Chapter 8 Chapter 8: It Hurts!
Ella wanted to mention that Allison had stolen her phone, but Nigel was already too annoyed to listen. “I’m going home to get some clothes for Sherrie,” he said.
When he returned to the Rogers mansion, the lights were on, but Allison was nowhere to be seen.
Sherrie was seriously ill, yet Allison could still sleep peacefully.
Nigel went to knock on Allison’s door. He knocked for a full minute before it finally opened from inside.
Allison stood there in an oversized T-shirt with damp hair, clearly fresh from a shower.
Facing her up close, Nigel finally noticed something was wrong.
Allison’s face was unnaturally pale, and she looked thinner than before. The oversized T-shirt hung loosely on her, making her seem fragile, like she could be blown away by a breeze.
Then something struck him.
There was a faint scent of decay around her.
A twenty-year-old girl should be full of life. Her hair should be smooth and flowing, her movements light and lively, her face warm with a soft smile, and her eyes should be shining.
Like Sherrie.
But Allison wasn’t like that. She walked slowly, barely lifting her feet. Her eyes were lowered. Her hands hovered over her stomach, and her back was hunched. Even a seventy-year-old woman would have more strength than she did.
Sherrie’s graceful image flashed through Nigel’s mind, and he snapped in irritation, “This isn’t a psychiatric hospital. Stop acting like an old woman taking a stroll. Straighten your back.”
Allison frowned. Her internal injuries were already in pain, and moving only made it worse. Earlier at the black market, she had forced herself to cooperate with that man’s act, and the pain had only gotten worse since then.
She tried to explain, “I can’t straighten up; it’s too—”
Before she could finish saying “painful,” Nigel grabbed her shoulders and forced her to stand straight, not allowing her to hold her stomach.
Watching her face turn pale from pain as she struggled, Nigel still refused to let go. He was determined to force her back into the confident posture she used to have.
“I said it hurts! It hurts!” Allison pushed him away, breathing heavily as her eyes turned cold.
Nigel stumbled back two steps, startled, and grabbed the doorframe to balance himself.
“Nigel! Allison! Don’t fight!” Sherrie rushed over, coughing as Ruth supported her.
Nigel snapped back to his senses and yelled at Allison, “Where does it hurt? Your arms? Your legs? Show everyone! Otherwise, people will think I’m bullying you!”
Allison had no visible wounds.
The psychiatric hospital knew how to torture someone without leaving marks that the family could see.
Allison said coldly, “I have internal injuries that are causing slow bleeding. If you want to see them, you’d have to cut me open and pull everything out to show you.”
She lifted her eyes and stared at him coldly. “Do you want to see them?”
Ruth’s eyes instantly turned red. Her voice trembled as she said, “Ally, your brother cares about you. He would never hurt you. Saying things like that will only break his heart.”
Tears gathered as she turned to Ella. “Get the car. We’re taking Ally to the hospital, just in case she really is unwell.”
But Nigel remained stubborn. “Allison, our family owns a hospital. Think before you lie. Internal bleeding causes unbearable pain, yet you haven’t even cried out and still had the strength to push me? I think you’re just making it up.”
Allison’s expression didn’t change. “What if I’m already used to pain?”
Nigel froze for a moment. What did she mean by being used to pain? If it hurts, then she should say it. Why would she have to endure it?
Allison went on, “Saying it hurts doesn’t change anything. So I can only bear it. And after a long time, you just get used to it.”
Nigel frowned and looked at her doubtfully. “I sent you to a proper psychiatric hospital. They treat all patients the same, and most cases are handled carefully.”
Allison replied, “That’s because their families pay bribes and visit them often. But for people like me, who have no one, even if we get beaten, there are no consequences for the bullies.”
Nigel felt a heavy discomfort rising in his chest. He quickly accused her, “Are you saying all this just to blame us for not visiting you? If you’re trying to make us feel guilty, at least make your story believable. Even if you were bullied, how could that cause compression injuries? Did they run you over with a car?”
Allison almost laughed. “A psychiatric hospital isn’t like a regular hospital. They have strict rules for controlling the patients. We weren’t allowed to use chopsticks or forks, because anything could be a weapon. We had to squat on the ground and eat with our hands. When we showered, they locked us in cages and sprayed us with high-pressure water. There were no classes. Aside from eating and sleeping, we just wandered around the yard every day. There were no recreational facilities, so we made up our own games. Like pulling someone’s limbs in different directions. Grabbing someone’s hair and riding them like a horse. Tying someone to an electric fence and shocking them again and again. But their favorite game was stacking people. They piled on top of each other in a big stack, chasing that feeling of suffocation and getting dizzy. Last year, someone died while playing it. The first person jumped onto the pile and crushed the ribs of the one at the bottom. When more people piled on, the broken ribs pierced her heart. It took ten minutes before anyone realized she was dead.”
Nigel’s eyes widened. He instinctively leaned back.
Something flashed in his mind.
A year ago, I signed a death certificate for someone. I even saw the body.
The corpse had clear signs of internal organ punctures, a ruptured spleen, and multiple fractures in the pelvis and sternum. But what stood out was that the person hadn’t died from blood loss. She had died from mechanical asphyxiation. She had struggled for at least ten minutes, suffocating in terrible pain, before she passed away.
Back then, I didn’t look too deeply into it. I only remembered that her family refused an autopsy and received a large compensation.
Could that poor girl have been…
Ruth covered her face with shaking hands. The images in her mind terrified her. She broke down into sobs. Her voice was hoarse as she asked, “Ally, did they do that to you, too?”
When Allison was sent to the psychiatric hospital, she had only been eighteen. A young girl who is silent and fragile. How could she possibly have escaped harm?