56. Miracle, The Second Culprit

The human body—fragile, plagued by illness, the shackles of spirit!

Come forth,
Come forth,
Join this wild revel; I grant you eternal freedom!

“Hah hah!”

…

“Mmm…”

Dean awoke from his nightmare with a faint groan.

A pale white light rose around him.

He blinked hard and his blurry vision quickly cleared, revealing a pristine white wall and a clock hanging upon it.

The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant.

“Am I... in the hospital again?”

Dean lifted his hand and saw two circles of clean white bandages. He tried to move his back and waist to sit up from the hospital bed, but immediately a sharp, stabbing pain like blades, fiery burning, and a deep ache in his bones from overexertion flooded him, as though a thousand knives were slicing his flesh all at once.

Every inch of his body throbbed with pain.

Dean’s face twisted as he sucked in a breath. He remembered now—he’d been beaten senseless by the ghost of Alexander Raphael.

“A medium-difficulty case—damn freakish, supernatural factors, deadly risk.”

If he hadn’t obtained the “Insomniac’s Ouija Board” in advance and made extensive preparations targeting the ghost’s weaknesses, he would have been dead for sure.

“That was a long sleep, buddy.”

A teasing voice sounded. Holden Ford, sharp in a black suit, appeared at the right of the bed. His handsome face wore a vexing, playful smirk, but his expression was bright, as if good fortune had come his way.

“How long have I been lying here?” Dean felt a chill on his forehead, reached up, and found only smooth skin—his hand wrapped in bandages.

“Longer than at Lake Mead—three days. I almost thought you’d never wake... Stop touching, your hair was all scorched, so it had to be shaved. But you’re young; you’ll heal quickly. In a month or two, it’ll all grow back.”

“Mmm... Where’s Alvin? I got him out—he’s alive, right?” Dean asked anxiously.

“You still have the energy to worry about others? Take care of yourself.” Holden spoke with a mix of exasperation and admiration. “Do you know how dangerous that was? You broke a rib, took three knife wounds to the back—one grazed your heart. A few centimeters off, and you’d be in the morgue now.”

“Both hands, your back, left leg—several burns. The padded jacket helped, so they aren’t too bad, but after healing, they’ll leave ugly scars.” Holden shook his head with regret, as if beholding a fine artwork marred by flaws. “You’ll have trouble finding a girlfriend now.”

Dean’s heart tightened; he quickly felt his face.

Thankfully, it was still smooth and delicate—the gash near his cheekbone had already healed and was barely noticeable.

At least his face wasn’t ruined.

A few scars on a man are but medals of honor.

“For the next month, you’ll stay put in this hospital bed. Don’t go anywhere.” Holden commanded, half out of concern.

What a hassle.

Dean frowned.

“Resting is fine, but Alvin—how is he? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

The case—“Brothers”—was stuck at ninety-five percent progress, yet it was neither failed nor completed, which filled him with anticipation.

“First, tell me the truth.” Holden sat by the bed, picked up the teardrop-shaped Ouija board from the bedside table, and cradled it in his palm. “What exactly did you and Alvin do in Room 369? You burned a perfectly good house to ruins... I spent ages talking my way through the Henderson police interrogations for you.”

“Lucky for you, that house was Alvin’s inheritance from Panon. Otherwise, you’d be working years just to pay for the damages.”

Dean realized reality was not a magical movie—exorcising by burning a house didn’t make you a hero who could walk away. They had to face the consequences of their actions.

Dean breathed out in relief and snatched the Ouija board from Holden’s hand.

“If you really want the truth, I’ll tell you: after Mrs. Marlene Daly’s guidance, Alvin and I performed a second séance inside the house and successfully summoned Alexander Raphael’s ghost.”

Dean raised his head, bracing himself for a storm of criticism from this staunch scientific rationalist.

But this time, Holden didn’t challenge him.

“And then? What happened between you and Alexander’s ghost?”

Dean didn’t hold back, skipping only the details of using the Ouija board for the final strike. He recounted the rest almost unchanged.

Holden nodded as he listened.

“I found some evidence at Alexander’s old home... That old bastard was collecting information about Panon, preparing a cruel ritual... And in the fire’s ruins, we found Panon’s remains—key evidence for conviction. He can’t escape!”

A strange light gleamed in Holden’s eyes, as though witnessing a miracle.

“But I don’t quite get it—what did Alvin experience in the house?”

Dean watched Holden’s expression, and grasped his meaning, “So he’s alive, right?”

“He’s perfectly fine.” Holden stood, taking a deep breath. “And luckier than you—except for mild skin burns from the heat, a bit of ‘hair removal,’ a slight fracture of the nose, and an injured right ankle, he’s very healthy. His physical condition surpasses ninety percent of middle-aged men.”

It was all worth it!

Dean clenched his fist in excitement, then winced at the pain, his smile turning to surprise.

“Wait, you said he’s healthier than most middle-aged men? How’s that possible? I remember he was engulfed in flames. Wasn’t he terminally ill with cancer? Even if he survived the fire, he shouldn’t have much time left.”

“I didn’t believe it either; even Alvin couldn’t accept it.” Holden explained, “So we had the doctors run repeated tests. They confirmed not a trace of cancer cells—the body is cleaner than many young people.”

Holden’s face was complicated with emotion.

“He’s fully recovered—he could live another twenty or thirty years.”

Dean stared out into the night sky, speechless for a long time.

A cancer patient, burned in a fire—not only did he survive, but his illness was cured.

Dangerous flames became healing fire?

It sounded like the sort of lie a charlatan would concoct for gullible followers.

“To be honest, I don’t know whether to believe your superstitious explanations, but this is an indisputable medical miracle.” Holden’s confusion flashed and vanished, replaced by his usual shrewdness. “Since you’re awake, I’ll call Alvin in so you can talk directly.”

Dean was perplexed.

After all his explanations, Holden still chalked it up to superstition.

How could an FBI agent, so well-informed, act as if he’d never encountered the supernatural, while Dean had already participated in two such events in just two months?

It didn’t make sense.

“Oh, Dean, I need to thank you. You burned down a house, but found Panon’s charred corpse. With the evidence I gathered from Alexander’s home, we can almost indict the old bastard... Most importantly, Alvin agreed to return to Compton as a witness, so the Blood Gang case is finally moving forward.”

Holden gave him a thumbs-up.

“You two cleared up two cold cases with your crazy actions—nicely done!”

“If I did a good job, reimburse my expenses.” Dean demanded promptly.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“Listen, Holden, I want my thousand dollars reimbursed.”

“Noted. Tomorrow morning, I’ll bring you a hot dog with extra fried onions.”

Holden strode out the door.

Shit!

Dean flipped him the finger as he left, grinning.

The outcome wasn’t bad at all.

…

Alvin sat on a chair by the hospital bed, hands gripping his knees, lost in thought. Dressed in patient’s attire, his bald head gleamed—he didn’t even have eyebrows, making him look rather comical, but he now had a healthy flush rather than sickly pallor.

Except for a cast on his right ankle and mild swelling between his nose and neck, his injuries were much lighter than Dean’s.

He also carried a unique aura—a survivor favored by Lady Luck after escaping the clutches of Death.

“So what really happened in the attic?”

“Dean... You’re different from Holden. We went through life and death together, so I won’t hide anything.” Alvin sighed and patted his knees. “I saw Panon’s ghost in the attic.”

Dean glanced at his system—the investigation progress began rising, filling him with joy.

Was he witnessing their conclusion now?

“That old bastard carved terrible black runes into Panon’s corpse and sealed him in the black clay bed in the attic, using it to control his ghost.” Alvin’s cloudy eyes flashed with hatred.

“So the person we’ve been searching for was right under our noses?” Dean was stunned. “I should have smashed that bed sooner—could’ve avoided so much hassle!”

“No, buddy, you did plenty. You helped me a lot,” Alvin said gratefully. “If you hadn’t badly wounded Alexander downstairs, I’d be dead at Panon’s hands.”

Alvin suddenly lowered his head, hands clenched into fists.

“When he regained his senses, I realized that despite twenty years passing, my foolish brother Panon never blamed me for abandoning him. He’s been waiting for me in the house all along…”

Alvin gripped his knees tightly, teeth clenched. “I was too late... Too late.”

“Don’t blame yourself, buddy. No matter what, you saw Panon at the end and reunited him with family.”

Dean watched the progress reach ninety-eight percent.

“And I avenged you—Alexander Raphael’s evil soul has been annihilated!”

The ward fell briefly silent, broken only by their breathing.

“Back to the point, I remember you were covered in flames. How come you’re barely hurt?” Dean asked.

“I’m not sure, but I remember the feeling…” Alvin looked up at the white ceiling, blinking in confusion. “There was fire and smoke everywhere. I was holding Panon, waiting for death. A burning beam fell on me; I was struck and blacked out, slipping into a strange state.”

“I couldn’t see anything, as if unconscious, but I could clearly sense the flames quietly burning through my skin and organs.”

“Oh? Tell me more.” Dean’s face grew serious, ears pricked.

A strange light glimmered in Alvin’s blue eyes, his voice gaining a moving power.

“At that moment, trapped in the fire, something squeezed into my mind.”

“It was a chaotic consciousness between life and death.”

“I could feel my body melting.”

“It was as if I turned to liquid, flowing beneath the flames into another place—hidden deep, covered in vibrant green.”

“The air was rich with earthy scents, leaves and shrubs wafting fresh fragrances…”

Dean gave Alvin a strange look—was this a hallucination before death?

How could he see a forest in the flames?

“The place beneath the fire felt incredibly warm and familiar, like home, like my final resting place.”

“My brother Panon stood among vines, leaves, and willow branches, beckoning to me.” Alvin’s lips curved gently.

“I could feel him opening his arms to embrace me.”

“I even sensed traces of our father and mother—David and the mother I never met stood beside him.”

Alvin stared into the void, speaking with emotion, sharing his joy and excitement.

“They were all in that forest beneath the flames. If I let go, moved closer, the four of us could enter that forest together.”

“At last, we’d become one, wrapped always in family’s care and affection.”

“I was tired, longing for release, so I did let go and said, ‘Come, take me away.’”

His voice abruptly halted.

“Then I woke up.”

Alvin covered his mouth, sobbing as if he’d lost the whole world.

“I can still feel David, Panon, and Mom in that forest. Their concern and love for me are stronger than ever.”

“But I promised... not to abandon Panon again... and I failed…”

Dean watched his companion’s trembling shoulders, wanting to pat him, but his bandaged hand couldn’t reach.

He could only raise the Ouija board and glance at Alvin, confirming nothing was amiss, savoring that wondrous narrative.

Alvin’s survival could only mean one thing.

Panon, his autistic brother’s ghost, chose to sacrifice himself to protect the sibling separated for over twenty years—just like when he once shielded his brother from an oncoming car.

This time, Panon stood before him again, shielding him from the inferno, and, by some twist of fate, cured his mortal disease.

Did Panon himself turn to ash?

Or did he truly go to that impossible forest beneath the flames?

A strange feeling welled up within Dean.

Was Alvin’s experience a unique near-death vision, or does such a miraculous place truly exist?

Another space, another dimension?

A vibrant forest, like paradise.

Departed family, lost ghosts dwelling there.

Dean couldn’t say for certain; he fell into thought.

But in that moment, after hearing this story—

The investigation progress finally reached completion.

A prompt flashed before his eyes—

“You have witnessed the conclusion of Alvin Garcia and Panon Garcia, brothers.”

“Case progress: one hundred percent.”

“You may claim your reward at any time.”

…

“It should have been me… I should have died…” Alvin murmured softly.

“Hey, buddy, don’t you get it? You didn’t break your promise—Panon pushed you away himself.” Dean urged, “Think about it. You survived a terrible fire, rid yourself of disease, regained health—perhaps this is the last gift your family left you.”

“I’m certain,” Dean met his eyes, “they all want you to start a new life, to live with dignity, health, and happiness.”

“And when your time comes, you’ll leave this world and join them in ‘that forest,’ sharing all the joy and happiness you’ve gathered from your new life.”

“Panon saved me? Sharing joy and happiness?”

Alvin mulled over these words, a spark lighting his eyes as he murmured,

“I must live well, so when I see them again, I can share joy and happiness.”

Dean nodded.

His companion found a new goal, regained hope, and Dean too felt healed.

The overwhelming psychological pressure from his battle with Alexander Raphael eased greatly.

“What plans do you have next?”

“It’s my turn to fulfill my promise—I’ll accompany Holden to Compton and testify against the Blood Gang criminals.”

Alvin’s gaze grew resolute.

“Then I’ll try to rebuild my home atop the burned ruins. Holden says Panon’s bank account still holds a substantial sum.”

“As long as I pay off the property and estate taxes, I can reclaim it.”

“Congratulations! Make good use of your new life’s seed money!” Dean smiled warmly, took a bite of an apple, and the two exchanged smiles.

All the past gloom and sorrow vanished at that moment.

Dean pondered aloud,

“I have another question. Since Alexander killed Panon first, who killed the old bastard himself? Any idea?”

Alvin rubbed his temples, thinking hard, then suddenly realized,

“After waking, I have a wealth of unfamiliar memories belonging to Panon.”

“That strange?”

“Yeah—it’s so bizarre I didn’t tell Holden. Panon’s ghost saw the killer. Two years ago, late at night, someone suddenly opened the door to 369.”

“Alexander was tormenting Panon’s ghost in the living room, and couldn’t react in time. He froze as if under a spell, unable to move.”

Alvin gazed into the void, as though reading from a book written there.

“The man stood at the door, never entering, never moving—Alexander’s neck twisted instantly, one hundred eighty degrees; his two eyeballs, nerves and flesh attached, shot from their sockets into the man’s palm.” Alvin’s voice trembled. “The killing took less than five seconds, as effortless as crushing an ant.”

“Wait, you’re saying the killer broke Alexander’s neck from a distance and took his eyes out remotely?”

“Exactly! He grabbed the bloody eyes, shut the door, and left without a trace.”

“After Alexander’s death, the Ouija board in the attic lost its master and sucked both his and Panon’s souls inside, sealing them for two years.”

“Until we summoned them together.”

“I just learned now—those nightmares I had in the house were Panon warning me, through brotherly telepathy, to leave immediately. But under Alexander’s control, he couldn’t communicate clearly.”

“By the way, the Ouija board in your hand was Alexander’s prized ‘artifact,’ with special functions against ghosts.”

…

“I see—now all the mysteries make sense.” Dean tucked his spoils into his jacket, piecing together the timeline in his mind.

Five years ago, Alexander murdered Panon, controlling his ghost.

Two years ago, Alexander was killed by a visiting superpower; he became a ghost, and he and Panon were sealed in the Ouija board.

“What did the killer look like?”

“Average height, black hair, face hidden by a thick beard, dressed in shabby clothes, messy—a street vagrant, just like I used to be.” Alvin’s eyes flickered with fear, his lips trembling just from the account. “Only one eye was intact, the other covered by a black eyepatch.”

“A superpowered vagrant, easily crushing Alexander?”

Dean felt a surge of familiarity—he’d seen this man before.

“Buddy, you’d best not dig further, and don’t tell Holden the truth.” Alvin warned solemnly. “He’s dangerous—I sense from Panon’s memories that his powers are more unfathomable, powerful, and mysterious than any spirit medium master!”

“I remember now!” Dean slapped his knee and winced.

“The one-eyed vagrant—it’s Thame!”

Thame—

A month ago, he haunted the Barcadisco Ballroom and gave Dean a vital clue that let him slay Bob Law!

But when Dean searched for him afterward, he couldn’t be found.

“Thame is a powerful superhuman—what a coincidence we cross paths again.”

“You know him?” Alvin asked.

“Met him once, had a chat. I feel—just a feeling—he doesn’t seem like a ruthless killer.” Dean mused. “Why did he kill Alexander?”

“I recall a fragment—before leaving, Thame muttered, ‘Another Insomniac.’ Yes, Insomniac.”

“Insomniac?” Dean connected the symbols on the crate and Ouija board, and that pale eye.

Another? So there’s more than one.

The Insomniacs must be a group—a supernatural faction made up of mentally unstable, sleepless madmen.

His mind raced.

They recruited people like Alexander, who clearly operated outside the law.

But Thame, the vagrant, was their enemy, hunting them down—perhaps part of another faction, or a lone vigilante?

…

The more he pondered,

The colder Dean felt.

This world ran deeper than he’d imagined.

Ordinary people.

Spirit mediums and ghosts.

Hidden superpowers with differing allegiances.

Potential factions.

His beginner’s skills in fighting, shooting, and the Shadows of the Past were far from enough.

…

“Thame has noticed me, but bears no malice—otherwise, with his power, he’d have acted already.”

Dean recalled Thame’s words left behind in the ballroom alley—

“Darkness favors the strange. Hide well; don’t let it get too close, or your bones will disappear.”

“He was warning me to be careful. Now I see, that darkness refers to some dangerous supernatural force.”

“But how can I be careful? I’m too weak—I can do nothing but watch.”

Dean couldn’t figure it out, nor did he intend to pursue Thame’s trail eagerly. All he could do was use the system to grow strong, bit by bit.

When he had enough power to protect himself, he’d finally step into this mysterious world and explore it.

“Alvin, let’s call it a night. I need to organize my thoughts. And don’t discuss any of this—understand?”

“Don’t worry, I understand. If you need anything, let me know.”