PFC Chapter 2786 Phantom Chamber (2)
Chapter 2786 Phantom Chamber (2)
Chapter 2786 Phantom Chamber (XII)
All the phantoms of corpses disappeared after a pause, and the scene in the room began to change again, but this time it changed very slowly, as if it took some effort to read this part of the memory.
The living room turned into a small bedroom, which was probably less than 10 square meters. There was a single bed in it, a desk on the side with some homework books scattered on it, and a huge map of China hung on the head of the bed.
The bed sheet had a very common bear pattern and was a little pale from being washed. The bedside table was made from a stool and on it was a photo of a woman and three children. The three children were all young, and the little boy standing in the front was Schiller.
Schiller's eyes suddenly became focused. He remembered where he was and realized that his consciousness was still communicating with the tower. The room should have read the memories in the tower.
This was his bedroom when he lived in the nurse's house.
There was a period of time when the Ninth Institute was being renovated, and the renovation was originally done in sections. Schiller also changed rooms, but at that time his condition had just begun to improve, and he was moved to an unfamiliar environment, with construction noise, and his condition became very bad.
The doctors and nurses discovered this, so they discussed with the director and asked the nurse who was taking care of him at the time to take him home.
However, it was a confidential unit, and the family building was also within the hospital, so it was not far from the Ninth Institute. Schiller was taken back and forth between the family building and the doctor's office by the nurse, and he got to experience the feeling of going to school in an orderly manner.
When he stayed at the nurse's house, due to his illness, he could not communicate very well with the outside world and hardly spoke to the nurse's children, but his memory was very clear and he remembered every item in that small bedroom that was temporarily set up.
Schiller, sitting on the sofa, seemed unaware that there was an abyss under his feet. He was like a spectator in a movie theater, looking at the room with a little nostalgia, and even a hint of anticipation.
Knock, knock, knock! There was a knock on the door. Schiller was very familiar with this sound because although he could not communicate with the outside world, the nurse would knock on the door every time.
A familiar figure walked in.
She was a relatively young woman. Nurses at that time were less than 30 years old and were considered a newcomer in the institute. Everyone was more caring towards her, so she was assigned to take care of the quietest patients.
That's right, in the Ninth Institute, Schiller was even considered a relatively easy-to-deal-with patient. At least before his attack, he was a very quiet child who could understand instructions and would not attack others indiscriminately. The nurses and staff in the institute liked him very much.
The nurse should not have divorced her husband at this time. Although Schiller had never seen her husband, he remembered that he occasionally heard the nurse call a few times. Her husband seemed to work in another distant research institute and did not come back often.
The face of the woman who walked in was blurred.
This is natural. After leaving the institute, Schiller deleted all his memories of the specific faces of all the people he had met in the institute. He only remembered that there was such a person, but he didn't remember what he looked like.
"Azhi, don't sit in such a dangerous place." The nurse's voice came from the room. She said gently, "Come here quickly, the meal is almost ready."
Schiller suddenly laughed. He didn't say anything to the nurse, but to the room: "You seem to be unable to see deeper memories. Do you know what the nurse would say if it were true?"
Then he answered his own question: "She will tell me to get off her right away and go to the doctor to complain tomorrow morning."
The doctors and nurses who can work in such a research institute are not ordinary people. Even the nurses in ordinary hospitals, as long as they are in a slightly busy department, cannot be so gentle.
Schiller felt a little disappointed when he realized that it was difficult to restore the people in his memory in this room, but the nurse still stood by the window, constantly calling his nickname.
After a while, the room changed again, this time becoming brighter and wider. There were bookshelves with glass doors on both sides of the window, and a solid wooden desk in the middle. A tall figure was sitting at the desk with his back to the window, writing something.
"Azhi...Azhi!! Come and see how well I wrote this piece of writing!" Another familiar voice came. The pronunciation of the words was a little unclear, but the tone was quite thick and powerful.
Schiller didn't need to look at it, he knew it must be another piece of scribbles. Anatoly hadn't even learned hard pen calligraphy yet, but he wanted to imitate the dean in writing with a brush. Needless to say, the result was that even a mental patient wanted to scream when he saw it.
Doctor Anatoly turned around. He also had no clear facial features and it was even difficult to tell his race. He shouted at Schiller, "Don't sit there. You still have questions to finish today."
Schiller laughed again and said, "If it was the real Anatole, he would have carried me down directly, of course, as a child."
This phantom of Anatole, like the other phantoms, apparently had no influence outside the room, so he could only stand at the window and look at Schiller.
After a while he also disappeared, and the room began to change again. It still looked like an office, but this time there was a big national emblem hanging on the wall opposite the window, and a small red flag was stuck on the desk.
"Azhi, you're about to go to college, and I'm about to retire. You must take good care of yourself when you're away. Come with me, I have something for you..."
A somewhat hunchbacked old man appeared behind the desk. He wore old-fashioned round glasses and his facial features were blurred, but his hands were covered with criss-cross lines.
The deeper the memory, the more clearly it will be presented here. Schiller was deeply impressed by the dean's hand because the dean always liked to touch his head and was the only person in the entire institute who would ignore the doctor's warnings and reach out to touch his head.
He was a very kind and humorous old man. He retired when Schiller went to college, but he also had a period of great success when Schiller was young.
It was he who debated with many experts and, against all odds, invited a Soviet expert, Anatoly, to take charge of Schiller's condition.
Schiller still remembers that when the dust settled and they left the conference room, the dean held his hand and walked through the long corridor.
The walls of the corridor are surrounded by green walls and the floor is made of brown quartz, which seems to be made of compressed various stones and is inlaid with small pieces of different colors.
At that time, the sunlight outside the window was just right, and the green trees swaying in the wind looked like waves. In the cement-gray yard, the lines of the basketball court had faded, and there was undried water on the edge of the lawn. A pleasant smell of books lingered in the nose. The big hand he held was rough and dry, and the corridor was so long that it seemed like it would take forever to walk through.
The dean's figure also disappeared, and then they reappeared at the same time, all standing by the window calling Schiller's nickname. The originally warm scene now looked a little weird.
But Schiller didn't mind at all. He nodded at them proudly like a big star.
These were only fragments of his own memory, and every time he recalled them it was like a pilgrimage, because he was not driven out, nor did he escape, but he completed a stage of his life perfectly and chose to leave on his own.
"I don't know how many people have lived in this room," Schiller said. "But what they bring to you makes you think you understand what human regret is."
"You think my regrets must be hidden in my memory, there must be a moment when I felt imperfect but I can't go back, or I miss it so much but it's gone."
"You think you'll find the answer if you keep looking, or you think I'm a despicable cheater who hid the real answer where you can't find it."
"But there is no such answer." Schiller shook his head and his eyes fell on the nurse.
The color of the nurse's clothes began to change, gradually turning red from her neck to her chest to her abdomen. She screamed, then let out a short scream, as if she was attacked by something, and the smell of blood once again filled the room.
"Yes, that's your trump card," Schiller said. "You think this must be my biggest regret. I hurt someone who cared about me and loved me, and I must be filled with guilt for it."
"But that's not the case." Schiller shook his head and said, "This is the blood that a mother must bleed - do you know how a newborn baby comes into the world?"
Schiller looked at the ever-changing room and said, "This is my mother's womb. Since I came here, my only goal, everyone's only goal, is to get me out of here. This is not a meeting and parting full of regrets, but a great pregnancy."
Schiller bowed his head and said, "Parting is always regrettable, but for me, this regret is like a baby leaving the mother's womb. How many people would feel regret for leaving their mother's womb?"
"It was warm and cozy in my mother's amniotic fluid, but it was the birth process that really brought me into the world."
"Only people who have lived a very painful life will feel regret for being born. Do you think I have lived a very painful life after leaving here?"
The illusion in the room began to gradually dissipate, and red fish appeared one after another, as if silently answering Schiller's questions.
"No, I don't kill people because I feel pain." Schiller shook his head again and said, "It's not like I can only get pleasure from killing people. I've never been forced to do anything. I've always had a choice."
"I don't want to be God, or judge sinners on his behalf. I know clearly that God does not exist. I am not a controlling or corrective person. The murderer type defined by the secular world cannot define me."
The illusion in the room gradually disappeared, and finally turned back into a messy, empty living room. The clock stopped at 11:59, and the other party still refused to leave.
Glass fragments flew up, and the room seemed to want to block Schiller from coming in so that he would not be able to catch up with the zero-point detection.
"If I have to look for the reason..." Schiller spoke slowly, as if talking to himself, "I always feel that I am out of tune with that world and can never establish a connection with anyone. I once thought it was a symptom of autism, but later I found that there is only one way for me to deepen my connection with this society and ordinary people in it."
Schiller recited softly, as if humming a ballad.
"My mother's amniotic fluid formed a river, connecting birth and death. People walked on the other side of the river, calling my name with joy and love, as they did for other babies."
“I came to them, dismantled their bones and flesh, and wove them into a new umbilical cord, connecting it to the people on the other side.”
“When I reach the end of the river, my spirit and body will decay together, and my grave will be connected to countless other graves. This will be the most beautiful and solid connection in the world, just like a mother and her fetus, like love and death.”
With a loud crash, all the glass fragments fell.
The paranormal activity in the room faded away.
The doctor is crazy