Chapter 948: The Three Detectives (Part 2)

After confirming the observation room had no exits, Batman turned to Zatanna and said, “How many more times can you use your teleportation? I mean, at maximum capacity...”

“Five times, at most five,” Zatanna sighed. “Didn’t you notice my soul energy is nearly depleted? Traveling through memory space is far more taxing than in reality—just locating the destination consumes half again as much power. I can only teleport five more times before I lose all mobility...”

Batman nodded. “Use one now. Take us to the first floor living area to find an exit.”

Zatanna looked weary but said nothing. She waved her hand, and a ring of fire appeared; the three stepped in and reappeared in the first-floor corridor.

Batman began checking facilities like convenience stores, but after several minutes of searching, found no sign of an exit. Finally, they reached the large cafeteria on the first floor.

As soon as they pushed open the door, they saw a bright light orb floating in the center of the cafeteria. Constantine exhaled in relief. “Finally found it. Let’s go—this place is unbearable.”

“But why the cafeteria?” Batman gave his classic skeptical look. “Isn’t the re-examination room, the observation room, the library, or the study hall more likely places for events that would trigger Schiller’s resistance?”

“Isn’t being repeatedly exposed by a psychiatrist or strapped to a chair in a restraint suit worse than eating?”

“Who knows? You said he’s a mental patient—don’t try to understand their world,” Constantine shrugged, then walked toward the light orb, Zatanna following behind him.

Before Batman stepped forward, he saw a figure in a restraint suit standing just outside the cafeteria door, half-lit by the flickering glow of emergency lights—dark, eerie, terrifying.

When the figure in the restraint suit—Schiller—faced Batman in his bat-suit, it was hard to say who looked more insane.

Batman turned toward the light orb. A flash of brilliant white light—then he stood in a pure white space.

Constantine plopped onto the floor. Zatanna explained to Batman, “This is the buffer zone. We can rest here before beginning to construct the virtual memory.”

“I don’t need rest. What kind of virtual memory space are you planning to build?”

Zatanna thought for a moment. “First, we need a relatively stable, safe memory space—not one with too much aggression. Otherwise, it’ll crack too easily.”

“Then I’ll use a weakness object to trick him into giving up the umbrella... Wait, never mind, I’m not that tired yet. Let’s just start.”

Constantine sighed where he sat. “But I... Fine, Zatanna, when we get out, you owe me a drink. I haven’t lost this much blood in ages...”

He staggered to his feet. Zatanna waved her hand, and dozens of light orbs appeared before her. “These are memory fragments. For some reason, his fragments are more shattered than others’. A normal person’s memory lasts two to three days.”

“But the longest fragment I can find in his soul is barely an hour. I don’t have time for slow buildup. Creating sudden events might work better. Watch me.”

Zatanna stepped forward, selected one of the orbs. It unfolded into a screen. Batman saw Schiller in a classroom.

Seeing the familiar theories on the blackboard and the recently submitted paper on the lectern, Batman instinctively stepped back half a pace, trying to put distance between himself and the board.

Zatanna didn’t notice his reaction. She tapped her chin. “Restraint suit... restraint suit... Got it!”

Her hand glowed. She lightly touched her forehead with her index finger. “Schiller Rodríguez, you were born into a family with a hereditary history of mental illness. You often fear your own psychotic episodes...”

“Wait.” Batman interrupted. “Scholar-type autism isn’t a hereditary mental illness.”

Zatanna rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. We’re liars. Our goal is to fabricate things that never existed.”

“I’m replacing Schiller’s memory in this space. You must make him afraid—only then will he surrender the umbrella.”

She glared at Batman. “Don’t interrupt me. This drains a lot of energy.”

Batman opened his mouth as if to speak, but seeing Zatanna’s determined expression, he hesitated, then fell silent.

At that moment, the door on the right side of the classroom burst open. Doctors rushed in. One stepped forward and said to Schiller, “Apologies, Professor Schiller. You previously suffered a psychotic episode, injured three innocent students, and were reported by their parents. You must return to the hospital for treatment.”

The Schiller in this memory space clearly had his memories overwritten. He first looked stunned, then studied the doctor, and finally said, “Alright. I’ll cooperate with treatment.”

He put on his coat, picked up the umbrella, and prepared to leave with the doctors. But the lead doctor stopped him. “No. To prevent further violent episodes, you cannot carry any sharp objects. Hand over the umbrella. We’ll store it safely.”

“But it’s raining outside,” Schiller said, glancing out the window.

Outside the screen, Zatanna snorted. She waved her hand—nothing changed. She frowned, waved again—still nothing.

“What’s wrong? Why can’t I make the weather clear? Stop! Stop the rain!... Clear up! Show blue sky! Then he’ll have no reason to use the umbrella...”

“What’s happening? Is my power malfunctioning? I can still control the memory’s scenery—so why can’t I stop the rain?”

“Where did you set the location?” Batman asked.

“I didn’t set the location. This classroom... Oh, it’s Gotham University.”

“I advise you to stop trying,” Batman said to Zatanna. “If you could make Gotham sunny, we could return to reality right now and tell this professor. He’d gladly trade the umbrella’s evil curse for it.”

Zatanna didn’t grasp his implication, but she didn’t dwell on it. “Fine. Change the script.”

On screen, the lead doctor said, “Professor, regardless, we cannot allow you to carry dangerous items. Hand it over.”

He stepped forward. Schiller stepped back—but showed no intention of surrendering the umbrella. Then the lead doctor pulled out a restraint suit. “If you refuse cooperation, we’ll have to use force...”

“Yes! Perfect. If he sees this weakness object and feels fear, he’ll comply...” Zatanna murmured to herself.

The doctors advanced with the restraint suit. But Schiller no longer retreated. He looked at the lead doctor and asked, “You say I injured three students due to mental illness and was reported. Then tell me—what mental illness do I have?”

“Uh...” The doctor hesitated. Zatanna thought, then said, “...Paranoid schizophrenia? Yes! That’s it!”

“What type of paranoid schizophrenia?” Schiller asked.

“Type? Does paranoid schizophrenia have types?” Zatanna frowned. “What types are there?”

Batman said instinctively, “Paranoid, catatonic, disorganized, simple, residual, undifferentiated...”

Zatanna turned to him. “Which of these types involves violent behavior?”

“Complicated,” Batman said. “Varies by individual.”

“Symptoms usually include perceptual disturbances—hallucinations of sight, sound, smell—and thought disorders, most commonly paranoid delusions, plus emotional, volitional, behavioral disturbances, and cognitive impairments...”

“Severity is classified as mild or severe; prognosis varies by type...”

“Stop.” Zatanna said. “Can you just give me a conclusion?”

“Paranoid schizophrenia is most common. Attacks caused by hallucinations can be violent. That’s it.” Zatanna felt Batman’s answer lacked conviction, but she had no better option. She repeated it.

Schiller nodded, as if accepting it. For some reason, Zatanna exhaled in relief. Then he asked again:

“How did you diagnose this conclusion?”

Zatanna immediately turned to Batman. He frowned. “According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition, Text Revision (DSM-IV-TR), and the World Health Organization’s International Classification of Diseases, Tenth Revision (ICD-10)...”

“What?” Zatanna didn’t understand any of the words. She could only stumble through repeating the pronunciation. Then Schiller asked:

“After admitting me to the hospital, how do you plan to treat me?”

Batman recited mechanically: “Early, adequate dosage, full course... Follow the single-drug principle and individualized medication. Second-generation drugs like risperidone, olanzapine, quetiapine are first-line choices...”

Zatanna couldn’t repeat any of this. To her, it was another incomprehensible incantation. She sighed. “Why does this professor have such severe occupational habits? Can’t he just think simply? Illness means hospital treatment...”

“Have you considered he’s a top psychologist himself? He may not specialize in pathology, but he’s not ignorant. Why would he calmly walk into a psychiatric hospital?” Batman said.

“Why not just force him?” Batman asked. Zatanna sighed wearily. “I said it—we’re liars, not robbers. Overstimulation could collapse the mental space, and he’d notice. Once he’s alert, fabricating memories becomes nearly impossible.”

“Fine. We still have two other items.” Zatanna turned to the cleaver and the building block. “Continue.”

Zatanna picked up the cleaver, thoughtful. “How does a knife induce fear? Normal people fear being stabbed—but that kind of fear won’t make him drop the umbrella. He might even use the umbrella defensively, triggering its curse...”

“Wait! I’ve got it!” Zatanna snapped her fingers. “What if Schiller uses this knife to commit a murder? Just as he’s about to hide the weapon, the police arrive...”

“He must dispose of the weapon quickly to avoid arrest. With a blade this long, one hand won’t suffice. In his panic, he’ll forget the umbrella!”

Zatanna thrilled at her brilliant idea and prepared to enact it immediately.

Zatanna didn’t notice the complex expression on Batman’s face behind her.