Chapter 276 Your World No Longer Has Me
Lester's face had twisted into a grotesque mask, his features completely distorted.
The tearing and grinding from below felt like having the flesh beneath his fingernails snipped away bit by bit with scissors.
It was even more excruciating than cutting off a finger.
Lester could no longer form complete words, only convulsing continuously from the pain.
William didn't think it was enough. He lowered the camera lens. That toy penis, longer than his hand, had only forced its rounded head inside.
The rest was still outside.
"Keep going, deeper."
William urged softly. The person below fought back his nausea, gripping the toy penis and pushing another section upward.
William saw an oval bulge appear on Lester's stomach.
He raised the lens to capture Lester's face and realized that Lester had passed out again.
His head hung against his chest, the ends of his long hair sticky with half-congealed blood.
William had them continue with the ice water, not intending to let Lester sleep so comfortably.
But this time, even after three consecutive buckets of ice water, Lester, hanging from the iron chains, didn't move at all.
One subordinate checked his breathing. There was barely any air going in, more coming out.
"He is in shock."
One of the men said quietly, "Mr. Spencer, maybe we should take a break. In his current condition, he probably won't survive the day."
Hearing that Lester might die, William finally turned off the camera and walked toward the exit.
"That's enough for today. Don't let him die."
William pushed open the rusted iron door, his mood already gone.
Inside the warehouse, the man who had been handling the toy penis finally let out a long breath.
He looked at the thing in his hands. Lester's lower body was still bleeding, the blood running down his thighs, dripping from his toes, pooling on the ground.
His shoes were standing in that pool of blood. Every movement made him feel the wet stickiness under his soles.
He threw down the toy penis and rushed to the corner, bracing himself against the wall as he dry heaved.
The remaining men watched him quietly. No one spoke.
This wasn't their first time seeing William torture someone, but this time was different.
As men themselves, they all felt a chill in their groins.
After the man finished vomiting, he sat to the side, gasping for air.
Leaning against the wall, he gave a weak wave of his right hand.
"I can't do this anymore."
The others sighed and left him there for the moment, starting to clean up the scene.
When William returned to the villa, the two dog cages in the living room were empty. Dylan hadn't come back yet.
After a glance, his previously straight posture suddenly collapsed.
Gripping the stair railing and coughing violently, William walked hunched over, his other hand hanging limply.
He looked like someone who had just finished running a marathon, as if a gust of wind could blow him over.
He leaned against the wall, slowly making his way back to his room.
The moment he closed the door, he could no longer hold on.
He fell backward onto the floor.
William lifted his head, looking at the crystal coffin, his face whiter than snow.
Dense beads of sweat covered his forehead as he reached toward the coffin, his hand twitching unnaturally.
William gazed at the crystal coffin and murmured,
"Isabella, I'm so tired."
He managed to roll over, already gasping for breath, lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling, his eyes unmoving.
Only his chest rose and fell ever so slightly.
William closed his eyes and, still facing the ceiling, said,
"Isabella, I don't have much time left."
"I can feel it. You'll be buried soon."
William lay there alone, a relieved smile on his lips.
"Donny, I don't need your help."
"Only I, only I myself have the right to free myself."
"He doesn't need any outsiders."
He rolled up his left sleeve. From the elbow to the wrist, there were five wounds.
Each wound was festering and infected. The finger-width scar among them was still oozing pus.
William looked at his left hand, missing its middle finger, his face showing a blissful smile.
"When I get there, we won't see each other again."
"Isabella, your world will no longer have me."
"We'll never have to cross paths again."
William started coughing again. His chest heaved, and several times the pain in his lungs made his whole body shake, his head banging against the floor.
A thick clot of blood sprayed from his throat. William finally stopped coughing.
He still lay on the floor, letting that mouthful of blood splash onto his face.
It flowed into his nose and mouth. He just lay there motionless.
After a long while, he slowly spoke.
"But I'll still miss you," William's eyes moistened. "I think I'll never be able to forget you."
The blood-red sunset shone through the window, falling on William's face and on the crystal coffin.
William pushed himself up from the floor. After coughing up that blood, his body finally regained some strength.
He didn't call anyone to clean the room. He simply rolled up that carpet and threw it in the closet, then replaced it with a new one.
He cleaned while hunched over, like a frail old man. After quietly finishing all this, he took out a towel and slowly wiped the crystal coffin.
This was William's happiest time of day, and his favorite thing to do.
His face wore a smile, like a child receiving a gift, and he wiped carefully.
William had never been this devoted to anything.
He wiped it over and over, still feeling it wasn't enough.
Until the sunset completely faded and the crescent moon hung high, he finally collapsed, exhausted, on the floor. He leaned against the wall, giggling to himself, tilting his head in foolish joy.
Moonlight fell on his back. Dylan's voice came from the hallway several times.
"Mr. Spencer, I'm back."
"Mr. Spencer, it's time to eat."
"Mr. Spencer, please eat something."
William heard him, but pretended he hadn't.
He just leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the crystal coffin.
He listened as the hallway outside grew quiet, listened to the howling wind outside the window.
William called out softly,
"Isabella, it's dark."
"Let me turn on the light for you."
William stood up, talking to himself. After turning on the bedside lamp, he sat by the coffin, resting his head against it.
Just like before, Isabella had been placed in the coffin, and he imagined resting his head on Isabella's lap.
William's fingers caressed the coffin, a smile once more appearing at the corners of his mouth.
"Isabella, touch my face."
He rubbed his face against the coffin a few times, eyes closed, smiling foolishly.
In one of the hospital rooms, a man with a crippled leg lay on the bed.
One section of his bone had shattered completely and could never be reconnected.
So the doctor could only saw off that shattered section and use steel pins to connect the remaining bones.
Even though his leg was wrapped in a cast, when Donny got out of bed, he could still keenly sense that his feet were uneven, one high and one low.
When he walked, he looked like he was limping.
Donny lay in the hospital bed, hands pillowed behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling light.
Just then, someone pushed the door open and walked in, carrying a fruit basket.
Seeing the cast on his leg, the person clenched their fists so tightly they crushed the basket's handle.