121. Farewell

In mid-February, near the end of winter, the weather began to turn warm.

The morning sunshine today was exceptionally brilliant.

Awakening from his meditation, Dean temporarily suppressed the auditory hallucinations ringing in his ears, greeted Paquet and Rust, and drove alone to the LVPD.

Beneath the canopy at the front entrance of the police precinct, police cruisers carrying fully armed officers streamed out onto the road, connected end to end like a long black dragon.

...

"Rust isn't coming along?" Holden asked, holding his briefcase and preparing to head out. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was greasy, clearly having not slept all night.

Dean shook his head, feigning total ignorance as he asked, "He was so worried about Grace that he couldn't sleep, and his condition is very poor. I let him rest at home today. What's going on at the station? Did something major happen?"

Holden remained silent for a long moment.

"I have some terrible news to give you. We found Grace at the Red Dragon Club in the Lake District, but unfortunately..." Holden placed a photograph in front of Dean. In the center of the photo was a corpse that appeared to be sleeping peacefully. "She had already stopped breathing at the time."

Dean closed his eyes tightly, lowered his head, clenched his fists, and asked with a trembling voice,

"Didn't Grace go to California? Why did she turn up in the Lake District?"

"It's still unclear at the moment." Holden shifted his gaze. "Perhaps the killer deliberately orchestrated a cross-state case to throw off the LVPD's investigation."

"How did she die?"

"Based on the preliminary site inspection and investigation, the precinct has reached some conclusions. El Daris was the leader of a cult who frequently organized certain murderous rituals inside the Red Dragon Club, and he even brainwashed a bunch of big corporate bosses, celebrities, and politicians into participating."

"Grace was the sacrifice they chose."

"However, an even more terrifying massacre took place at the club last night. Someone killed all the participants of the gathering and avenged Grace."

Holden paused in his speech, fixing a sharp gaze on Dean.

"Where were you, Paquet, and Rust at the time?"

"Putting up missing persons flyers everywhere. Do you suspect me?"

"Don't mind it, I'm just analyzing every possibility," Holden said earnestly, staring into his eyes. "After all, the mother of your best friend Rust was killed by the club. You have both the motive and the martial prowess to kill a group of people."

"The victims are not ordinary people, and this incident has had a massive impact. If we aren't careful, even the captain might lose his job. If you did it, just nod, and I'll figure out a way to cover for you."

"Unfortunately, it wasn't me."

A flicker of red flashed across Dean's eyes as he gritted his teeth.

"If I had discovered their bestial acts, I would never have let them die so painlessly."

Holden adjusted his tie and tentatively asked, "Then will you come with me to the club tonight to perform a séance and question the soul of El Daris?"

"No problem." Dean agreed decisively. "But I'm bringing Rust along."

...

Back home, Dean conveyed the information he had gathered to Paquet and Rust. Paquet sighed, put on an apron, and went to prepare lunch, while Rust merely listened in silence, his expression utterly hollow as if a piece of his heart had been torn out, leaving a void that could never be filled.

Dean sighed, glanced at his uncle in the kitchen, and lowered his voice.

"Man, do you want to say goodbye to Grace? I don't mean the body, but her soul."

Rust's expression changed, and his bloodshot eyes turned toward him.

"Don't rush. We'll make our move tonight, but first, you need to know some of the rules of a séance..."

...

Nighttime.

Paquet went to consult with a friend regarding an escape plan in case of emergencies.

Dean and Rust followed Holden into the Red Dragon Club, which was guarded by several police officers and surrounded by a ring of caution tape.

The corpses and bloodstains from the previous night had all been cleaned away.

Only circles of white marker lines remained in the spacious hall, recording the postures and orientations of the fallen bodies as well as the impact points of bullets.

Dean walked over to the kitchen area, retrieved a divination set from his handbag, and placed the character-filled spirit board onto the knees of the three individuals, forming a fixed triangle.

He took one last look at the expectant Holden and the uneasy Rust.

He lit the incense and candles.

Three fingers pressed onto the planchette and placed it onto the board.

"Friends gathered, hearts sincere."

"Souls drawing near, we call upon you..."

Dean's steady voice echoed throughout the hall.

"Ghost wandering the club, El Daris, you killed without mercy, and the sins you committed are unforgivable, but you shouldn't die without knowing why either. Now an opportunity lies before you, manifest immediately and tell us the identity of the killer."

"If you are nearby, let us know!"

"Whoosh..."

A gust of wind made the candle flames flicker.

Amidst the expectant gazes of the three.

The "Shadow of the Past" flew off the planchette, spelling out the word "YES."

At the same time, guided by Dean's telepathy, it wriggled like mist, transforming into a man wearing a white chef's uniform, whose build and facial features closely resembled El Daris.

Dean immediately handed the planchette over to Holden's field of vision, allowing him to observe the disguised face of the "Shadow of the Past" through his glasses.

"As expected!" Holden's expression shook as he asked,

"El Daris, who were the killers that murdered you?"

"Three people. One of them was Dutton, the club's security guard, and the other two I don't know... Red hair, big nose, brawny... with some Slavic heritage."

The planchette spelled out the fabrication crafted by Dean.

Holden earnestly exchanged questions and answers with the "Shadow of the Past" for a long time, completely locking the identity of the killers onto the security guard who had fled by car and his three "vigilante" accomplices. At the same time, the last shred of suspicion Holden held toward Dean vanished from his mind.

"Man, I owe this all to you. Next, I'm going to convince the precinct to issue a full APB on the fugitives. Catching Dutton should be enough to appease the anger of those bigwigs."

*Well, let me wish you luck in finding the bodies in Lake Mead ahead of time.*

"It's your turn, Rust."

Dean looked at his nervous and apprehensive friend and recited another prayer.

Before long, a woman dressed in a blue professional suit arrived as promised, descending before them.

Her red-haired visage was still delicate and pretty, yet ethereal and vacant. Gone was her usual warm smile; her unfazed eyes stared blankly into the void, resembling a mannequin in a clothing store.

Rust, observing through his glasses, was completely dumbfounded. Suppressing his overwhelming agitation, he stammered,

"Is this real, Dean? Is she really Grace?"

"That's right, but because she's a spirit, she'll be different from the living—rather stiff..."

"Grace!"

Before Dean could finish speaking, Rust leaped up and threw himself into the ghost's embrace.

Yet, as she was not living, that illusory form felt merely like a wisp of faintly chilling fog, offering no substance. Rust's hands passed right through her.

Still, he did not give up. Treating her like a fragile treasure, he carefully opened his arms in an empty embrace around his mother, feeling the chill of her embrace while continuously apologizing in tears,

"I'm sorry, Grace. You've always taken care of me and given everything for me, but I never understood you or helped share any of your burdens."

"In the end, I couldn't protect you either, couldn't save you. I don't deserve to be your son."

"Sob... I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry!"

The sound of weeping reverberated throughout the entire hall.

Dean picked up the planchette from the floor and placed it before him. He saw the woman standing stiffly in mid-air struggle to change her rigid posture. One mist-wreathed arm wrapped around Rust, holding him in her embrace, while the other hand gently patted his back.

Grace's mechanical face grew vivid, radiating the brilliance of motherhood, and she hummed a faint, indistinct tune. Clear teardrops streamed from her eyes, splashing down her chin onto Rust's shoulder, only to instantly vanish into the air like steam.

Yet Dean could clearly sense that every single tear was laden with a mother's deep attachment, reluctance to part, and love.

*Clack...*

Dean set down the planchette and accepted a cigarette handed to him by Holden nearby. For the first time across two lifetimes, he took a deep drag. Amidst the subtle stimulation of the tobacco, he closed his eyes tightly.

...

Everything went smoothly.

Dean had successfully misled the police investigation and allowed Rust to bid a final farewell to his mother.

Over the next few days, he, along with Paquet, Britney, Gretchen, and a group of friends and family, accompanied Rust home to sort through her belongings and retrieve Grace's remains from the police station.

After weeping bitterly, Rust prepared a coffin, a tombstone, and a burial plot for his mother.

All in all, it cost seven or eight thousand dollars.

Everyone stayed by his side the entire time, contributing both money and effort. Finally, color returned to his ashen face, and he began to speak and express his gratitude to everyone.

...

The funeral quietly arrived.

Because the apartment where Rust lived was high-rise and narrow, making it inconvenient for receiving guests, the casket was transported to a church in North Las Vegas.

In accordance with custom, the wake lasted for several days.

On the first night, Dean stayed behind to keep Rust company.

The church was dimly lit, rows of chairs frighteningly empty, with the casket placed at the front.

A chilly draft blew in from outside the doors, the lightbulbs suspended from the ceiling swaying gently. The yellow illumination flickered, the casket made creaking sounds, and the shadows on the walls danced like rampaging demons.

"Man, you know what? People who are prone to mental issues share a common trait: their minds are entirely filled with things from the past or the future, never focusing on the present. If you focus on the present, you won't feel remorse for the past."

Sitting in the front row, Dean patted the shoulder of his friend beside him. Rust's slender frame was draped in a solemn black suit. After enduring this blow, his youthful face had matured significantly, but an unshakeable melancholy lingered between his brows.

"You've already said goodbye to Grace. After today, you need to let go and carry her final wish forward. Go to college properly; you don't need to worry about the tuition, I'll take care of it."

Over the past few days, Britney and Rust had both received admission letters from the University of Arizona, but due to the sensitive timing, they hadn't celebrated.

Following these words, Dean originally expected Rust to remain silent as he had in the past.

Instead, Rust shook his head, speaking in a voice as raspy as someone with a severe cold, thick with nasal resonance.

"I've already talked it over with Grace. I'm not going to the University of Arizona. Becoming an astronomer won't protect my family."

"Don't blame Grace's accident on yourself and punish yourself," Dean shook his head. "Even if it were someone else—well, even if this tragedy happened to someone else, the outcome wouldn't change."

"No, if it were you, it wouldn't be a tragedy." Rust suddenly turned to look at Dean. The swaying light shone onto half of his face, revealing a deep envy. "For the past few months, I've often had impractical fantasies. If I were like you, undergoing a complete transformation over the span of half a year, then I would possess your insight."

He withdrew his gaze, lowered his head, and clenched his fists with frustration.

"Then I definitely would have discovered beforehand that Grace had fallen into the casino's trap, and I could have prevented this tragedy ahead of time."

"If I possessed martial prowess and superpowers as formidable as yours, even if those perverts from the club had tried to forcefully seize Grace, I could have cleanly and decisively resolved them, just like you've done in the past."

Dean rubbed his face with both hands. Placed in the position of the envied, he had nothing to say.

"But there are no 'ifs'..." Rust shook his head with self-derision. "I, Cole Rust Spencer, am still that useless little runt, a nobody. All I know how to do is cry, playing not a single useful role. It was like that when my dad was torn to pieces by those weed-peddling bastards and left lying in a coffin, and it's the same now when my mom was murdered by those perverts."

Dean fell silent.

"Your uncle Paquet gave me a very good suggestion."

"What suggestion?"

"I need to make a change." Rust suddenly stood up, straightening his previously stooped back. "If I don't want to experience similar tragedies in the future, I must start changing myself right now."

"I even discussed it with Grace when I said goodbye, and she agreed with my idea."

He slowly walked toward the open doors of the church.

Dean followed him out into a winding path buried among the greenery outside.

The night air was exceptionally crisp.

As a cold wind howled past, both of them pulled their collars tighter.

Rust spoke slowly.

"Paquet really hates the cops, but he still suggested that I go to police academy, hone my combat skills and marksmanship, learn basic the law, and acquire the means to protect myself, as well as protect the people I love in the future..."

He paused, a bone-deep hatred shooting from his eyes as he stared into the garden, speaking with the solemnity of a vow sworn to the heavens.

"And then, I'm going to eliminate every single criminal in the world like El Daris."

"These heartless, inhumane beasts all deserve to die!"

He shouted out loud, his angry voice echoing far into the night.

A startled look crossed Dean's face. What a naive and simpleminded idea! But to eradicate all criminals—how could that possibly be?

Light and darkness would never vanish from this world.

Dean's lips moved as if he wanted to say something to dissuade him from this notion, to make him hold fast to his astronomical ideals and enjoy a wonderful college life alongside Britney.

Yet he swallowed the words back down into his stomach.

If he were in Rust's shoes, suffering the same devastating misfortune and having his most cherished person murdered, he might well walk an even more extreme path.

"Rust, I understand and support your desire for revenge and to eliminate these bastards. But you don't need to personally put yourself in danger by becoming a police officer. Well, you can continue your dream, study astronomy, and later research spacecrafts and carrier rockets... Become a great scientist or a great businessman, and by then, you can hire people with money to help you achieve this wish."

Dean stared into Rust's eyes and said earnestly, "When you graduate from college and make something of yourself, I'll give you an investment to help kickstart your career."

"Thanks, man," Rust said with gratitude, before suddenly shaking his head as a memory surfaced.

"Do you remember? I said I used to live in the Alaskan countryside..."

"Right, you mentioned it once while having dinner at your place. You said you used to make up stories about the starry sky back then."

"Yeah, I hadn't watched television back then, so there wasn't much to do every day except look around and lie by the window, gazing up. Back then, I just felt that the black starry sky was filled with a profound, unknown charm and attraction that made me want to explore it."

"But now I've grown up, and I've finally discovered a truth about the cosmic starry sky." Rust suddenly looked up and gazed at the night sky, where the stars and moon were dim tonight. "That blackness isn't some wonderful existence at all; it's piled high with pain and evil, like an abyss crushing everything and destroying my life."

Rust suddenly covered his mouth and choked out a couple of sobs. The night wind blurred his vision, bringing tears to the corners of his eyes.

"I don't want to gaze at the starry sky anymore or study astronomy. I need to find something bright, otherwise I'll get lost, otherwise I won't even know what the point of living is."

The overwhelming pessimism left Dean at a loss for words, involuntarily recalling the auditory hallucinations that had been torturing him severely of late.

He also unconsciously slowed his pace, looking up at the night sky. But perhaps due to his exceptional vision, he could still spot a few bright stars dotted along the edges of the black firmament.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Rust, pulled him into a side embrace, and dragged him toward the open lawn outside the deep, shaded woods.

"Listen, man, even though it seems like darkness has overwhelmed everything. But you know what? There was a time when the world was only darkness... but now," he reached out and pointed toward those few twinkling stars, "the light is slowly gaining the upper hand."