Chapter 4: It Exists
On a random day, the hospital felt lively as ever—except for one place: Room 7.
—
In a random place, a person known as Patient 17 was seen entering a small room. The space was cramped and filled with darkness. A wooden desk stood in one corner; the opposite wall was plastered with papers. A girl rested her head on the desk, eyes half-closed.
Patient 17 stepped inside slowly, closed the door, and approached her. Their faces remained unseen.
"Hey, Milady!" Patient 17 greeted.
"I didn't call you to exchange greetings," the girl replied without looking up.
"I know, I know…" Patient 17 chuckled. "But shouldn't juniors treat their seniors well?"
"Just get to the point," she said. "How is she doing so far?"
Patient 17 looked down, voice low. "I can't understand how she's that calm."
"Anything special happen this week?" the girl asked.
"Yes, Milady. The man called Robert seems to trust her completely. I overheard them talking about a way to prove it, but you called me before I could hear more," Patient 17 answered with a cold tone.
The girl straightened. "She'll black out again in two hours. You'd better be fast."
"Yes, Milady." Patient 17 bowed and moved toward the door.
The girl sighed. "Just call me by my nickname."
"Okay—Milady Patient 15," Patient 17 muttered as he left.
"Idiot," Patient 15 said under her breath, but a faint smile touched her lips.
—
Meanwhile, near the reception.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Robert picked up the phone. "What now?"
"Hello?"
"Hey, Robert."
"Oh—Doctor Wilfer!" he said, brightening. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm starting to feel unwell," Sarah replied, her voice strained.
"Great timing!" Robert said, oddly cheerful. "I was about to send you a patient."
"Don't sound happy about that…" Sarah warned.
"Oh right… we're about to erase their total existence!" Robert blurted.
"My stomach's acting up again. Send them. Fast!" Sarah ordered, pain thin in her voice.
"Okay, okay!" Robert stammered, nervous. "Don't forget our plan!"
"Don't fail me," she snapped before the line went dead.
Robert set the phone down and grabbed a pen. He hesitated, then wrote names on his wrist.
"I hope it works this time," he muttered. "If this works, I'll finally have enough to step in." He stared at the ink sinking into his skin. "I did my part. It's all on you now, Doctor."
—
Inside Room 7, Sarah fought to endure another wave of pain. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She kept her voice steady as she prepared to speak to the next patient.
The door opened. A boy and his father entered. The father spoke first. "This is Liam, my son. He's been in pain for over a week. He keeps begging us to see a doctor—"
"Your name, please!" Sarah snapped, gripping the clipboard so hard her knuckles whitened.
"Randel." the father replied.
Lucy was quick on her feet. She tore a small piece of paper, scribbled the names, and slipped it under the phone.
Please work, Sarah thought, pressing her lips together.
She managed a shaky smile. "May I have your names again for the record?"
No sooner had she written than the pain slammed into her. Her body convulsed; she collapsed to the floor and began rolling, clutching at her abdomen. The patients rushed forward, alarmed.
"No… don't!" Sarah cried. "I'm fine. There is no need to call for help."
"Doctor, this pain—" the father started.
"Please! Trust me!" Sarah screamed.
The father hesitated, torn between duty and fear. "I can't just watch someone die," he said, stepping toward the door.
Sarah's limbs went limp. Her head tilted back; her eyes rolled. She crumpled silently.
—
Fifteen minutes later, Sarah's eyelids fluttered open. The room was a wreck—papers scattered, a chair overturned, the phone askew. She forced herself to sit up and reached for the receiver.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
"Hello?"
"Robert?" she said.
"Oh—Dr. Wilfer. You okay?" he answered.
"Robert, I need you to answer some questions," Sarah said, voice thin.
"Uh… sure?" he replied uncertainly.
"Do you remember that strange phenomenon happening to me?"
"Yes," Robert said.
"And do you remember our plan?"
"Yes. I've been looking for patients to send to you."
"No need," Sarah interrupted. "It already happened."
"What?" Robert's voice rose.
"I just woke up. Check your hands," she instructed.
There was a pause. "Oh—yeah," Robert said slowly. "There are two names written on my wrist."
"The father is Randel, and the son is Liam, right?" Sarah asked.
"Yes," Robert confirmed, disbelief evident.
A cold clarity crept into Roberts face. "Then that means…"
Robert breathed, the line barely steady. "…that this thing—this phenomenon—is real."