Chapter 4 — Mary Mason
Outside Rayne Clinic, rainwater slid down the metal edges of the signboard, reflecting a dim yellow glow.
Ethan Rayne had just sent off his last patient and was sorting the medical instruments on the table.
The lighting was weak and warm, the air heavy with disinfectant. Out of habit, he peeled off his gloves, ready to shut off the lights and head home.
Then—
A chaotic rush of footsteps exploded outside the door.
BANG! BANG BANG BANG!
"Open up!"
The pounding and shouting were urgent, aggressive—like debt collectors with zero manners.
Ethan froze mid-motion, his brows tightening slightly.
Slowly, he turned toward the entrance. His hands instinctively began gathering power.
The air trembled faintly.
A thin layer of shadow writhed inside his palm.
Troublemaking punks?
The thought flashed through his mind. His gaze remained calm, steady.
Not a big deal.
But in the next second, he stopped himself.
There were too many of them—at least five or six outside. If that many people vanished at once, it would invite all kinds of unnecessary trouble.
The shadow in his hand gradually dispersed.
Ethan walked over and unlocked the door.
The door burst open with a heavy thud, and a wave of cold damp air—mixed with the sharp stench of blood—came pouring in.
Several men rushed inside, carrying someone between them. Their clothes were soaked through, their bodies smeared with blood.
"Doctor! Save him—now!"
The man leading them had vicious eyes and a gangster's posture.
Billy Buck.
Ethan had heard of him.
"A gunshot wound." Ethan's eyes swept the injury in one glance. "He's lost too much blood. You should be taking him to a hospital."
"The hospital won't take us! And even if they do, they'll call the cops!" Billy forced his rage down, voice shaking. "He's going to die here. Are you saving him or not?"
Ethan didn't move. He only stared at them coldly.
"I have no obligation to get dragged into gang business."
The air congealed for several seconds.
Behind Billy, a few thugs instinctively reached toward their waists—toward guns.
Ethan's fingers twitched slightly.
Shadow energy stirred again, eager and ready.
Then, from behind the group of men, someone stepped forward.
A young woman.
She wore a black trench coat, rainwater soaking her hair. Her eyeliner had smudged slightly, but even that couldn't hide her beauty.
She didn't acknowledge the gangsters at all—she walked straight toward Ethan.
"I'm Mary Mason," she said evenly. "A surgical student from medical school."
Then, in the same clipped tone:
"I need the surgical lamp, hemostats… and a clean table."
Ethan froze for half a beat.
The name flashed through his mind like lightning—
Mary Mason.
American Mary.
The med student who, after being violated by her mentor, fell into darkness and became a brutally skilled underground plastic surgeon.
That movie had left a deep impression on Ethan.
"You're going to operate here?" Ethan hesitated. He genuinely couldn't tell whether this girl was still pre-darkness Mary… or the version that had already fallen.
"If he's been shot in the chest, then in five more minutes his heart will fail," Mary answered calmly. Her eyes were clear—steady, fearless.
Ethan fell silent for a few seconds. The shadowy energy beneath his palm completely dissipated.
"The table's over there. Alcohol and sutures are by the sink, on the left."
Mary nodded. Without hesitation, she shrugged off her trench coat, revealing the black outfit she'd worn for the interview.
"I'm lead surgeon. You assist."
Ethan's gaze flicked over her once, up and down. "Fine."
The surgical lamp snapped on, the light spilling across both their faces.
The moment Mary stepped up to the table, it was like she became a different person.
Gloves on. Head down. Eyes fixed on the wound ripped open by the bullet.
She drew a breath. "Hemostats."
Ethan handed them over—and felt the brief tremor in her fingers.
Mary didn't look up. Her movements stayed crisp and controlled.
She wiped away the surrounding blood with gauze, exposing the interior of the wound—radial tearing, flesh split and rolled back.
"The bullet's lodged near the ribs," she murmured. "Right side."
"Breathing's shallow. Heart rate unstable." Ethan watched the rise and fall of the injured man's chest, fingers on the artery. "I'll hold pressure."
Mary nodded.
The scalpel pressed down.
Skin parted with a wet, soft resistance.
Blood surged up. Mary immediately clamped the artery, then used forceps to probe deeper inside the wound.
"Don't panic," Ethan couldn't help saying.
"I'm not panicking." Mary's breathing stayed steady—yet sweat slipped down from her temple.
A slight shift.
The forceps tapped something hard.
"I've got it."
The bullet was lodged behind the rib, wrapped tight in tissue and blood.
Mary adjusted her angle and carefully cut away the sticky, clotted flesh bit by bit.
Bright red liquid streamed down the incision.
"A little left," Ethan said, wiping blood off her hand with gauze. "His breathing's weakening."
"I know." Her voice was low—focused to the point of cold.
The forceps twisted gently—
And the faint scrape of metal against bone made the scalp prickle.
"It's out!"
Mary lifted the forceps. Under the surgical light, the bullet gleamed with a cold shine.
Clink—
It dropped into the metal tray, echoing sharply through the room.
After a second of silence, Ethan released his hold and moved quickly to grab alcohol and sutures.
Mary's hands resumed their rhythm.
In the small clinic, the only sound was the soft tap-tap of needle through skin.
The bleeding stopped. The patient's breathing regained a steady rhythm.
With the final knot tied, Mary finally pulled off her gloves and said quietly, "He should live."
Ethan wiped down the surface with gauze and inspected the wound, confirming the breathing was stable.
"Clean and efficient," he commented.
Mary swayed slightly, leaning against the counter as she exhaled. Her voice came out hoarse. "Thanks for assisting."
"I only provided the place," Ethan replied calmly. "You could've done it alone without me."
At that moment, Billy stepped forward, staring at the injured thug. The man was no longer bleeding; his chest still rose and fell.
Only then did Billy finally breathe out.
"Beautiful work!"
He pulled a thick stack of bills from his jacket and slapped it onto the counter.
"As promised. Five grand. You two split it."
Ethan didn't reach for the money. He only said, "He stays here overnight. He can't be moved right now."
Billy grinned. "Whatever you say." He pocketed his cigarette case and nodded. "Doc. Mary. You two… you're good."
Then they left.
The clinic returned to silence.
Under the light, Mary leaned against the wall, staring at the cash. "Half and half?"
Ethan nodded. "Fine by me. But—shouldn't you put your coat back on?"
Mary froze, instinctively lowering her gaze. She quickly grabbed her trench coat from the chair and put it on, then raked her fingers through her hair.
She couldn't help asking, "This is Rayne Clinic? You're Doctor Rayne?"
Ethan looked at her and extended his right hand. "Ethan Rayne."
Mary lightly shook it. "Then tonight… counts as a successful collaboration."
---
Mary's phone suddenly vibrated, snapping her out of the memory.
She looked down. A text message:
[Billy: 9 PM tonight. Lots of customers. Big tips.]
She stared at it for a few seconds, then put the phone away.
Ethan asked casually, "Going to Billy's again tonight to dance?"
"Yes."
"The stage lights there are too harsh," Ethan said. "Bad for your eyes."
"Thanks for your concern, Doctor Rayne." Mary's voice was flat but not unfriendly. "I have rent to pay."
She set down the tools and walked to the counter.
"I only dance there because they pay in cash."
"I know."
"You don't think it's shameful, do you?"
"Why would I?" Ethan shook his head. "Making money isn't embarrassing."
Mary blinked. "What?"
"I mean—unless you're robbing a bank, I support you."
Mary chuckled softly. "Your words. Don't forget what you said today."
Ethan smiled faintly. "A man keeps his word."
Mary's gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds… then quickly shifted away.
"I'm heading back to school for class." Before leaving, she added at the door, "You currently owe me… hmm… $1,760!"
(Flashback End)