bookbashuk Chapter 695 There's Still Hope!
Chapter 695 There's Still Hope!
"You really don't plan to sleep at all."
"You've known me for a long time."
“That’s why I know it’s no use trying to persuade you.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck, then stopped before turning around. “By the way, there was some noise from the dorms just now.”
Lynn looked at him: "Who?"
“Matto,” Jason said, “woke up once, came out and glanced down the hallway, saw Carmela sitting by the door, and the expression on his face… I can’t even describe it. Like he wanted to yell at her, but also like he wanted to shove her back inside. In the end, he didn’t say anything and went back inside.”
"He is emotionally unstable right now."
“I know.” Jason paused, “but I don’t think he would come to me first if he really wanted to speak up.”
Lynn didn't say anything.
Jason raised an eyebrow: "What, don't you want to go?"
“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Lynn finished her hot water in one gulp, her voice very calm. “It’s that if he really wants to say something, I don’t want anyone else standing next to him.”
Jason looked at him for a few seconds, then suddenly chuckled, "Fine. Then I won't be the annoying one."
He finished speaking and left. The door closed ajar again, leaving only the soft hum of the water heater and the vents in the recovery room. Lynn placed his water glass in the recycling bin, walked to the sink, and turned on the cold water. The sound of the water hitting the porcelain surface was crisp. He raised his hand to smooth the weariness from his face and rinsed off the dust that hadn't been wiped off his cuffs. The person in the mirror still had bloodshot eyes; the wounds and pain reminded him that the night was far from over.
He dried his face, straightened the outer buckle of the fastener, and then went out.
The dormitory area was even quieter than before. As night approached, the lights seemed to dim, leaving only a faint, cool glow on the ground. Carmela was still sitting in her spot, but this time she wasn't holding a paper cup; instead, she had a folded light jacket in her hand, as if she'd just borrowed it from the duty room. She saw Lynn return and immediately stood up.
"You really came back."
"I promised."
Carmela looked him up and down, her nose wrinkling slightly. "At least it doesn't smell like a sewer now."
"This is the second valuable comment I've received tonight."
What is the first sentence?
"The doctor said I don't have any obvious secondary bleeding for the time being."
Carmela's expression changed instantly: "You call this valuable?"
"For me right now, yes."
She looked at him, as if she really wanted to get angry, but then suppressed it halfway through. The other side of the corridor was quiet; there was no sound from behind the door. She lowered her voice: "He just came out."
"I know."
"you know?"
“Jason said so.” Lynn stopped at the chair next to her, without sitting down. “Is he still awake?”
Carmela glanced at the door. "I'm not sure. There's been no sound since I went in."
"Go back to your room and get some sleep."
“I told you I was here.”
“I’m here now,” Lynn said. “If you sit for another half hour, you’ll have such a headache tomorrow that you won’t be able to stand up.”
Carmela was still a little hesitant: "But—"
“There are guards outside the door, surveillance cameras in the corridor, and the door has bulletproof glass and a federal-grade lock.” Lynn looked at her. “This place is much safer than your home.”
Carmela was silent for a moment, as if she had finally been persuaded a little. Her fingers unconsciously gripped the folded edge of her coat, and faint dark circles were appearing under her eyes. Finally, she asked softly, "Will you call me? If he again…"
"meeting."
"Don't lie to me."
“Too many people have said I’m a liar tonight,” Lynn said. “I’m a little hurt.”
The comment, neither too harsh nor too mild, finally made her laugh. But the laugh was fleeting, quickly suppressed by exhaustion. She nodded, as if making a decision, and handed her coat to Lynn: "Take this. It's cold in the hallway."
"This is for you."
“I have blankets in my room,” Carmela said. “You look more like the kind of person who would sit still in the middle of the night.”
Lynn took it and didn't push it back: "Thank you."
“Don’t thank me too soon.” Carmela took two steps toward her door, then stopped and looked back at him. “If you’re really going to talk to him, don’t start like you’re interrogating him.”
What image do I have in your heart?
"A person who would use a frying pan as a weapon in someone else's kitchen."
"...That assessment is quite accurate."
“So you remember.” Carmela looked at Matteo’s door, her voice softening again. “He has a sharp tongue, but he’s not as daring as you think. Especially when it comes to… things he considers shameful.”
Lynn paused for a moment, then said, "I know."
Carmela then went back to her room. The moment the door closed softly, the hallway seemed to grow even quieter. Lynn draped the coat over the back of the chair, not sitting down, but pausing for a few seconds in front of Matteo's door. There was no light under the door, as if someone was already asleep, but before he could even knock, a very soft sound came from inside:
"It's not locked."
Lynn lowered her hand and pressed the doorknob open.
Only a dim bedside lamp was left on in the room. Matteo didn't get into bed; he sat at the single table by the window, his legs bent, toes barely touching the ground, his whole being radiating an unyielding restlessness. The clothes the Federal branch had given him were clearly ill-fitting; the gray long sleeves were stretched taut at the shoulders, while the cuffs were too long, making the faint crystalline bloodstains on his wrists even more visible under the lamplight.
He heard the door open, but didn't turn around immediately. He just stared at the untouched water glass on the table and said, "You came quickly."
“If you just want to say a few words, I can leave now,” Lynn said.
"Who said I was going to curse you?"
"Judgment based on experience".
Matteo finally turned his head and glared at him: "You really have a lot of experience."
"It seems so for now." Lynn closed the door behind her, not going too close, but pulling out a chair a little distance from the table and sitting down. "Your sister is asleep."
"She really went back?"
"Ah."
"You coaxed me?"
“It’s not exactly coaxing,” Lynn said, looking at him. “It’s just reminding her that she’s been through enough in the last 24 hours and needs to rest.”
Matteo's lips twitched slightly: "You're quite good at dealing with her."
"This is not what you call dealing with it."
"What's it called?"
“Let’s be reasonable.” “You actually think you can be reasonable?” Matteo chuckled softly, as if he had heard something absurd. But the chuckle quickly faded, and he turned his gaze back to the table, his fingers tracing the rim of the water glass without actually touching it.
The air conditioner in the room was blowing very softly, and the city lights outside the window cast slanted shadows onto his face, illuminating the dark red under his eyes, revealing a hint of sleeplessness. Lynn didn't urge him or interrupt, letting the silence sink deeper on its own.
Half a minute later, Matteo asked in a low voice, "How's it going on site?"
“You can’t go home tonight,” Lynn said.
"Nonsense, I know that too," Matteo said irritably, then pursed his lips. "Where's my room?"
"It's almost done."
"...The interlayer has been found?"
"found it."
Matteo's fingers paused, and his breath hitched. He looked up at Lynn, his gaze as if confirming something, only to see an overly calm face.
"What else did you find?" he asked.
“Convenience store surveillance footage. Gray car. Side view of the bar across the street. Gun emplacement in the parking lot. Fake reconnaissance in the stairwell.” Lynn’s voice was unhurried. “And there was a note that said ‘Don’t let C know.’”
Matteo's face stiffened.
Lynn didn't miss this change: "That's not your handwriting."
"No."
"It's not your sister's either."
"I know it's not."
Do you know who wrote it?
Matteo looked at him, his lips moved, but he didn't answer immediately. He simply turned his face away, his gaze falling on the darkened pane of glass outside the window. After a few seconds, he said in a low voice, "Consider it a half-reminder."
Who reminded you?
“A guy who delivered things to me,” Matteo said. “I don’t know his real name. Everyone called him Vito. He was thin, had a broken nose, and always spoke as if he had a cigarette in his mouth. He wasn’t in a very high position there, at most he was a scouting agent or a watchdog for new recruits. But sometimes he would say things to me that he shouldn’t have.”
"for example?"
“For example, I’m told not to leave the goods in the same place for too long. For example, I’m told to avoid handling those high-purity sealed samples. For example—” Matteo gritted his teeth, “For example, I’m told not to let Carmela know who I work for.”
"why?"
“Because he said that would drag her into it too.” Matteo’s voice was hoarse. “At the time, I thought he was just scaring me. Later I found out that wasn’t entirely true.”
Lynn leaned back in her chair, not pressing forward: "Your first contact with those people wasn't for money, right?"
Matteo remained silent.
“You don’t have many valuables in your room, your clothes are old, and your shoes aren’t brand names,” Lynn said. “But you’ve taken a big risk. If you were just after that quick money, you wouldn’t have done something so unprofitable.”
"Are you dissecting me now?" Matteo's eyes turned cold.
“No,” Lynn said, “it’s just a guess.”
"Your guessing is annoying."
"Have I been wrong so far?"
Matteo stared at him, for a long time. The room was so quiet that even the reflection of the lamplight in the water glass seemed to flicker. Finally, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he muttered a curse under his breath, as if cursing himself, or perhaps cursing everything in the room from which there was no escape.
“I really didn’t plan to go that deep at first,” he said.
Lynn didn't say anything.
“I was only sixteen back then.” Matteo stared at his wrist. “Carmela was interning at the hospital and often didn’t get home until late at night. You probably know the neighborhood we lived in; it wasn’t the worst, but it was pretty bad. There were often drunk people causing trouble outside the bar downstairs, and you could occasionally find needles in the back alleys. When she walked at night, she would say she was fine, but every time she got to the door, she would look back before opening it. Just that one look.”
He raised his head and looked at Lynn, and the thorn that had been held back in his eyes finally showed a crack.
“I’ve seen it many times. She thought I didn’t know.”
Lynn's voice was calm: "You're afraid something will happen to her."
“Who isn’t afraid?” Matteo chuckled, a forced laugh. “The kind of person she is, even in a nurse’s uniform, is like telling the whole world, ‘I’m easy to fool.’ She’ll stop and buy coffee for a homeless person, she’ll help an old lady downstairs carry her groceries if she can’t carry them, she’ll lend tissues to someone who’s vomited at the bus stop. She’s not stupid, she just… she just always thinks there’s still hope for others.”
As he spoke the last few words, his tone carried a hint of almost annoyed helplessness. Lynn listened without interrupting.
Matteo continued, "I wasn't as tall back then, and I wasn't a particularly good fighter. There were a few guys in school who were pretty influential. They were usually carefree and nonchalant, but when they stood up, ordinary people would make way for them. You know that feeling? They didn't have to do anything; people were already afraid of them."
“You want to become that kind of person,” Lynn said.
Matteo didn't deny it, he just gave a soft "hmm".
“At first, I just hung out with a few small street gangs, helping to pass messages, watch cars, and keep watch, in exchange for some money, and also for that kind of bluffing power like ‘people who know me know not to touch my sister.’” He smirked. “Pretty ridiculous, right?”
"Sixteen years old doesn't count."
“Don’t give me that.” Matteo stared at him. “You were probably even more annoying when you were sixteen.”
Lynn said calmly, "More or less."
Matteo was momentarily stunned by that remark, then let out a very soft hum, as if he couldn't help it or didn't want to admit it. After that brief moment of relief, he lowered his head again, his voice even deeper.
“That’s really all there was to it at first. I thought that if I hung out with those guys for a while, and my reputation spread, no one in the neighborhood would dare to mess with Carmela. At least at night, someone would recognize me and know she was my sister.” He paused. “Later I realized that ordinary thugs couldn’t intimidate anything truly frightening.”
"what?"
“Those guys who didn’t look like thugs,” Matteo said. “They were clean-dressed, drove gray cars, didn’t talk loudly, had no tattoos, and even smiled. But after they came once, all the local guys downstairs quieted down. Even the toughest guys at the bar would put out their cigarettes when they saw their car.”
Lynn's gaze darkened slightly: "That's when you connected to the line."
“It’s not a direct connection.” Matteo shook his head. “First, someone would come to me and say that because I’m fast, discreet, and bold, they wanted me to help deliver some things. The addresses weren’t fixed; sometimes it was the back door of a pharmacy, sometimes it was a freezer next to a warehouse, and sometimes it was the trunk of a car parked on the side of the road. I would deliver it and leave without asking or looking.”
"And the compensation?"
“More than I did in three days of working as a waiter in a restaurant,” Matteo said. “And most importantly, they recognized me. Not the kind of ‘Oh, you’re so-and-so’s kid,’ but they actually remembered my name. The first time someone said, ‘Mateo, you did a great job,’ I actually felt like I’d become something special.”
As he finished speaking, he seemed to suddenly realize how stupid his words were, turned his head away with a grim expression, and tapped his finger on the side of the cup.
"And then?" Lynn asked.
“Later I realized that it wasn’t that they valued me, but that they chose me.” Matteo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Chosen to do the dirty work that they were too lazy to do themselves, but that they needed someone else to do.”
"For example, sample transportation?"
“Like transporting samples. Like delivering a tightly sealed box for someone. Like retrieving a discarded syringe from near a hospital. Like standing at the back door at three in the morning to hand over your bag to a guy who won’t even let you see his face.” Matteo looked up at him. “Do you know what’s the most disgusting thing?” (End of Chapter)