"Well, logically speaking, your son should have awakened by now. Perhaps he’s just overly exhausted," the dean reluctantly began. "One can’t make guarantees about such things, you know."
But there seed to be no issues with Alan Morgan.
On the large white bed, Alan Morgan’s right hand was bandaged and lay flat to one side; an IV in his left hand dripped an anti-inflammatory solution.
"Daddy!"
From afar, it seed as though a little boy was running over, repeatedly calling him ’Daddy!’ He, however, couldn’t discern the boy’s face clearly, no matter how hard he tried.
"Gerry—"
Alan Morgan struggled, wanting to go over, wanting to see his face clearly. But in an instant, the little boy vanished. Then, his vision was filled with the stark white of a hospital.
"I’m sorry, we did our best."
A male doctor in a white coat shook his head as he said this, then pulled the sheet up, covering the little boy. Beside the bed, Shirley Grant was kneeling, slumped over and crying her heart out. He wanted to rush over, wanted to scream.
Save him! Save him! He’s so young, and I have money!
But no one heard his voice. No one looked at him. No one gave him any sign of response. Soon, the hospital bed was wheeled out. A devastated Shirley Grant followed behind it, her face ashen. He wanted to reach out, to touch the hospital bed, but he couldn’t make contact with anything. He couldn’t even catch Shirley Grant, who was walking behind, when she suddenly fainted and collapsed. Watching her fall onto the cold floor tiles, watching the doctors surround her...
He drifted in a stupor; the dream spanned two days.
「Deep in the night.」
Drenched in sweat, Alan Morgan suddenly snapped his eyes open.
"Shirley Grant!" he roared, jolting upright. The room was pitch-black, illuminated only by moonlight filtering through the window.
He sat there, panting heavily.
Having slept for two days, he was sowhat disoriented. He reached up to scratch his head, only to find his right hand bandaged. His wound throbbed faintly, and the pain brought all his mories flooding back.
The nurse, who had initially thought she was hearing things, pushed open the door to find Alan Morgan sitting up. "Mr. Morgan, you’re awake," she said, imdiately switching on the light.
The sudden brightness was jarring, and Alan Morgan took a mont to adjust.
"Is this... Capital Town?"
Alan Morgan glanced around the room. There’s no hospital in S City with such good facilities.
"Yes, Mr. Morgan. Are you hungry? I can get you so porridge."
Alan Morgan did feel his stomach was empty, but he refused the nurse’s suggestion.
"Discharge ."
The two simple words announced his decision.
He deftly got out of bed. His body wobbled for a mont, but he quickly grabbed his clothes and headed for the washroom.
When he erged, he had changed into a sharp suit.
His face was slightly pale, his lips chapped. He buttoned his cuffs as he walked.
"I’ll have soone handle the discharge formalities tomorrow."
After saying this, he paid the young nurse no further heed and walked directly out of the hospital.
As he stepped outside, a cold wind swept past. The wide road was empty, and the dim, yellow streetlights cast the city’s last vestiges of light.
Alan Morgan didn’t delay for a second. Regardless of the ti, he imdiately dialed a number.
"Have you found out where Shirley Grant is?"
The call connected. Alan Morgan stopped in his tracks, holding his breath as he asked urgently.
"No."
Those two words, to him, were a death knell.
"Find all of Shirley Grant’s relatives, especially any she might call ’brother’—whether they’re cousins, step-brothers, or so completely distant relation."
With a SMACK, he hung up the phone. Alan Morgan sank onto a nearby flowerbed, burying his face in his hands.
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