Chapter 248: Snowy Night Campfire (3)

Chapter 248: Snowy Night Campfire (3)

The silent atmosphere enveloped the room, and the water ripples on the teacup reflected Victor's heavy breathing. Copperpot mechanically drank from the water cup, not caring if the recently boiled water was too hot.

"When she was a mental patient, she could harm you without restraint because she didn't know who you were, nor did she know who she was."

"But when she turns back into a mother, no mother can accept everything she has done."

"Perhaps she always wanted me to leave." Copperpot's tone became numb. "When she had episodes, she would throw anything she could pick up at me, telling me to leave quickly."

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

Victor closed his eyes, and a heavy exhalation came from between his lips and nose. Schiller also let out a sigh and said, "I advised you before when I prescribed the medication, suggesting that you move to a new apartment, a change of environment would be beneficial for the patient to start a new phase of treatment and recovery."

Copperpot shook his head, tears shimmering in the dim light as he moved. He said, "She doesn't want to leave."

"Why?"

Copperpot tightly gripped the water cup, and the veins protruded from the back of his hand.

"Because of my father."

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

"My uncle sang, and everyone laughed and encouraged them to dance..."

Accompanied by a slightly hoarse voice, the fire in the fireplace rose, and shadows gathered around the sofa cheerfully. Some brought wine, others brought fruit trays. When a folk ballad started to play, everyone clapped their hands.

A young couple walked to the center of the room and started dancing, their clothes swirling. When the song ended, they held hands, accepting praise and blessings from their family, then walked hand in hand into the church.

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

"After my father died, my mother blamed everything on him for not bringing an umbrella on that rainy night. So she often turned everything upside down in the house, trying to find an umbrella."

"But if I actually gave her an umbrella, she would scream and curse, smashing it with a chair. She said there was a curse on it, and she said we were all cursed..."

"I can't remember how long it has been like this..."

"At the beginning, she would hold me all night, tirelessly telling me stories of their past. Then, she would silently sit in the corner of the living room every night, rummaging through the cabinet that had been searched countless times..."

"Every time I tried to stop her, she would attack me. And later, whenever I returned to this house, she would make me leave..."

"When she started to gradually regain her sanity, I was happy. I thought these days would be over, but I didn't expect..."

Copperpot covered his face with both hands, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably. The sobbing, which had lost its voice, sounded more like the hooting of an owl, strangely bringing a desire to laugh in such a heavy atmosphere.

"Yes..." Copperpot held his mother's hand and said, "It was all just imagination because you didn't take your medication on time, Mom. As long as you receive treatment and take your medication in the hospital, nothing like this will happen again..."

Mrs. Copperpot was now gasping for breath due to her crying. Brand sighed outside the door and said, "You should leave here for now. The patient needs rest."

Mrs. Copperpot clung tightly to her son's hand, and Copperpot couldn't leave. Only Schiller and Victor remained by the door of the hospital room.

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

Victor pressed his fingertips to his lips, and Schiller noticed his trembling fingers. The emotions he had bottled up all night were now erupting, and this usually gentle and composed professor seemed on the verge of breaking down.

His gaze even started to lose focus, as if troubled by many terrifying illusions.

"If Nora dies..." Victor's voice rang out, like a bowstring snapping on a broken violin. He looked at Schiller with a pleading expression and asked, "Will I go mad like this too?"

Schiller couldn't give that answer because he was facing a living, breathing person in front of him, his patient, and not a character from a comic or a movie.

The familiarity with the plot and the foresight of prophecy brought no sense of superiority that a time traveler should enjoy, only a heavier sense of sorrow.

In this world, each person has their own tragedy, and there is no single answer that can be the sole solution to tragedy, thus there is no savior.

In Gotham City, some people play tragedy, some play comedy. Some laugh at tragedy, and some cry at comedy. Some people laugh and cry at the same time, while others cry and laugh.

No one can make everyone cry, and no one can make everyone laugh, not even the time traveler or the prophet.

This is Gotham, a City that cannot be saved.

The golden backdrop in the picture frame is about to overflow. Suddenly, Victor trembled and turned around. He quickly walked back to the hospital room, staring directly at Copperpot and said, "Come with me, Copperpot... Come with me!"

He pulled Copperpot along, making him stand up from the hospital bed, and they walked out of the hospital. The morning light swallowed their figures, and at some point, Schiller, who stood by the door, also disappeared.

When they returned to the laboratory, Victor swiftly took off his coat, damp with moisture, and threw it aside. He caressed Copperpot's back, pushing him forward, then walked to the lab table. He turned around, facing Copperpot.

Victor seemed to have lost his usual elegance and gentleness. His face appeared somewhat neurotic and even a little mad under the cold light of the laboratory.

"Copperpot..."

Victor looked into Copperpot's eyes, where there was warmth and longing that Copperpot couldn't understand, as well as an incomprehensible obsession typical of ordinary people.

It wasn't like a teacher looking at a student; it was more like a father looking at his son or, perhaps, like someone who had been saved from tragedy looking at another tragedy—a traveler gazing at another traveler on an endless snowy plain.

At this moment, Copperpot heard Victor ask him, "Copperpot... Do you know how water turns into ice?"