Psychological fragments

I lowered my head and stared intently at the face on the floor.

Pale, ashen-looking, with half-closed eyelids revealing only a sliver of cloudy, unfocused white in her eyes. It was Lin Nian. Absolutely, it was Lin Nian. The same arched eyebrows, the same shoulder-length, layered hair with a natural curve at the ends, even the gray hoodie with brown stains on the collar was exactly the same as when she walked into the clinic.

But she died three days ago.

My hands began to tremble uncontrollably, the coldness of her skin still lingering on my fingertips. That chill crept up my fingertips, spreading throughout my limbs and bones, even causing a layer of cold sweat to break out on my back.

"Dr. Shen?" Xiao Zhou's voice drifted from afar, trembling with barely concealed emotion. "Dr. Shen, what's wrong?"

I jerked my head up, shifting my gaze from that face to the direction of the reception desk. She stood behind the desk, her face as white as paper, the telephone receiver pressed tightly against her ear, her knuckles bluish-white from the force.

"She..." My throat tightened, as if something was blocking it, and I couldn't even utter half a complete sentence.

"The ambulance is on its way! It's already on its way!" Xiao Zhou hurriedly added, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

ambulance.

Yes, an ambulance. Save lives first.

I took a deep breath, the icy air filling my lungs and barely suppressing the turmoil churning in my mind. I straightened up again, interlaced my fingers, and began CPR on the cold body once more. Whoever she was, no matter how absurd the situation, she was someone in need of emergency care—that was the only certainty.

Ten minutes later, the siren of an ambulance pierced the heavy twilight outside the clinic as it drew nearer. By the time the paramedics rushed in with the stretcher, all my muscles were stiff, and my hands were sore and numb from the continuous pressure.

It was the same group of people as three days ago, even the team leader was the same paramedic. When the tall team leader saw me kneeling on the ground, he suddenly stopped, his eyes filled with astonishment.

"It's you again?"

I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry and painful that I couldn't utter a single word. I could only step aside and watch as they skillfully connected the cardiac monitor, attached electrodes, and performed artificial respiration. I watched as the nurse pried open her mouth and injected adrenaline. The lines on the monitor were a perfectly straight line from beginning to end, without the slightest fluctuation.

Finally, the team leader doctor took off his mask and looked up at me. His expression was complex, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and an indescribable solemnity.

"It's no use. The preliminary time of death is estimated to be 4:37 AM."

4:37.

I subconsciously looked down at the watch on my wrist. The fluorescent hands were steadily stopped at 4:37, and the second hand was still moving at a leisurely pace. Each tick felt like a hammer blow to my temple.

The exact same time as three days ago.

By the time the police arrived, it was completely dark outside. The streetlights came on, their dim yellow light streaming through the glass windows of the waiting area, casting long shadows on the cold, white floor.

It was the same two police officers who had come three days ago. The younger one was holding a notebook, taking statements, while the middle-aged one paced back and forth in the waiting area, his eyes scanning every corner of the scene. When the middle-aged officer saw me standing to the side, his brows instantly furrowed, and he walked towards me.

"Dr. Shen, what exactly happened?"

I shook my head, my voice tinged with lingering weariness: "I don't know. She came for her therapy session on time, and after it ended, she collapsed as soon as she reached the door."

"Exactly the same as the case from three days ago?"

"Exactly the same."

The middle-aged police officer was silent for a few seconds, his gaze falling on the body covered with a white sheet on the ground, then turning back to me: "What's this patient's name?"

"Lin Nian".

He froze instantly, his eyes widening sharply: "Lin Nian? The one who died here three days ago, wasn't that Lin Nian?"

My throat tightened, and I couldn't speak again.

The young police officer next to him lowered his head, opened his notebook, and read aloud, word by word, as his fingertips traced the pages: "The deceased was Lin Nian, female, 34 years old, a freelancer, who died three days ago. The autopsy results are not yet available, but homicide has been preliminarily ruled out."

"And what is this?" The middle-aged policeman's gaze fell on me again, filled with undisguised scrutiny and doubt.

I opened my mouth, but my mind went blank; I didn't know what to say. I couldn't very well tell him that someone who had died three days ago had died again today in the same place, in the same way.

Just then, a deep, steady male voice came from the clinic entrance, carrying an undeniable force.

"let me see."

I turned around abruptly. Fang Jue stood at the door, still in that dark gray civilian clothes, still with that square face and strong features, his brows slightly furrowed. His eyes were so sharp, like a hawk's, sweeping across the entire waiting area, over the corpse covered with a white sheet on the ground, and finally settling steadily on my face.

"Dr. Shen," he stepped in, his footsteps echoing clearly in the empty waiting area, "we meet again."

I nodded stiffly.

He walked to the body, squatted down, reached out and lifted a corner of the white sheet, staring at the face for a long time, until the surrounding air almost froze, before slowly lowering the white sheet and standing up.

"Notify the forensic doctor," he ordered the police officer next to him without turning his head. "Examine this body carefully and make a detailed comparison with the one from three days ago."

Then he turned around and walked up to me.

"Let's talk."

We sat in my consultation room. Fang Jue sat on the fabric sofa by the window—the same spot where Lin Nian had sat for a full forty minutes—while I sat behind my desk. The consultation room door was closed, completely shutting out the sounds of people, sirens, and footsteps outside. Only the faint hum of the air conditioner and the ticking of the clock on the wall were amplified in the enclosed space.

"Three days ago, Lin Nian died here with you." Fang Jue spoke first, his voice steady, yet carrying an invisible sense of oppression.

"right."

"Now, yet another Lin Nian has died here."

I remained silent, not uttering a word. My fingertips unconsciously traced the edge of the desk, the wood grain digging into them, yet unable to suppress the unease in my heart.

How do you explain that?

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "I can't explain it. I still can't believe what's happening."

Fang Jue looked at me without saying a word. His gaze was deep, like a bottomless pool of water, as if he were scrutinizing whether I was lying, or waiting for me to reveal more details he didn't know. That gaze made me feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Dr. Shen," he finally spoke again, "do you know what I saw when I came in?"

I shook my head.

"The woman I saw," he said, emphasizing each word, "looked exactly like the one who died here three days ago. Even the tiny beauty mark on her face was in the exact same spot."

My heart suddenly tightened, as if it had been gripped by a hand.

"you mean……"

"What I mean is," he leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between us, "that they are very likely the same person."

"Impossible." I blurted out, my voice trembling. "She died three days ago! I performed CPR on her myself. I watched as she had no heartbeat, no breathing, her pupils dilated to the sides. I watched as she was lifted into the ambulance, as she was wheeled into the morgue! This is impossible!"

"Then tell me," Fang Jue's voice remained calm, yet every word struck a nerve, "who is that outside?"

I was speechless again, my mouth open but no sound coming out.

Fang Jue stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to me, and looked out at the deep night. The shadows of the sycamore trees outside the window swayed in the wind, casting long shadows on his back.

"There are two possibilities now." He spoke slowly, his back to me. "First, the one who died three days ago wasn't Lin Nian at all, and the one we're talking about today is the real Lin Nian. Second, Lin Nian has an identical twin sister who looks exactly alike, down to the smallest detail."

"She never mentioned having a twin sister," I immediately replied.

"Did you ask?"

I was stunned for a moment.

I never asked. In five sessions, I understood her insomnia, her fears, and her inexplicable paranoia, but I never asked about her family, her siblings, or whether she had a relative who looked exactly like her. This is an oversight that a therapist shouldn't have made, but given her closed-off state at the time, who would have thought to ask such a question?

"There's a third possibility." Fang Jue turned around, looked at me, and his eyes held a sharp, probing look.

"What?"

"She didn't die at all," he said. "The death three days ago was staged, and this one today is also staged. She's been putting on a show for you from beginning to end."

I immediately shook my head: "Impossible. The one three days ago, I performed first aid myself. Her carotid artery had no pulse, she wasn't breathing on her own, and her pupils completely lost their light reflex. That can't be faked. She was really dead."

Are you sure?

I opened my mouth, but the confident "I'm sure" got stuck in my throat, and I couldn't say it no matter what I said.

Am I sure?

The scene was so chaotic, and all I could think about was saving people. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I was absolutely certain that it wasn't a perfectly staged death.

"Furthermore," Fang Jue continued without giving me time to think, "have you considered a crucial question?"

"What's the problem?"

"Why did she have to die in your office?" He walked back and sat down again on the sofa opposite me, staring straight at me. "Once wasn't enough, twice was necessary. Why here of all places? Why right in front of you?"

I looked into his eyes, and it felt like a lightning bolt struck my mind; I instantly understood what he meant.

"You mean...?"

“I mean,” he interrupted me, his tone certain, “she is very likely trying to tell you something in this way.”

Tell me what?

My mind exploded instantly, a flood of fragmented images rushing in—the sudden change in her gaze as she looked out the window, her soft, almost sigh-like "Thank you for listening to me," the not-quite-smiling curve of her lips, her parting words "Next time," and the fleeting smile she gave me for the first time.

She didn't say "goodbye," she said "next time."

Now, the "next time" has arrived.

But she died.

"Officer Fang," I snapped back to reality and looked at him, "have the autopsy results for that body from three days ago come out yet?"

"Soon. If all goes well, the official report should be available tomorrow."

"What if... what if the comparison results for the two bodies show that they really are the same person?"

Fang Jue was silent for a few seconds, then tapped the sofa armrest lightly with his fingertips. He then looked up at me and said, "Then we have to overturn all our previous conclusions and reconsider the whole case."

I looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Zhao Min," he suddenly uttered a completely unfamiliar name, paused, and then continued, "is the Lin Nian you know. She is the most wanted criminal in the 2016 cross-provincial serial murder case. For seven years, she has been on the run, changing her identity and seeking counseling from different psychologists."

His words were like a thunderclap, exploding in my mind.

"But have you ever considered," he looked at me, his eyes sharp as knives, "why she goes to see a psychologist? If she really is that serial killer with seven lives on her hands, she should be hiding as far away as possible. Why does she keep going to psychologists?"