13 Mink Street

Chapter 5 He wants to kill me?

Mr. Hofen lay on the ground, Karen standing before him.

At this point, if Karen wanted, she could have sent Mr. Hofen off early.

Because Mr. Hofen's expression and words earlier had put him under immense pressure.

Having been reborn into this world, he already felt insecure. So far, he'd been living under "this identity." Once he lost that skin, his life would slide into an unknown.

Furthermore, this wasn't just about "life" in the conventional sense; there were clearly other factors beyond Karen's comprehension.

If it were simply "running away from home," Karen wouldn't have felt so much pressure. The real fear was that it wasn't as simple as being "expelled from home," and it couldn't possibly be that simple!

Karen sensed the anxiety of a medieval witch.

Stepping forward,

Bending down,

Karen reached out.

Just one more pinch,

Or perhaps, lifting Mr. Hofen's head, pretending to wake him, and then banging it against the tile to repair the final damage.

Then,

this sudden vortex of crisis would dissipate before it could engulf him.

So,

do it or not?

Having such thoughts isn't surprising. Even the most ordinary, normal, and gentle people experience sudden emotional outbursts and sudden surges of evil in their lives.

But in the end,

Karen remained motionless.

When Mina came down from the second floor and started calling for help, when Aunt Mary came up from the basement, and when Paul ran over to pick up Mr. Hoffen,

Karen came to his senses at Aunt Mary's cries and stepped forward to help carry Mr. Hoffen into the hearse belonging to the Immeles family.

Paul started the car, while Karen stayed inside, accompanying Mr. Hoffen.

This modified "Guoker" car was essentially a stretched version of a regular sedan. The passenger seat had long been removed, creating more space, more than enough for a coffin. Mr. Hofen lay there, motionless.

Luckily, ambulances weren't common in those days, but he had a car ready to take him to the nearest hospital.

Even luckier...even if he couldn't be saved, he'd have a car to take him back home, a dedicated one.

Even, because of his relationship with Grandpa, he could even have a broken bone at the funeral. The only hardship would be on Aunt Mary.

"Heh..."

Karen suddenly laughed out loud, reaching out to gently rub his face.

At that moment, the golden retriever that had gotten in the car with its owner came up to Mr. Hofen and licked his fingers.

After lingering around its owner for a while, it slowly walked over to Karen.

Karen extended his hand, and the golden retriever didn't shy away, allowing Karen to stroke its head.

Seemingly pleased with the touch, it simply climbed down and leaned against Karen's lap. When Karen stopped petting it, it nudged Karen's hand with its nose, signaling for more.

"Ah..."

Karen looked at Mr. Hofen lying there again and sighed.

He leaned his back against the car wall.

He grabbed a handful of the dog's head.

"Whatever."

...

The car pulled into the hospital, and Mr. Hofen was rushed to the emergency room.

Paul busied himself with the paperwork.

Karen sat on a bench by the flower bed, holding the golden retriever.

After about half an hour, Paul trotted over with a smile on his face.

"Master Karen, the doctor says that although Mr. Hofen is still unconscious, he's out of danger."

Karen breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment.

This old man is truly resilient. With such a large pool of blood...he still managed to hold on.

"The bills are all at home," Paul added.

The Immels family runs a funeral home and has a strong relationship with the nearby hospital.

How strong is that?

Aunt Winnie, who manages the household accounts, even has a list of the most critically ill patients admitted to the hospital.

Sometimes, even if you're still in critical condition, Uncle Mason is already waiting in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette.

Where there's profit, there's a chain of communication.

With these connections, the paperwork is naturally expedited.

"Do you need someone to accompany you?" Karen asked.

"Um... we can hire a caregiver."

"Then please."

"Yes... sir, I'll arrange it."

"By the way, Paul, do you have cigarettes?"

"I do... sir, would you like some?"

"Yes."

Paul pulled a half-pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed it to Karen, along with a lighter.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll go get the nurse."

"Okay, sure."

Karen took out a cigarette and bit into it. Smoking bans weren't strictly enforced during that period. Even in the hospital courtyard, Karen saw many people smoking, and the passing nurses didn't rebuke him.

He lit a cigarette and took a puff.

His brain once again warned him of the invading "toxin," and his body rejected it. Nausea and retching immediately hit him.

But Karen ignored it.

He felt just like smoking—stupid.

The heavy smoker had fought the discomfort and forced himself into a habit that would only continue to harm him.

And he,

had let Mr. Hoffen be taken to the hospital and out of danger, while he watched him slip step by step into an unknown abyss.

He reflected on himself, but not intensely.

He regretted it, but also not intensely.

He felt foolish. Well, that feeling was overwhelming.

"Huh..."

Holding a burning cigarette,

Karen leaned back against the bench.

And just then,

A shadow suddenly appeared before him. Karen was startled, realizing the cigarette had been snatched from his fingers.

"You...Grandpa?"

The person who appeared before Karen was Dis.

Dis was still wearing the same clothes he'd worn when he left the house, but Karen noticed a noticeable stain on his trouser legs. The hand holding his cigarette also had a black mark.

Is it mud?

Dis dropped the cigarette to the ground and asked,

"When did you learn this?"

"I..." Karen hesitated. In reality, he'd just had an urge to tell his "grandfather" the "truth." He instinctively sensed something unusual, connecting the dots between his "dream" and Mr. Hofen's "questioning" of him.

Grandpa Dis and Mr. Hofen were old friends, after all.

It’s not that I’m worried about what Mr. Hofen will tell my grandfather after he wakes up, but compared to the retired philosophy teacher who just loves "divination" or "metaphysics", my grandfather who runs a funeral home and works part-time as a priest, seems to be... no, he should be the most mysterious one.

Mr. Hofen could know, but Grandpa... wouldn't he be completely unaware?

So, resistance is punished severely, but confession is treated leniently?

But looking at Grandpa's face,

Karen's "truth" lingered in her throat for a moment before she swallowed it back.

"Uncle Mason taught me that."

Death frowned slightly upon hearing this.

"Mr. Hofen is in there. The doctor says he's out of danger," Karen reported.

Death nodded and asked, "Mary told me what happened. Was she scared?"

"No... well... yes, I was."

Karen's answer was a little incoherent, but she didn't think it was her fault.

"I'll go check on him. Wait a minute."

"Okay, Grandpa."

Death went inside.

About a quarter of an hour later, Death and Paul returned together. Karen also stood up and followed them to the parking lot.

"When did you learn to drive?" Dis asked Paul.

"Not long ago. I learned after seeing so many cars," Paul replied shyly.

"Have you taken the test?"

"Yes," Paul replied immediately.

"Starting next month, your salary will be increased by one thousand rubles a month."

"Thank you, Mr. Dis. Thank you, Mr. Dis."

Paul and Ron had very different personalities. Ron loved drinking and playing cards. Today, after finishing his work in the basement, he immediately left work and left. He's probably hanging out in a tavern by now, while Paul stayed behind to clean the car.

"Let's go home," Dis glanced at Karen and repeated, "Home."

Paul was driving again, while Karen and Dis sat in the back. Since there were no seats, they sat facing each other on the cushions.

"Do we need to notify Mr. Hofen's family, Grandpa?"

"No, his children have long since disowned him, and he's no longer in Luojia City. Remember to come check on him in a few days."

"Okay, Grandpa."

After a brief exchange,

Karen saw Diss extend his hand and roll up his sleeves.

What shocked Karen was that one-third of Grandpa's left hand was a charred black, as if it had been rolled over charcoal.

"Pliers," Diss said.

"Huh?" Karen paused, then quickly realized what was happening. He stepped forward and opened the black box beside Grandpa. Inside was a set of small surgical instruments, as well as some items clearly not used in normal circumstances.

For example, several bottles of strangely colored liquid, crystal beads, an oddly shaped iron plate, a whip made of an unknown material... and most strikingly, a sword hilt with a hollow center.

Two exquisite carvings adorned the hilt, one on each side: a twisted skull on the left and a benevolent saint on the right.

Although the hilt lacked a blade, Karen carefully avoided it as she handled the object, as if an invisible blade might actually slice off her fingers.

Karen handed the pliers to Grandpa.

Grandpa took the pliers in his right hand, grasped a corner of his own charred skin, and slowly tore it apart.

Even though the car was moving, Karen could still clearly hear the crisp, paper-like sound of tearing.

The golden retriever that had returned with him huddled in a corner, shivering with its eyes wide open.

Grandpa, oblivious to the surroundings, tore off two pieces of charred skin with the pliers himself and said,

"Tweezers."

"Oh, okay," Karen handed the tweezers over.

But Grandpa didn't take them. Instead, he placed his hand in front of Karen and extended the pliers with his right hand.

Karen had never seen anything like it before.

But after pursing his lips, Karen took the pliers in his right hand and the tweezers in his left, first using them to tear a small hole in the charred skin, then using the pliers to pull it off completely.

Beneath the charred skin lay tender, red flesh, faintly seeping with blood.

Throughout,

Dis never cried out in pain,

his expression never even faltered.

When all the charred skin was cleared, Dis's left arm felt as if it had just been plunged into boiling water.

"It's done," Karen said.

"Mm."

Dis reached out, picked up a bottle of purple liquid, popped the stopper with his fingertips, and poured the entire contents onto his left arm.

"Hiss..."

The cool breath Karen drew out.

Because he saw white smoke rising from Dis's left arm, accompanied by the crisp sound of hot oil being poured into a wok.

After a long moment,

Dis breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his sleeve.

Karen asked with concern, "Doesn't it need a bandage?"

Dis shook his head.

Karen said nothing and continued to sit upright.

The car stopped at that moment; they had arrived home.

Karen got out, leading Mr. Hofen's golden retriever, while Paul pulled over to the curb at the gate.

"Mr. Dis, Master Karen, I'm going back now. I'll arrive early tomorrow to set up the funeral."

"Okay," Dis nodded.

Paul, delighted with his raise, ran home.

Karen remained at the gate, not rushing in because Dis hadn't gone in.

Two people, one dog,

stood at the gate.

On the third-floor window sill of the villa, Pu'er stood up, his cat-like eyes fixed on the place.

Inexplicably,

it was like the background music in a stage play suddenly changed its style,

so abruptly,

yet so clear;

Karen felt his lips begin to tremble, his breathing quickening.

The golden retriever Karen was holding looked up at Karen with some confusion, because it noticed its leash was shaking... because the person holding it was shaking.

People have a sixth sense.

It could be the wind, the sun, or even the flowers and plants within the fence.

Karen wondered if this sixth sense would be enhanced after a person "died" and then resurrected. In truth, he didn't have the energy to think about such things right now.

He felt like an egg fresh from the hen's coop, being tossed and tossed by a mischievous child.

Run?

Karen twisted his neck as far as he could, looking to the side. There was a path there, a path he could run all the way to…

Then Karen began to twist his neck in the other direction, but halfway through, he unconsciously lowered his head.

After lowering his head,

he saw his trouser leg,

he saw his grandfather's left arm,

and the hilt of the sword in his left hand, which he had clearly put back into the black box but was now holding.

For a moment,

Karen felt tears welling in his eyes, his nose starting to feel sore, as if snot was about to fall, and his facial muscles spasmed slightly.

Before him,

it seemed no longer the Immelais family villa at 13 Mink Street,

but the ground, descending layer by layer.

He himself,

standing in the center of the platform, next to him, the gallows prepared for him.

"Karen."

Dis's voice was like thunder in his ears.

"Grandpa...Grandpa..."

Karen's teeth chattered.

But in contrast, his heart was incomparably calm, a feeling of both physical and mental detachment.

"Karen, where is this place?"

Karen opened his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye,

Karen noticed that his grandfather's left arm had been raised and extended behind him.

At this critical moment,

Karen suddenly straightened his back.

In a hoarse, low voice...almost a roar:

"Home!"