Psychological fragments

"Dr. Shen," she finally spoke, her voice soft and trembling almost imperceptibly, "if someone told you that there's someone in your life who isn't the person you thought you were, would you believe it?"

This is the same question again. My heart sank slightly; the thorn that had been stuck in my heart last week had been brought up again by her.

"You asked about something similar last week," I said.

"I know." She nodded, her gaze still fixed on my face.

"So are you asking me, or are you asking yourself?"

She was silent for a few seconds, the ticking of the clock amplified in the silence, then she said softly, "Everyone's asking."

I leaned forward slightly, deliberately closing the distance between us. This is a basic technique in psychological counseling—appropriate, non-oppressive physical contact can quickly bridge the gap and increase the client's trust.

"Lin Nian," I stared into her eyes, "do you have someone like that in your life?"

She didn't answer; her eyelashes simply drooped, concealing the emotions in her eyes.

"Is she someone you care about?"

She remained silent, but I could clearly see her lowered eyelashes tremble rapidly, like butterfly wings fluttering in the wind.

"Is he someone you're afraid of?"

The instant those words left her lips, her fingers, resting on her knees, jerked sharply, the tips digging into the fabric of her jeans. This was the only reaction she gave from beginning to end.

I changed my approach to a gentler question: "Do you want to tell me who this person is?"

She remained silent for a long time, so long that I thought she wouldn't speak, until I finally heard her voice, as soft as a sigh: "I don't know who she is."

"Her?" I keenly caught the pronoun and subconsciously repeated it.

"Yes. Her." She nodded, her tone firm, without the slightest hesitation.

A woman. I quickly jotted down this crucial information in my mind. She said "she," not "he."

"You don't know who she is, but are you sure she exists?"

"I'm sure." Her voice suddenly became louder, carrying an almost obsessive certainty.

"Why are you so sure?"

She suddenly lowered her head, staring intently at her hands clasped together on her knees. Her fingers were twisted tightly together, her knuckles turning bluish-white from the excessive force, and even the veins on the back of her hands were slightly bulging.

"Because she's always been there."

"Where are you?" I asked, lowering my voice even further, afraid of disturbing her.

"Next to me."

The moment those words fell, a sudden thought struck me. It was like a key that instantly unlocked the memories in my desk drawer—the sticky notes that my assistant, Xiao Zhou, had stuck on Lin Nian's file folder. They clearly stated: He Chunfang, female, approximately 55 years old, claimed to be a patient's family member, appeared in the waiting area multiple times during Lin Nian's consultation hours without an appointment, refused to disclose any information when asked, and had a slight limp in her right leg when walking.

"Lin Nian," I steadied myself, trying to make my tone calm and even, "has the person you're talking about been seen near you recently?"

She suddenly looked up, her gaze fixed on my face like a nail. The shock and fear in her eyes made my heart clench instantly.

"How did you know?" she asked, her voice filled with undisguised astonishment.

I didn't answer her question, but instead followed the clues and asked, "Is she a middle-aged woman? In her fifties? Does she have a slight limp in her right leg when she walks?"

She froze, as if frozen in place, sitting there motionless.

Immediately afterwards, I saw her eyes slowly redden at a visible speed, and moisture gradually rose up, covering her eyes.

"How did you know?" she asked again, her voice trembling violently, like a leaf falling in the autumn wind, with a trembling tone as if she were about to cry.

"Lin Nian," I looked at her, "did you come to see me because of this person?"

She nodded vigorously, and finally couldn't hold back her tears, which slid down her cheeks and splashed onto the fabric of her hoodie, leaving a small, dark, wet stain.

"You want me to help you?"

She nodded again, biting her lower lip to keep herself from crying out loud.

"Then you can tell me," I tried to make my voice as gentle as water, shedding all pressure, "who is she? What did she do to you?"

She opened her mouth, her lower lip still bearing the red marks from being bitten, and was about to utter the name when she suddenly stopped.

Her gaze suddenly swept past my shoulder and fixed on the window behind me. Her pupils contracted sharply, and she froze.

I immediately turned around and followed her gaze. There was nothing outside the window except for the old sycamore tree in the corner of the yard, its branches swaying gently in the wind. Behind the tree was a heavy gray-blue sky, with low-hanging clouds and not a single bird in sight.

"Lin Nian?" I turned around and called her name.

She slowly withdrew her gaze and returned it to my face. In that instant, I clearly saw that the expression on her face had completely changed. It wasn't the previous tense silence, nor the earlier emotional breakdown, but an expression I couldn't decipher at all. It was like the relief of finally letting out a sigh of relief, or like the helpless surrender after giving it her all; her entire aura instantly darkened.

"Dr. Shen," she said, her tone unusually calm, "thank you for listening to me."

I was stunned for a moment. The words were too light, yet too heavy; every word carried the meaning of farewell, as if saying goodbye in advance.

"Lin Nian, you—" I instinctively wanted to speak.

"Isn't it almost time?" she interrupted me abruptly, her tone completely flat.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. The hour hand pointed to 4:35, and the second hand was still ticking leisurely. There were exactly two minutes left until the agreed-upon end time of the consultation.

"Two minutes left," I said.

She held onto the sofa armrest and slowly stood up, her movements exactly the same as when she first came in.

"Lin Nian," I stood up as well, "you still haven't told me who that person is. What did she do to you?"

She looked at me, and the corners of her mouth curved slightly. It wasn't a smile, just a facial movement; the corners of her mouth tugged at a very faint arc, but there was no hint of a smile in her eyes, exactly the same expression she had when she left the consultation room last week.

"Next time," she said.

She turned and walked to the door of the examination room, her pale fingers resting on the cold doorknob.

"Lin Nian," I called out to her.

She turned around and looked at me.

"Be careful," I said. I returned to her exactly what she had whispered in my ear before she left last week.

She paused, a flicker of surprise crossing her eyes. Then, she smiled. It was the first time in all the time I'd known her that she'd shown me a genuine smile. It was light, brief, a soft curve at the corners of her lips, her eyes shimmering with tiny sparkles, like a small crack melting in ice, only to vanish in an instant.

"Thank you," she said.

She turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and went out. The door closed slowly behind her, the metal latch making a soft click as it clicked back into the latch.

I stood there, staring at the closed consultation room door, and the inexplicable unease in my heart grew stronger and stronger.

The clock on the wall showed a steady 4:37.

Just then, a muffled thud came from outside.

I will never forget that voice in my life.

It wasn't a knock on the door, nor the crisp sound of something falling; it was the heavy thud of a person hitting the floor. Dull, heavy, with the dull thud of bones colliding with concrete, as if something had suddenly lost all support and fallen straight down.

My mind went blank for a second. The next second, I flung open the door and rushed out.

She lay on the cold white floor of the waiting area, just two steps from the door of the examination room. In the exact same spot and posture as three days ago—face down, one hand outstretched, fingertips pointing towards the reception desk, as if trying to grab something in the moment of death.

"Lin Nian!"

I screamed her name as I rushed over, knelt on one knee, and carefully turned her body over.

Her eyes were half-open, the pupils completely dilated, unresponsive to light. Her lips were a dark purple, even deeper and more so than when she was first given emergency treatment three days ago. My fingers trembled as I probed her carotid artery—the skin was ice-cold, without a single pulse.

"No……"

I immediately laid her flat on the floor, interlaced my fingers, and began CPR. One, two, three. Her chest rhythmically caved in and out beneath my hands, but her body remained cold and stiff, showing no reaction whatsoever.

"Xiao Zhou! Call 120! Quick!" I shouted towards the front desk.

Assistant Xiao Zhou was already pale with fright, clutching the landline receiver tightly in his hand, his fingers trembling so badly that he couldn't even press the buttons accurately.

I continued pressing hard, sweat dripping from my forehead down my jawline and onto her cold face. Her cheeks were beginning to turn a deathly gray, her purplish lips were growing darker, and signs of life were visibly fading from her body.

"Wake up," I said through gritted teeth, my voice trembling without me even realizing it, "please, wake up."

But I know better than anyone that she won't wake up.

Exactly the same as three days ago.

The thought struck me like a thunderbolt. My pressing motion abruptly stopped, I froze in mid-air, and stared intently at her face.

Three days ago, she collapsed in the exact same spot, in the exact same posture, after the consultation. Three days ago, I rushed out in the same way, knelt on the ground to perform CPR on her, shouted myself hoarse to Xiao Zhou to call 120, and waited for the ambulance to arrive with sirens blaring.

Three days ago, she was pronounced clinically dead in the emergency room.

Now, she's dead again?

No. No, no, no.

A bone-chilling cold instantly crept up my spine and spread to every pore of my body.

She died three days ago. A dead person cannot die again.

And this person in front of me, who just finished speaking to me and is now lying on the floor, his body slowly growing cold—

Who is this?