Chapter 8

Entering the building, we approached the reception desk, where a nurse in her thirties, with skin so pale it looked unhealthy, slowly lifted her head. When Baker showed his patrol badge, she began to provide information without any hesitation. It seemed the influence of the patrol extended even to the outskirts of Artillia. Or perhaps this woman simply had a lax sense of privacy.

Baker took a rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and showed it to the nurse.

"Is the man who came to visit this sketch of a man?"

"Yes, the atmosphere is about right."

I exchanged a glance with Abagnail.

"Does this man often come here?"

Baker continued his questioning.

"About once every few months, I think."

"Once every few months... Is that often?"

"Quite often. Often, the last visit is the day they bring a patient here. Hehe. Even if someone visits once a year, you could say they come often."

Abagnail gasped beside me. This place was indeed such a place.

"Uaaaaaahhhh"

A scream echoed from the hallway, followed by groans and the sound of walls being pounded, as if responding to the initial cry. Though not human, the sounds were clearly produced by human vocal cords. The hair on my arms stood up at the eerie, otherworldly quality of the sounds.

For a moment, the three of us were drawn to the hallway. When we turned our attention back to the reception nurse, she sat there as if she hadn't heard anything.

The strangeness of the situation seemed to rattle even Baker. He cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Can we meet the patient this man visits?"

"Sure. You can't talk to her, though. I'll show you."

I was surprised at how easily we could meet the patient. Was it a rule of this mental hospital that patients couldn't speak?

The nurse stood and led us. We followed her in silence. I glanced back at the entrance door; the reception was now unmanned, but it didn't seem to be a problem.

As we climbed the stairs and walked to the back of the second floor, the eerie sounds gradually faded away.

"This is the room. You can go inside. She's very calm."

As the nurse said, there was no sound from inside. Perhaps the patients were segregated based on their aggressiveness. This area was eerily quiet, with no sign of human presence.

The nurse unlocked the door and opened it without hesitation. The patient who Quintas visited, I had been apprehensive about, turned out to be a long-haired girl, not much older than me. She sat on the bed at the back of the room, motionless, staring at the wall.

I was surprised, thinking she was asleep. Abagnail, perhaps thinking the same, hesitated to enter. Only Baker entered without hesitation, and we followed him.

"No reaction. She doesn't seem to notice anyone has entered."

"She's always like that."

"So when you said we couldn't talk to her, it was because of this, not a hospital rule?"

Baker turned to the nurse, who was leaning against the door.

"Oh, I didn't explain clearly. That's right. She doesn't respond to anything, so there's no conversation."

"No response, huh. I see. ...Shall we try?"

"Sure, as long as I'm here."

Baker moved to the girl and crouched down to look at her face.

"Hmm. I see."

For a while, Baker tried different ways of speaking and varying his voice to elicit a response from the girl. The nurse didn't set a time limit and patiently accompanied us. Despite her indifferent attitude, she was quite helpful. Perhaps it was better for her to spend time with us than to sit at the reception and listen to the patients' screams.

"She blinks. Her eyes move when something moves. It's strange. What kind of condition is this?"

"Mental illnesses have a wide range of symptoms. Sometimes, the condition is unnamed or hasn't even been named yet. She's one such case. We don't know what her condition is. She might react to sounds or light, but she rarely acts on her own. But—"

The nurse walked past Baker and pulled a book from a bookshelf in the corner, placing it on the girl's lap. The girl picked up the book and flipped through it to about the middle. From the movement of her eyes, it seemed she was reading.

"This... Can she read? I mean, does she understand the content?"

I asked the nurse, puzzled.

"I think she understands. The page she opened is the same one I left open when I took the book from her yesterday."

"Took the book?"

"Yes. When given a book, she reads it continuously. The man who visits her says she loved reading even before she became like this."

The girl turned the page.

"Reading is the only action she does on her own. It's strange."

"I wouldn't call it autonomous. She doesn't go to the bookshelf to get a book unless we give it to her. The director thinks she's just repeating actions she used to do before she got sick."

Reflex, perhaps. Like being in a vegetative state while awake.

"Still, a private room with a bookshelf. And quite a number of books. The room seems quite comfortable. It's spacious and the bed looks clean."

Baker said, sounding suspicious.

"The other rooms are much simpler. Some are like cells."

"Really? How are the rooms assigned to patients?"

Abagnail tilted his head.

"Patients who have visitors get better rooms. They also receive more attentive care from the nurses. After all, there's no point in giving good treatment to patients who have no visitors."

Abagnail swallowed hard and frowned, looking uncomfortable.

"Is it to show off to the visitors?"

"Sort of, but not exactly. If someone has a visitor, it means at least one person wishes for their life. We prioritize life in that way. Of course, there are other reasons, like the severity of symptoms or the amount of money paid by relatives. But aside from those practical reasons, the number and frequency of visitors are important."

"So, patients with no visitors have no value in life?"

"Yes."

The nurse's calm statement contrasted sharply with Abagnail's trembling, angry voice.

If there were unlimited resources, we could give the best treatment to all patients. But since that's not the case, resources must be allocated based on some criteria. That's what the nurse was saying. It seemed reasonable to me, but for Abagnail, and probably many others, it was not. Was it a difference in values? Or was my sense of ethics skewed?

"That's a tough topic. Maybe not something a layman should comment on lightly."

Baker subtly reprimanded Abagnail, who looked like he wanted to say something but held his tongue.

"By the way, did the hospital purchase these books?"

Baker changed the subject.

"All the books were brought by the man who visits. He used to pile them on the floor, but one day, he bought a bookshelf from the town below and brought it here."

If the visitor really was Quintas, this action didn't seem to fit his character.

"I see. Do you know the relationship between this man and the girl?"

"They're siblings."

"Siblings!?"

Abagnail, who had been deep in thought with a dark expression, exclaimed in surprise.

"What? Yes, he said so, and it's registered that way in the hospital. Though, I don't know if it's true... They do look similar, though."

"Quintas... No, that man has a sister? And from what you say, he seems to care for her quite a bit."

Abagnail looked unconvinced.

"Still, it's possible. Comparing the sketch, I see a resemblance. Roy, can you look at her face from the front?"

Baker gestured to me, standing near the door. I moved to the side of the bed and crouched down to look at her face.

She has the same eyes as Quintas.

That was my first thought. The reptilian golden eyes are etched in my memory. I've never seen anyone else with golden eyes. The girl in front of me could indeed be Quintas' sister, as Baker suggested. She gives a softer impression than Quintas, perhaps due to her gender and age, but if she glared at me, I might be reminded of Quintas' terrifying presence.

What about the other features? I think they look similar, but I can't be sure since I haven't seen Quintas' face up close enough. If she made a stern expression like Quintas, it would be easier to tell, but no matter how rude I was, her expression didn't change.

"I think they look similar."

"Is that so?"

"Um, should we leave now? There are things we can't talk about here, right?"

I glanced at the nurse for a moment.

"You're right."

Baker nodded, understanding my intention.

We left the room, having made an unexpected discovery. Before the nurse closed the door, I caught one last glimpse of the girl, still reading the book on her lap, motionless.

The door slammed shut, and the girl's figure disappeared. She seemed to have never recognized our brief intrusion. Her body was in the same world, but her consciousness seemed to have traveled to another.