Snowy Night Campfire (III)

A silent atmosphere filled the room. The ripples on the teacup reflected Victor's heavy breathing. Cobblepot mechanically poured water into his mouth, not caring whether the freshly boiled water was hot or not.

"When she is mentally ill, she can hurt you without restraint because she doesn't know who you are, nor does she know who she is."

"But when she becomes a mother again, no mother can accept what she has done..."

"Perhaps she always wanted me to leave." Cobblepot's tone became somewhat numb. "When she had an episode, she would throw anything she could grab at me, telling me to get out..."

"But I can't leave, I can't leave her." Cobblepot's voice began to tremble again. "No matter what, I can't leave her, she's my mother."

Victor closed his eyes, heavy breathing coming from his mouth and nose. Schiller also sighed softly and said, "When I prescribed your medication before, I suggested that you move to the new apartment. A change of environment will be beneficial for the patient to start a new phase of treatment and rehabilitation."

Cobblepot shook his head, tears glistening in the dim light as he moved. "She doesn't want to go," he said.

"Why?"

Cobblepot gripped the water glass tightly, the veins bulging from the back of his hand.

"Because of my father."

"According to my mother, she and my father met on this street. My father brought her here to meet his family, and they had dinner together, drank sweet wine, and chatted by the fireplace..."

"My uncle was singing, and the rest of the people were laughing and making him dance..."

Accompanied by a slightly hoarse voice, the fireplace flames rose, and people gathered around the sofa in a lively atmosphere. Some brought wine, others brought fruit platters, and when a folk tune began to play, everyone clapped their hands.

A youth couple walked to the center of the room and began to dance, their clothes fluttering in the wind. When the dance ended, they held hands, received praise and blessings from their families, and then walked into the church hand in hand.

Until One Hand touched the name on the tombstone, in the cold, rainy night, only a madwoman remained, spinning around in this dark and decaying old house, with only the sound of rain singing for her.

"After my father died, my mother blamed it all on him not having an umbrella on that rainy night. So she would often turn everything upside down in the house in an attempt to find an umbrella."

"But if I actually give her the umbrella, she screams and yells and smashes it with a chair, saying it's cursed, that we're all cursed..."

"I can't remember how long this has been going on..."

"At first, she would stay up all night telling me their stories. Later, every night she would silently sit in the corner of the living room and rummage through the cabinet where she had taken everything out countless times..."

"Every time I tried to stop her, she would attack me. Eventually, whenever I returned to the house, she would tell me to get out..."

"When she started to gradually regain consciousness, I was happy. I thought these days were finally over, but I never expected this..."

Cobblepot covered his face with his hands, his shoulders twitching uncontrollably. His sobs, which had stopped, sounded more like the cry of an owl, and in such a heavy atmosphere, they were comically funny.

And so, dawn broke, and the phone rang even more shrilly. Schiller picked up the phone and said, "Really? She's awake?... Okay, we'll be right there..."

As I walked out of the Cobblepot House, the sun was rising above the horizon. The rain that had fallen all night had filled the air with a thick layer of moisture, which was made even cooler by the morning breeze. When I inhaled it, it felt like I had swallowed a lot of ice.

The car drove to the hospital, and when the three of them got out, Gordon had already come out and said with a helpless expression, "You guys go in quickly, she's making a huge scene."

After going upstairs, before even entering the ward, he saw a nurse standing outside the ward door, holding an IV bottle in one hand and the IV tubing and needle in the other. The needle was covered in blood. Another nurse, who was a little older, was about to go in when Victor stopped them and asked, "What happened?"

The young nurse sighed and said, "This lady just woke up and pulled out all the IV needles from her hands, causing her to bleed a lot. She even hit people with the IV stand, so we didn't dare go near her."

The older nurse peeked inside and said, "We need to subdue her quickly. Her hands are still bleeding, and if the wounds reopen, it will be even more difficult."

Just then, footsteps came from the stairwell next door. Brand walked over with a group of nurses and waved his hand, saying, "Give me tranquilizers."

Old Mrs. Cobblepot was acting like a madwoman in the house, screaming and trying to attack anyone who came near.

Fortunately, she was an elderly woman who had lost a lot of blood and didn't have much strength. She was quickly subdued, and once the tranquilizer was administered, she calmed down and lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Cobblepot walked in front, with Victor and Schiller following behind. Cobblepot reached his mother's bedside, and old Mrs. Cobblepot rolled her eyes and looked at her son. Cobblepot saw a look of guilt and pleading on his mother's aged face.

"Why are you stopping me... Orr..." A dry voice came from her throat, and Cobblepot trembled as she couldn't answer.

"I don't want to stay here anymore... I can't do that anymore, don't stop me..." Old Mrs. Cobblepot began to tremble all over, but she couldn't move and could only stand frozen in place.

Schiller suddenly shoved Cobblepot and whispered, "Show your arm to your mother."

Cobblepot turned around, puzzled. Victor was also looking at Schiller, but under Schiller's gaze, Cobblepot stretched out his arm and rolled up his sleeve.

His arms were thin and dry, with rough skin and an unnaturally pale complexion, but there were no wounds on them.

Schiller stood by the bedside and said to Mrs. Cobblepot, "Madam, you have catatonic schizophrenia. You were imagining that you were attacking your son during an episode, but we gave you medication and you are now lucid."

Mrs. Cobblepot froze, grabbing her son's wrist with eagle-like claws, then struggling to turn over and stroking Cobblepot's arm with her One Hand.

It was indeed very smooth there, without even a single scar. The Lizard Serum healing potion created by Connors was not just for treating external injuries; it could even completely Self-Healing the scars left by the wounds.

Cobblepot felt his mother's arm begin to tremble, and then he heard her sobbing, unsure whether it was from guilt or relief.

"Mom doesn't want to do that, I don't want to do that..."

"You didn't do that." Schiller's tone was so certain that it was as if he wasn't lying at all. Even Victor rubbed his eyes, wondering if the image of Cobblepot covered in wounds that he had seen earlier was just an illusion.

"Yes..." Cobblepot grabbed her mother's hand and said, "That was all a fantasy, because you didn't take your medicine on time, Mom. As long as you're in the hospital and taking your medicine, this won't happen..."

Mrs. Cobblepot was already sobbing Shang-Chi. Brand, standing outside the door, sighed and said, "You should leave here first. The patient needs to rest."

Mrs. Cobblepot held her son's hand tightly, preventing Cobblepot from leaving. Only Schiller and Victor came to the door of the ward.

The morning sunlight streamed into the room through the window, turning the door frame into a picture frame, with Schiller and Victor standing against a golden backdrop.

Victor touched his lips with his finger, Schiller saw his fingertips trembling. When the emotions that had been building up all night finally erupted, this usually gentle and composed professor looked like he was about to break down.

His gaze even began to wander, as if he were being haunted by a host of terrifying hallucinations.

"If Nora dies..." Victor's voice rang out, like a bowstring snapping, and he looked at Schiller with pleading eyes, saying, "...Will I go mad like this too?"

Schiller couldn't give that answer because he was now facing a living, breathing person, his patient, not a character in a comic book or movie.

The familiarity with the plot and the Oracle foresight brought about here bring no sense of superiority that a time traveler should enjoy, but only a heavier sorrow.

In this world, every individual has their own tragedy, and no single answer can be the One solution to tragedy; therefore, there is no savior.

In the city of Gotham, some act out tragedies, some act out comedies; some Laughing Man at tragedies, some shed tears for comedies; some laugh while crying, and some cry while laughing.

No one can make everyone cry, nor can anyone make everyone laugh, not even time travelers or prophets.

This is Gotham, a city beyond saving.

The golden background in the picture frame was almost overflowing when suddenly, Victor turned around, trembling. He strode back to the ward, stared straight at Cobblepot, and said, "Come with me, Cobblepot... come with me!"

Cobblepot was pulled up from the bedside and walked out of the hospital. The morning light swallowed their figures, and Schiller, who had been standing by the door, disappeared at some point.

Victor, who had just returned to the lab, quickly took off his damp coat and tossed it aside.

He patted Cobblepot's back and pushed him inside, then walked to the lab table and turned to face Cobblepot.

Victor seemed to have lost his usual elegance and gentleness; his face appeared somewhat neurotic and even a little crazy under the cold lights of the laboratory.

"Cobblepot ..."

Victor looked into Cobblepot's eyes, where there was a tenderness and expectation that Cobblepot couldn't understand, and a stubbornness that was hard for ordinary people to comprehend.

It doesn't look like a teacher looking at a student, but more like a father looking at his son, or rather, more like someone rescued from one tragedy looking at another, or a traveler looking at another traveler on an endless snowfield.

At that moment, Cobblepot heard Victor ask him:

"Cobblepot... do you know how water turns into ice?"

Some people have stopped laughing; I won't say who.