy—as if they'd drifted far away."

"This time, we talked a lot. I learned he was also investigating the serial killings. He told me the demon's departure was only temporary. If I didn't achieve inner psychological harmony, madness would return."

Angela sniffed, wiped her tears. That same determined expression returned to her face. "He told me that to truly escape this demon, I had to face it without fear."

"So I pushed myself to take field assignments. I performed excellently in every one—better than anyone else. Eventually, I returned to the Metropolitan Police Department and participated in my first major case, making the crucial breakthrough."

"I feared no serial killer, no matter how cruel or vicious. I gave everything to bring them to justice. In this way, I overcame my inner demons—and became the most famous female detective in public memory."

Constantin patted Angela's shoulder. This time, his admiration was genuine. Having endured countless psychological torments himself, he knew how hard it was to escape such a state.

When a person's spirit plunges into a low point, no simple phrase like "cheer up" can fix it. It's like asking someone who's fallen off a cliff to step on their own foot and fly upward—or telling a drowning man to kick harder and float. It's impossible.

While external changes may aid recovery from psychological trauma, ultimately, one must overcome it through sheer inner willpower. Clearly, this female detective's inner strength far surpassed most people's.

Angela stood up, turning to gaze at the still-lit emergency room light. "He saved me several times. Even though I'm no longer a doctor and can't save critical patients, I can at least find out what's really going on."

"No matter what, this is connected to that occult organization," Constantin extinguished his cigarette and tossed the butt into a nearby bin. Angela reloaded her magazine, gripping her pistol as she walked out: "I'll make them pay."

Constantin paused where he stood, then turned to look at the glowing emergency light before walking away.

loubiqu.

As he walked out, he muttered to himself, puzzled: "... The first demon I summoned was to pick up girls. But that hellhound from the depths—and later that big thing—what were they doing there? How did they just happen to appear?"

Suddenly, his expression turned cold. He pulled out his Bible, tore off a page, and held it in his hand: "Forget it. First, deal with those annoying bastards. The Owl? Hmph…"

After they left, the empty corridor remained lit only by the emergency light. Beyond the emergency room door, Shiler lay on the bed, pale and breathing through a ventilator, surrounded by doctors in surgical gowns bustling about.

The monitoring equipment emitted steady beeps. Suddenly, the beeping grew rapid. The lead surgeon shouted: "Condition worsening—hurry!"

Doctors scrambled. The beeping stabilized again. But seconds later, it turned rapid once more. Doctors rushed again. After stabilizing, it worsened again.

This cycle—deterioration, rescue, stabilization, deterioration, rescue, stabilization—repeated until three teams of doctors were utterly exhausted. Shiler still wasn't out of danger.

Meanwhile, in Shiler's Mind Palace, Shiler in a black suit stood at the center of the palace's bottom level, shouting upward:

"Death! Death! Are you there? Death! I have questions—can you come out and meet me?!"

"... Why isn't he coming? Mist, can you die even more thoroughly?"

Soon, the Mist's plaintive voice came from above: "I did my best, but the doctors are too skilled."

"..." Detected your latest reading progress: "Chapter 397: Silence Is Tonight's New York (Part 1)"

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