Chapter 51 Chapter 51 I took you back to my brother ten years ago...
Through his tear-blurred vision, Robert was suddenly pulled away by a powerful force. He stumbled backward, landing on a pair of strong legs. He looked up and saw the portly, round-faced officer frowning at him and pulling the child up by the collar.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Detective Fusco, who had been called over by Reese, said, his eyes fixed on the tall man in a black suit who had rushed over to Elio. "If this was just a simple assault, you could have just called the police."
"That's what I thought I'd do," Reese said. "Get this kid a shrink, Frosco, and send him back to the orphanage three blocks away."
He spoke without hesitation, giving clear instructions, but his hands were gentle as he carefully examined Elio's injuries.
"You're right, John," Elio whispered. "I do need you."
"Stop talking." Reese took off his coat and quickly fixed the dagger stuck in Elio's body. "You need medical help immediately."
Elio couldn't understand how he could speak so softly and still sound so stern. He gave up trying. Reese slipped one hand under his knees and the other under his arms. "I'm going to pick you up now. Get ready."
"Go east," Finch said, zooming in on the map of New York City on the screen. "After six hundred feet, turn left and you'll find a staircase leading down to the basement. That's the nearest underground clinic, Mr. Reese. How is his condition?"
Elio just nodded, and Reese picked him up. "There's no damage to the heart or lungs, and the bleeding isn't significant."
Finch breathed a sigh of relief. "That's great news."
"But the knife went into his spleen."
Finch gasped, "…bad news."
"...A psychiatrist? That's all?" Detective Fusco, who was left behind, looked at the boy crying silently in his arms and shouted at Reese's retreating back, "Are you sure you don't want me to send him to the detention center?"
His cell phone rang. Fusco answered. "Show him the video clip I just sent you, Detective," Finch said. "He'll understand."
“But I didn’t understand anything.”
Finch didn't answer him. Detective Fusco took the phone from his ear and glanced at the screen. Unsurprisingly, Finch had hung up. "All right," he muttered, releasing the boy's collar and lowering him to the ground. "Follow me, kid. I've got you watching this video."
If Elio could have heard this conversation, he would have been eager to see it prove his innocence. But he didn't hear it. He just leaned his head on Reese's shoulder and muttered drowsily, "...You look a little cold."
"You're too hot, Elio." Reese glanced down at him. "He's got a low-grade fever, Finch."
"The last hundred feet, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "You're almost there."
The newly opened basement clinic welcomed an unexpected guest. Like a gust of wind, Reese strode in, holding Elio in his arms. Under the doctor's astonished gaze, Reese placed Elio on the operating table before turning away.
"Repeat my words, Mr. Reese," Finch said into the earpiece. "'Your name is Alexander Sergeevich Popov, a framed medical malpractice...'"
"...I've revoked your medical license, ruined your career, and cut off your source of income," Reese said softly. "I have a way to prove this for you and restore your medical license. All you have to do is do me a small favor and heal this patient."
The doctor stared at him, his facial muscles twitching. Just then, his phone beeped, alerting him to a large transfer. He glanced at the string of numbers on the screen and decisively shoved the phone back.
"Help me hold him down," the doctor said to Reese, pulling on his rubber gloves. "Yes, you. Do you think there's anyone else here?"
As for Elio, who lay on the operating table, his consciousness was already blurred. He vaguely saw two faces appear above him; the doctor picked up a pair of scissors and cut open his clothes. This was all Elio could remember. What happened next slipped away from his sight, plunging into darkness.
Of course, this also included the scissors that accidentally cut his necklace.
The ring hanging there tumbled lightly from its chain and bumped and jumped on the operating table; no one noticed its movement, and no one noticed that it had somehow slipped onto Elio's finger.
Only Elio heard its deafening roar.
Boom, boom, boom.
In a coma, more cold sweat seeped out of Elio's pale face.
"...I really don't understand you, boy," said the magic ring. "You could have avoided him, but you froze. You could have killed that ignorant kid on the spot, but you didn't. You could have healed yourself, just like you healed your sister with the ring of clear attributes, but you gave that precious A-grade gem to a woman you might never see again - to be honest, I don't understand whether you are just unlucky or it's your own fault."
"I won't ask why you're making such a fuss about my behavior," Elio said. "Where am I?"
"You are in hell!" the Ring laughed. "Hahaha!"
"Get lost."
Perhaps realizing it hadn't fooled Elio, the Ring simply tutted and fell silent. Elio was left alone in the darkness. He examined his limbs and torso with a lingering fear, then glanced around, picked a random direction, and walked forward.
He kept walking, and walking, until a light shone from the front. He heard the sound of water dripping above his head, and a subtle, heavy smell gradually filled the air. A rustling sound rushed around Elio's feet. He frowned, gently touched it with his foot, and heard a squeaking sound.
"Wow," Elio sighed dryly.
He realized where he was. As incredible as it was, this seemed to be...
The sewers of Gotham.
He'd lived here briefly, like all homeless Gothamites. It hadn't been long, sharing the space with rats, crocodiles, and spiders, but it had left a lasting impression; deep scratch marks had been carved into the concrete walls, and any homeless person with any sense would have stayed as far away from it as possible, because that was Killer Croc's territory.
And when he finds out that his territory has been invaded, he is always in a bad mood.
Elio moved his nose. A stronger smell entered his nose. Silently, Elio reached out and tentatively touched the wall. Rough breathing and rough thumping sounds came from the other side. Elio despairingly discovered that the concrete under his hand was engraved with uneven scratches.
"You had better start running," said the Ring.
Elio turned and ran before it could finish its words. His only hope was that he could scan his path with his eagle eyes as he ran. When he finally emerged from the sewer, muting Killer Croc's earth-shattering stomping and roaring beneath the manhole cover, Elio slumped to the ground, sighing in relief.
No one noticed him. He sat in one of Gotham's most obscure alleys, breathing heavily. But Elio soon realized that his sigh of relief was premature.
"Where the hell am I?"
Elio murmured as he walked out of the alley and saw the clear cityscape of Gotham.
"Of course you're in Gotham."
"Of course I know I'm in Gotham!" Elio yelled, "but just a moment ago I was in New York! I was stabbed in the stomach and bleeding profusely, and John took me to the hospital—and now you tell me, why didn't I wake up on the operating table or in the hospital bed with you stuck on my finger?"
No one noticed the madman chatting with the ring on his finger, especially when he looked so miserable. Only a homeless man sitting on the street glanced at him and said, "A piece of advice from an elder, kid, you should drink less."
Elio gaped.
"Congratulations, Elliot Smith," the Ring announced slowly, "I take you back to Gotham ten years ago."
Elio gaped.
“…Fuck you.” He said finally.
Before the Ring could say anything, the tramp raised his head and this time looked at him in surprise.
"Then you have quite a strong taste," the homeless man commented.
Elio was speechless. After leaving a few banknotes for the homeless man (who stared at him in even greater surprise), Elio fled the scene. Despite his disheveled appearance, the concierge at the Gotham Continental Hotel welcomed him in thanks to the gold coins he had produced.
After taking care of himself briefly, Elio immediately set about figuring out how he got there (the Ring not only said nothing but even laughed at him loudly, so he had no idea), how he could get back (same, still no idea), and what time it was now - this was probably the only thing he could figure out clearly, since there was a calendar on the bedside table in the room.
Gotham, ten years ago, May 24th.
There was a TV show called "Gotham" that aired at midnight this morning, but Elio hadn't watched it that year. I heard that the show was quickly killed by the Joker in a physical sense, but that wasn't the main reason Elio didn't watch it; the main reason he didn't watch it was that Elio was busy with other things that year.
This year, ten-year-old Elio escaped from the orphanage and is tracing his origins.
On this day, ten-year-old Elio came very close to the cruel truth.
“…Why did you bring me back to this day?” Elio whispered.
He drew aside the curtains. There was no rain in Gotham that day, only gloomy, dark clouds that hung heavy, lingering over the church's steeple. The grown-up Elio could easily scale such heights, standing at the city's highest point with arms outstretched. But the ten-year-old Elio still lived in the city's grimy lowest point, piecing together the truth from the newspapers by the dancing flames.
A slow sound of footsteps approached.
Little Elio didn't bother looking up. He was writing down key words in his notebook, organizing his thoughts. Suddenly, a flashlight beam shone on the page in his hand.
"It's not good for your eyes."
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