The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

The recycling truck stopped on a side road next to Dunbar Church.

This is not a main road, and the lighting is dim, with only a few faint lights shining from the streetlights in the distance.

The church is an old brick and wood structure. There is no bell tower on the spire, only a mottled wooden cross, which looks dim in the night.

The red bricks on the exterior walls have faded, and in some places, ivy has taken over, giving them a sense of decay that has been gently treated by time.

Although old, the doors and windows were clean, and several pots of half-withered marigolds were placed at the entrance.

Lin Zheng pushed open the car door, and the night breeze carried a unique church scent, a mixture of old wood and incense ash, which rushed towards him.

Riley got out of the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

"Hopefully old man Dunbar isn't asleep yet," he complained, rubbing his arms.

Lin Zheng walked to the back of the truck, opened the door, and carefully untied the ropes securing Murphy's stretcher.

Murphy's breathing was still weak, but it was more stable than in the alley; the effects of the sedative were slowly and inevitably fading.

Riley walked over, peeked inside, and muttered, "I really don't know what you're trying to achieve with this."

Lin Zheng did not respond, but focused on holding one end of the stretcher.

The two of them worked together to lift the stretcher off the vehicle.

The side door of the church opened silently at that moment.

An old man stood behind the door, thin and wearing a faded pastor's robe.

His hair was already gray, sparsely plastered to his scalp, and his face was covered with wrinkles of time, but his eyes were surprisingly bright and deep.

Reverend Dunbar.

He watched calmly as Lin Zheng and Riley carried the stretcher closer, showing no surprise or question whatsoever.

It was as if he knew they would come, and knew who they would bring.

"Good evening, my child." His voice was deep and hoarse, carrying a strange, comforting power. "Please come in."

He stepped aside, and the light from inside the door shone out, revealing a narrow corridor, with a faint scent of sandalwood in the air.

Lin Zheng and Riley carried Murphy into the church.

The interior of the church is not luxurious; in fact, it can be described as simple.

The hall was divided into several temporary cubicles by several screens.

These cubicles contained simple cots, on which lay several equally emaciated patients.

They lay quietly, some with their eyes closed, resting, while others stared blankly at the ceiling.

In one corner of the church, there is a room used as a medical room.

The room was small, with only two empty beds. A table was piled with some commonly used medicines and bandages.

Lin Zheng and Riley carried Murphy into the temporary ward.

Reverend Dunbar did not leave immediately. He walked to Murphy's bedside, bent down, and gently touched Murphy's forehead.

There was no pity or disgust in his eyes, only a calm, all-encompassing compassion.

He gestured to Lin Zheng and Riley to settle Murphy down, then took a clean towel and a basin of warm water from a cabinet in the corner of the room.

He didn't say a word, but skillfully began to wipe Murphy's cheeks and palms.

Riley glanced around and decided this wasn't a place for him to stay.

"Pastor Dunbar, the person has been delivered," Riley said somewhat abruptly to Pastor Dunbar. "I'll be going now. Thank you for your trouble."

Reverend Dunbar looked up, nodded at him, and gave him a kind smile.

"Go, child. May God and peace be with you."

Riley didn't respond; he simply turned and strode out of the ward, then left the church through a side door.

The door closed softly, and the world seemed to return to peace.

Lin Zheng sat by Murphy's bedside, quietly watching Pastor Dunbar's actions.

After Murphy's face was wiped clean, the contours that had been sunken due to illness became clearer, but at least they were no longer so dirty.

Reverend Dunbar then changed his pillowcase and blanket to a clean one.

"Sit down, child," Reverend Dunbar said to Lin Zheng, his voice gentle and calm like a babbling brook. "You must be tired too."

He handed Lin Zheng a cup of steaming water.

Lin Zheng took the water glass, and the heat traveled along the glass to his fingertips, giving him a long-lost feeling of warmth.

He looked at Murphy, the effects of the tranquilizer slowly fading from her body.

Murphy began to cough violently and groan in pain again.

He struggled to open his eyes, his pupils dilated yet holding a stubborn light, as if, in the final moments of his life, he wanted to grasp at something.

His gaze fell on Lin Zheng, as if he regarded him as the only listener.

In his semi-conscious, intermittent babbling, he poured out his regrets and worries.

"I shouldn't have gambled..." Murphy's voice was hoarse and weak, each breath accompanied by excruciating pain in his lungs. "I shouldn't have owed the mob money... I shouldn't have forced myself to work in the cold, rainy winter... pneumonia... COVID..."

His voice grew weaker and weaker, yet it carried a fierce longing as he repeated, "My daughter... is still waiting for me... I can't die here... I can't..."

Lin Zheng listened quietly.

Murphy's every word was like a heavy hammer, striking at his heart, which he had built up with numbness.

Gambling, debt, daughter, illness—these words formed the entire world of a dying man in his ears.

He had never felt the despair and will to live of a dying person so closely before; this feeling was completely different from the cold and nameless "goods" he had dealt with before.

These fragmented words were slowly but steadily pieced together in his mind.

A living, breathing person, with flesh and blood, regrets and attachments, is trying to express something at the end of their life.

This is no longer a number, a cold physical sample, but a person who has struggled, loved, and made mistakes.

Just then, Reverend Dunbar's cell phone rang in his pocket.

The ringtone sounded particularly abrupt in the quiet room, but was quickly drowned out by Pastor Dunbar's voice as he answered.

Reverend Dunbar walked outside the room and answered the phone with his back to Lin Zheng.

Lin Zheng heard him say a few words in a low voice, followed by a long silence.

Reverend Dunbar's expression gradually turned serious, his gaze frequently sweeping over Murphy on the hospital bed, as if comparing the words on the other end of the phone.

His expression shifted from initial confusion to shock, and finally to understanding.

He whispered "Yes" and "Okay" a few times, then hung up the phone.

Reverend Dunbar took a deep breath, straightened his robes, and returned to the room.

He walked over to Lin Zheng and gently patted his shoulder, his voice low and slow.

"Son, you did a great job," he said. "The person who made the call... he was also looking for Murphy."

These words struck Lin Zheng like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, causing him to abruptly raise his head.

His eyes were filled with shock and disbelief.

My unintentional act of kindness has unexpectedly led to such a complex connection.

Murphy's death is no longer a simple accident, but rather the fuse that will bring two completely different worlds together at the crossroads of fate.

Lin Zheng is currently at the center of this storm.

He stared intently at Murphy, whose breath was growing weaker and weaker on the hospital bed, and an irresistible urge welled up inside him.

He wanted to find out what powerful force had connected the deceased's fate with.

And where will this unknown storm sweep my future?

Reverend Dunbar walked to Murphy's bedside and took out a well-worn Bible from his pocket.

He sat down, turned to a page in the Bible, and in the dim light, his profile appeared so serene and solemn.

Murphy's breathing became increasingly rapid and weak, each inhale feeling like something was being pulled in his throat, as if it might stop at any moment.

Reverend Dunbar held Murphy's withered hand, feeling the last warmth of his life in his cold fingertips.

"Murphy, my child," he said softly, his voice filled with a calm yet resolute strength, "Can you hear me? It's Dunbar."

Murphy's eyelids twitched slightly, and his empty gaze seemed to focus a little as he looked at the priest.

"My child, before you go to your Father, I want to read you some words."

Reverend Dunbar gently stroked Murphy's cold hand and slowly opened the Bible. He looked up at Murphy and said softly, "My child, listen to me, Psalm 23..."

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want." He recited calmly, his voice low but clear and strong, "He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul; he guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

He spoke slowly, each word landing on Murphy's heart, trying to dispel his fear of death.

Lin Zheng sat beside him, watching Pastor Dunbar's actions and expressions.

There was no sorrow on the pastor's face, only a respect for life and a steadfast faith.

This is not just comfort, but also companionship.

After reading this part, Pastor Dunbar did not rush to turn the page.

He gently stroked Murphy's forehead with his free hand and whispered, "Murphy, my child, do you know that the sacrifice God requires is not money you can't afford, nor the mistakes you've made? The sacrifice God requires is a broken spirit. A broken and contrite heart, God will not despise."

"Your concern for your daughter and your regret for the wrongdoings you have done in the past are things that God values. He will forgive your transgressions, for His love is broader than all our sins."

A tear welled up in Murphy's eye again.

The tears slid down his face slowly, mingling with the sickly look on his face.

Reverend Dunbar didn't wipe it, but simply continued to hold his hand, offering him silent support.

He lowered his head and said softly, "John 14:1-3, the Lord said..."

"Do not let your hearts be troubled," Pastor Dunbar's voice rang out again, gentle yet firm. "You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you."

"If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to be with me; wherever I am, you also shall be."

These few words, in the quiet room, seemed to carry immense power.

They depict a peaceful haven, a promised home, in stark contrast to the alleyway, church, and even the entire city where Murphy now resides.

Pastor Dunbar paused, allowing the power of his words to settle.

Then he spoke again, his voice still calm and gentle: "Romans 8:38-39 says..."

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

The pastor's voice firmly proclaimed this unwavering love and connection.

This love will transcend death, transcend all the separations he once feared.

Murphy's breathing became shallower and slower.

Each breath felt like the last ounce of strength he had to muster; he was like a candle flickering in the wind, about to go out at any moment.

Reverend Dunbar felt the slight coolness of his palm and knew that time was running out.

He closed the Bible and placed it on Murphy's chest.

Then he went to the table and took a small bottle of olive oil.

He dipped his fingertip in the oil and gently smeared it on Murphy's forehead, drawing a cross.

This is a simple yet ancient ritual, a final blessing for the dying.

He took Murphy's hand again, pressed his head against it, and whispered a prayer: "May God's peace come upon you, Murphy. May He remove all your sins and forgive your transgressions. May you find eternal rest, free from pain and tears. May your beloved daughter also receive His care and guidance."

Finally, looking into Murphy's dazed eyes, he slowly read again: "1 Corinthians 15:54-57, it is written..."

"When the perishable has clothed himself with the imperishable, and the mortal with the immortal, then the Scripture’s words, ‘death has been swallowed up by victory,’ will be fulfilled."

"Where is your victory, O death? Where is your sting, O death? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

When the pastor finished reading the last sentence, the room fell into complete silence.

Murphy's breathing had become so faint that it was almost inaudible.

The only sounds were Pastor Dunbar's gentle stroking and Lin Zheng's own heartbeat.

The pastor straightened up and looked at Murphy's face.

His face showed no pain, no fear, only a calm that came from profound release.

Those empty eyes seemed to soften as they looked at a point on the ceiling.

Reverend Dunbar turned to Lin Zheng, his eyes filled with compassion and gratitude.

He didn't say anything more about death, but just looked at Lin Zheng with deep eyes, as if he could see through the confusion and struggle in his heart.

"My child, all human suffering eventually comes to an end," Reverend Dunbar said softly, his voice carrying a sense of profound wisdom. "But some things, once you get involved, are not so easy to get rid of."

"You saved this man, but you were also drawn into different vortexes as a result."

Lin Zheng felt a chill run down his spine; he realized that what the pastor said was not just what it said literally.

Reverend Dunbar's eyes seemed to tell him that his act of kindness not only connected Murphy and the mysterious "phone caller," but also two completely different, even conflicting, worlds.

The world he had always tried to stay out of, to numbly deal with as an observer, was now pulling him into its center.

Murphy's life, though insignificant, became an unexpected point of contact.

Reverend Dunbar's phone vibrated slightly again. He took it out, glanced at it, and then put it back.

He didn't mention the other person's name, but Lin Zheng knew that behind that number was the person who was connected to Murphy and also related to the unknown he was about to face.

Lin Zheng stared intently at Murphy, whose breath was weak, lying on the hospital bed.

He began to understand that behind each number was a living, breathing person with flesh and blood, regrets, and attachments.

Now, he not only sees Murphy's regret and longing, but also how that longing has become a bridge connecting him to another world.

His unintentional act of kindness led him from a numb "parts" assembler to the center of his destiny.

Murphy's breathing was almost inaudible, and his chest rose and fell slightly.

His story is about to end, but for Lin Zheng, it's just the beginning.