Hamish stayed in Bankshire for three days before returning. The burnt villa had been refurbished.
The fire had spread, consuming the ground floor while the second floor remained intact. Some important things were still there. Hamish went upstairs to the bedroom where he and Elisa had once slept.
He casually rummaged through the cabinets. Everything was in its place, whether it was the clothes in the wardrobe, the skincare products on the dresser, or the jewelry in the cabinet. Everything remained untouched, as if nothing had changed.
He opened a safe and poured out several envelopes. He opened them one by one. They were the promises he had written during the time Elisa had amnesia.
“I, Hamish, will never become a jealous husband, never unreasonably hold grudges, never be sour all the time. I will give my wife freedom, respect her, cherish her, believe in her, love and indulge her for a lifetime. I, Hamish, will henceforth be generous and magnanimous. If I violate this, I am a dog.”
Hamish clutched the envelopes tightly to his chest. The promises felt icy, no matter how he tried to warm them with his touch.
How bad was his memory? He had sworn to Elisa to treat her well, and he had made so many promises. How could he suddenly forget?
“I am a dog! I don’t deserve to live!” Hamish raised his hand and slapped himself hard, berating himself as a dog.
The quiet bedroom was filled only with his hoarse, forceful self-reproach.
These promises he had written seemed to have opened floodgates. Grief poured out like a torrent.
Hamish stood up and found a toolbox. He took out a pair of pliers and, gripping his own fingernail, forcefully bent it upwards until it broke, leaving a bloody, painful mess. Yet, Hamish seemed not to feel the pain. Quickly, he aimed at another finger with the trembling hand holding the pliers.
A grown man resorting to self-harm in times of trouble seemed foolish and degrading, but he saw no other way. Elisa was gone, and everything seemed meaningless.
He removed all the fingernails from his left hand, the pliers stained with blood. He discarded them and took out a knife, fiercely stabbing at his leg. He continued, one cut after another, until his trousers were stained red with blood, only then did he stop.
It wasn’t enough… this was far from enough. He wanted to feel the pain Elisa had suffered, to touch the wounds she had left behind, to punish himself. But he knew this was far from enough; perhaps not even a fraction of what she had endured.
The room was equipped with surveillance cameras. Tobias couldn’t stay by Hamish’s side all the time, so he monitored him through the cameras.
Sure enough, after a brief respite, Hamish went mad again.
Tobias had moved into the villa and, seeing Hamish harming himself, he burst into the room with a key.
Old Burns had secretly instructed him to stimulate Hamish appropriately, to make him live well.
Now, Hamish, in his ghostly state, seemed indifferent to everything. Tobias didn’t know what to say to provoke him.
Seeing the bloody cuts on his legs, Tobias felt a pang of pain in his head. After providing some basic care, he immediately took him to the hospital.
How could he provoke Hamish? Only through Elisa.
At the hospital, Tobias stood by as the doctor treated his wounds, and with a weighty tone, said, “Mr. Burns, she wants you to live well, to live to a ripe old age, not to harm yourself like this.”
As the alcohol and iodine were sprayed on his wounds, Hamish didn’t even flinch. But when he heard Tobias mention Elisa, he winced in pain.
“She is punishing me. She knows how painful it would be for me to lose her, to live in agony, yet she wants me to live to a ripe old age.”
Hamish looked around in a daze, a grimace forming on his lips, tears streaming down his face as he smiled. “How can I make her happy?”
Tobias replied hoarsely, “By living well.”
An indescribable pain aggressively invaded Hamish’s body. His expression was vacant, but his reddened eyes were like two black holes, continuously shedding tears that soaked the ground.
“Fine, I’ll live… as she wishes. Rest assured, I will live to a ripe old age. I won’t let anything happen to myself…” He said it for Tobias to hear, for himself, and as a reminder to Elisa, who had already passed away.
But when would he grow old?
…
In the hospital, there was a childbirth simulator. As Hamishwalked past, he noticed that many men were trying the simulator.
Hamish thought about the time when Elisa had lost her first child and the grand speech he had given at the hospital.
Hattie had asked him to experience the pain of pregnancy on the simulator, but at the time, he had dismissed the idea, even considering it absurd to try to experience the pain of childbirth.
Unconsciously, Hamish found himself in line. The anguished cries of men echoed in his ears.
He stared numbly at a man on the simulator. Initially lighthearted, the man began writhing in agony before reaching level seven, pleading, “Stop, please stop.”
After the machine halted, he was drenched in sweat, his face pale, as he left in distress. Witnessing this, many who had been in line before Hamish dispersed, no longer interested in the experience. They were mostly there for the spectacle.
Only Hamish remained, taking his place. The attendant connected the electrodes, repeatedly confirming with him, “Are you ready?”
Hamish nodded. The pain levels went up to twelve. The first six levels were bearable, but as it progressed, the electric currents sent through his abdomen grew more intense. By the end, it felt as though a knife was twisting inside him, tearing his insides apart.
Seeing Hamish close his eyes and furrow his brow, the staff cautiously inquired, “Are you still okay, sir?”
“Turn it up to level 12,” Hamish said, gripping the armrest tightly. Veins bulged on the back of his hand as he endured all twelve levels, as if he had stepped into the gates of death. It was at that moment he truly understood what it meant to feel heart-wrenching pain, as if his internal organs were being shredded.
He leaned forward, mouth agape, silently crying. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the salty taste of his tears, as if it were bile.
The attendant, startled, hurriedly turned off the machine.
Very few people could withstand the pain of level 12 on the childbirth simulator, let alone endure it for so long.
“Sir, are you okay? Do you need a doctor?” the attendant asked, concerned.
Hamish opened his blurry, teary eyes and laughed through his tears. “So… this is how painful it is. This is why she didn’t want to endure it…”
…
“Uncle, what’s he doing? Why is he crying so sadly?” a young boy holding his mother’s hand asked, pointing curiously.
His voice carried through the crowd and reached Hamish’s ears.
The woman quickly bent down, grabbing her son’s hand and gently covering his mouth as she explained, “Uncle is experiencing the pain that only girls would feel.”
The boy, puzzled, asked, “Do girls really feel such great pain?”
“Yes, I hope that all girls in this world will be treated kindly. Son, when you grow up and meet someone you like, you must protect and treat her well. Hold on tightly, because not everyone is lucky enough to always be with the one they love.”
Hamish suddenly bent over the childbirth simulator’s armrest, grieving so deeply that he began to retch. The bandages on his left hand’s five fingers were stained with blood, and his eyelids turned a flushed red.
When you meet someone you like, you must hold on tightly, or else next time, luck might not be on your side.
He hadn’t been able to hold on to Elisa.
They say love is often nine parts sorrow, and promises are often nine parts falsehood. They also say that eventually, one person is left waiting for another who will never return.
An old saying goes, if you dream of someone three times, it means that your fate with that person has come to an end. So, Elisa was the person he wanted to dream of but dared not.
Hamish’s stomach ailment grew more severe. Sometimes, it was so debilitating that he couldn’t sleep. He curled up on the cold bed, his usually clear mind now foggy and unclear.
Clutching his aching stomach, he reached out blindly to the other side of the bed, murmuring in his haze, “Elisa, are you in pain? Let me warm your belly…”
Hamish loved Elisa. After her death, a part of him split off and became her, as if they were still together.
…
There’s an article online about understanding “death,” stating that a person dies three times.
The first is when they stop breathing, biologically dead.
The second is when they are buried, remembered at their funeral, socially dead.
The third is when the last person who remembers them forgets, truly dead.
Elisa had died twice already. She didn’t know when her third death would come. She floated in the air…