Emily Parker’s heart was pounding like a drum; the last time she felt such intense unease was the morning her mother had her accident.
"What’s wrong?" Carlos noticed her discomfort. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on NoveI[F]ire.net
"That technology conference..." Emily turned and grabbed Carlos’s wrist. "I’m going with you."
Carlos chuckled lightly, his warm palm resting on her growing belly, "I don’t want our child going on a business trip."
"The R&D director is going with me," Carlos reassured her. "You should just rest well at the clinic, okay?"
Emily looked into her husband’s resolute eyes and could only nod in the end.
Carlos drove her to the small clinic, which had been refurbished and reopened. Due to previous closures and reorganizations, the once bustling waiting area was now empty.
Emily put on a mask, hung the stethoscope around her neck, and began organizing the medicine cabinet. The sunlight streamed through the newly replaced glass window, casting dappled shadows on the floor.
"Ding-ling—" The doorbell suddenly rang.
"Uncle Mason?" Emily looked surprised at the man standing at the door.
He was wearing a faded work uniform today, "Girl, last time at the racetrack..." Uncle Mason scratched his head awkwardly, "Had some urgent business."
Emily looked at his complexion and signaled him to sit down. Emily’s slender fingers rested on his wrist, her brows furrowing unconsciously—pulse irregular, organs all deteriorated, this was not the body a fifty-year-old should have.
"Uncle Mason," she spoke softly, her voice muffled by the mask, "Your health..."
"Old ailment." Uncle Mason waved off her concern, his work shirt exposing several hideous scars, "Got injured while in the army when I was young."
Emily’s gaze swept over those scars and settled on his dark eye circles. These were no ordinary old injuries but rather symptoms of somatization caused by chronic insomnia and psychological trauma. Yet, she asked no more, and turned to retrieve the box of acupuncture needles.
"Let me give you a few needles," she said as she lit an alcohol lamp, the silver needles glided briefly over the flame, "It might help you sleep well."
Uncle Mason was about to decline the offer but saw Emily’s skilled technique, the needle tip gently pricking his wrist’s Neiguan acupoint. A tingling sensation spread, and his tightly wound nerves miraculously relaxed.
The warm glow of the sunset cast gentle spots on the examination bed. When Uncle Mason opened his eyes, the clock on the wall had already pointed past four in the afternoon. He was taken aback; how long had it been since he slept so deeply? Ten years? Twenty?
"Awake?" Emily was organizing the medicine cabinet, her belly visibly protruding beneath the white coat, "How do you feel?"
Uncle Mason moved his shoulders; the joints, chronically sore for years, felt surprisingly relaxed. He looked at this young female doctor in front of him, and was momentarily struck by the shadow of a familiar figure.
"Girl..." His voice was hoarse, "Your acupuncture skills..."
"Learned from my mentor." Emily didn’t turn back as she put the needles away one by one, "She used to say that insomnia is a heart issue, must start from the liver meridian."
Uncle Mason’s hand suddenly jolted, spilling a few drops of water from the teacup onto his pants.
He quickly bowed his head to hide the shock in his eyes—the technique, the words, were eerily similar to that person from twenty years ago...
"By the way," Emily took a paper package from the drawer, "This is a calming herbal tea, drink a cup before bed. Remember to come back for a follow-up next week."
Emily mentioned casually.
Uncle Mason opened his mouth to decline but seeing Emily’s eyes filled with a gentle smile, his throat tightened slightly.
"A thousand will be fine." Emily said a low price seeing him take out his phone, Uncle Mason didn’t seem wealthy.
"Then... I’ll come next week."
Uncle Mason finally responded softly.
At six o’clock sharp, Emily had just taken off her white coat when her phone suddenly vibrated.
She swiped the screen open, and William’s email was glaring:
[X, found the clue. Your mother’s death was not an accident; it was murder.]
Emily’s fingers clenched tightly, her nails carving white marks on the phone case.
She stared hard at the phone screen, her breathing unconsciously becoming rapid. Scenes of her mother’s death flashed in her mind—
"Hitman..." she muttered to herself, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
The email included several blurry old photos: a stranger with a duckbill cap; a plane ticket, and... a bank transfer receipt with "PrisonNet" logo on it.
Emily’s chest heaved violently, she suddenly raised her head and looked out at the thickening night beyond the window.
The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting wavering shadows on her pale face.
The mystery from years ago finally had a lead...