Chapter 193: He Never Said the Dead Couldn't Be Treated
The incident with the overbearing grandmother quickly passed.
For Ethan, though, it left behind more than just frustration.
It taught him a valuable lesson.
Never trust a patient—or their family—at face value.
And if he absolutely had to, he'd make them sign a written statement first.
People make mistakes.
When parents make mistakes, it's usually the child who suffers.
When doctors make mistakes, the ones who pay the price are the patients and their families.
Sometimes, a single mistake is enough to bring an entire life to an abrupt end.
For assassins, the consequences are even greater.
A mistake doesn't just consume the assassin.
It spreads through everyone connected to them—their family, friends, and allies.
One failed mission.
One bad judgment.
One overlooked detail.
Any one of those could drag not only them, but everyone they cared about, into the abyss.
Fate always seemed to know exactly where a person's weakest point lay.
Cataleya had just completed another assignment.
Her target had been a powerful drug lord with direct ties to the men responsible for murdering her parents years ago.
The mission had gone smoothly.
For her, that kind of success had long since become routine.
As always after finishing a job, she met her uncle, Emilio, at the neighborhood laundromat.
The place smelled exactly as it always had.
Laundry detergent.
Metal.
Steam.
The warm, damp scent of freshly washed clothes.
The rhythmic rumble of washing machines filled the room while white suds churned behind the glass doors.
Cataleya sat quietly on a bench beside the machines at the back of the laundromat.
Head lowered, she looked like nothing more than an ordinary young woman waiting for her laundry.
A man walked in carrying a magazine and a newspaper before sitting beside her.
"Any trouble getting here?" he asked quietly.
"My side went smoothly."
She raised her eyes, watching his reflection in the washing machine's glass.
"What about you?"
"No problems."
She nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
"How's Grandma?"
Emilio lowered his voice even further.
"She misses you."
Cataleya leaned back against the bench, resting her hands on either side while gently swinging one foot.
"Tell her... I miss her too."
"I'm sure she'd rather hear you say that in person."
Cataleya fell silent.
Of course she knew that.
Turning toward him, she deliberately changed the subject.
"Who's the next target?"
Emilio hesitated before placing the magazine between them and tapping the man featured on the cover.
"Remember that investment fraudster from last year?"
She nodded, opening the magazine.
A sealed envelope had been tucked inside, with the edge of a thick stack of cash peeking out.
"He swindled people out of fifty billion dollars before disappearing without a trace," Emilio said.
"Smart man."
"And very good at enjoying life."
"These days he's living a comfortable retirement somewhere in the Caribbean."
The corner of Cataleya's lips curved upward.
"So he picked a nice place."
"Yes."
Emilio's tone remained serious.
"Which means he made life miserable for a great many other people."
"So it's time we gave him a permanent retirement."
"All right."
She looked at him with the faintest hint of a smile.
Clearly, she didn't think this assignment would pose any challenge.
But Emilio wasn't finished.
"There's something else."
He handed her another folded newspaper.
Cataleya unfolded it.
Inside were reports of multiple murder victims.
Drawn on each victim's chest was a single flower—
a cattleya orchid.
She smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile.
It was the smile of someone confirming that she was drawing closer to her true prey.
"How long have you been doing this?" Emilio asked.
"Not very long."
"The newspapers say there are twenty-two victims."
The steady roar of the washing machines filled the silence between them.
"Why?" Emilio finally asked.
Cataleya looked directly at him.
"You already know why."
His brows furrowed.
"You really think this will lure out Luis and let you avenge your parents?"
"Do you honestly believe he's that foolish?"
His voice remained low, but his emotions leaked through.
"Everything you're doing now doesn't just affect you anymore, Cataleya."
"It affects me."
"It affects your grandmother."
"It affects our entire family."
"...Family."
She quietly repeated the word.
Emilio nodded.
"Yes."
"Uncle..."
Her gaze never wavered.
"You'll be fine."
"You only arrange the contracts and collect the money."
Emilio shook his head.
"My job is filtering those contracts."
"I investigate every single target."
"You only see the one assignment I hand you."
"You never see the five others I've already rejected."
He looked at her earnestly.
"Because I promised I'd keep you safe."
One of the washing machines finally came to a stop with a sharp click that echoed through the room.
"No matter what you think," he continued, taking a deep breath, "keeping you alive is my full-time job."
Then he pointed toward the newspaper photographs.
"But this..."
"This isn't something I taught you."
"It's not what a professional assassin does."
Cataleya finally reacted.
"Professional?"
She let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"I don't care about professionalism."
"I don't care about safety."
"I'm going to do this my way."
Emilio stared at her, as though looking into a future he could no longer control.
"So this is your plan?"
"Yes."
"A killer who leaves a signature behind."
His voice was filled with helplessness and worry.
"That's incredibly stupid."
"My God..."
"I never should have trained you to become an assassin."
Cataleya's expression hardened.
"You didn't make me do anything."
"I chose this myself."
She met his eyes without blinking.
"The moment I left Colombia and walked through your front door..."
"I had already made my choice."
"You chose this?" Emilio asked quietly.
"Yes."
There wasn't even a trace of hesitation.
"No one—not you, not anyone else—can change my mind."
Emilio slowly spread his hands, giving up the argument.
"We love you, Cataleya."
The harsh white lights of the laundromat seemed almost blinding.
After several long seconds of silence, she finally answered.
"Then stand behind me."
"And help me finish my revenge."
The Caribbean assignment was executed flawlessly.
Compared to government officials or intelligence operatives protected by multiple layers of security, eliminating a wealthy man guarded only by private bodyguards was almost effortless.
After the mission, as was her usual habit, she took a day off.
And she went to see her almost-boyfriend.
Strictly speaking...
He wasn't even her almost-boyfriend yet.
Every time they met, it was brief.
She was always the one who went to his apartment, stayed for a few hours, and then disappeared again.
Her "almost-boyfriend" only knew her as Jennifer.
He had no idea what she did for a living, where she lived, or who she really was.
He had her phone number, but every time he called, all he got was a busy signal.
Watching her sleeping peacefully beside him, the man couldn't resist taking out his phone and quietly snapping a picture.
When Cataleya woke up, daylight was already streaming through the window.
"Damn..."
She must have gotten too caught up the night before.
She had actually fallen asleep.
She almost never made mistakes like this.
Spending the night in someone else's home...
This was the first time.
She immediately got dressed, gathered her belongings, offered a brief goodbye, and hurried away.
---
This time, she met Emilio in a quiet library.
There weren't many people around.
The towering bookshelves swallowed almost every sound, leaving only the soft rustling of turning pages and the low hum of the air conditioning.
"Sorry I'm late."
Cataleya hurried to their meeting spot.
Emilio sat in the farthest corner, surrounded by towering shelves.
His body was tense, like someone who had been waiting far too long and had finally run out of patience.
The moment she approached, he stood up and slammed the newspaper he was holding into her chest.
Cataleya blinked in surprise before unfolding it.
Eight Found Murdered in Miami
Keeping his voice low, Emilio barely managed to contain his fury.
"One of them... was my friend."
Cataleya looked up.
"So?"
"Are you pretending to be stupid?!" Emilio stepped closer, nearly losing control. "They're already looking for you!"
"What you're doing is far too reckless!"
"Uncle..."
She frowned.
"Please don't start this again."
Emilio grabbed her shoulders and shoved her gently against a bookshelf.
Books rattled as dust drifted down.
"You think you're hiding well?"
"I know exactly what you're trying to do."
"You want to lure them out."
He stared into her eyes.
"Do you think this is some kind of game?"
"Am I..."
"Is your grandmother..."
"Are we all nothing more than expendable bystanders to you?"
Cataleya lowered her head without answering.
"What you're doing is dangerous."
His voice dropped.
"You've started frightening me, Cataleya."
"I don't want to keep cleaning up your messes."
"And I don't want to keep finding jobs for you."
He inhaled deeply.
"You're retired."
Turning around, he started to leave.
"Don't do this, Uncle."
She looked at his back.
"Oh, to hell with you!" Emilio shouted without turning around.
Her voice, however, remained perfectly calm.
"When your son died..."
"How many people did you kill?"
Emilio stopped walking.
"How many?"
He slowly turned back, pain cracking across his face.
"Did you even know my son?"
"You don't know anything."
"Then tell me."
"What good would that do?"
He shook his head.
"It wouldn't change anything."
"When I lost him..."
"I lost my entire life."
"Everything that mattered to me disappeared."
He looked directly at her.
"But when I looked at you..."
"I saw hope."
"Hope?"
"The hope that you could find another way to live."
"A life far away from all this."
"Very few people in our family ever get that chance."
He stepped closer, his voice softening in resignation.
"If you insist on revenge..."
"Fine."
"But from today onward..."
"Don't come home anymore."
"Grandma always wanted you to come to church."
"You kept saying prayer couldn't solve anything."
"You never went."
"Now you don't have to."
"I don't want any more calls from you."
"And I don't want you hurting her anymore."
He reached into his pocket and placed an old photograph in her hand.
"Maybe this..."
"will help you understand what I'm trying to say."
He gently patted her head before walking away.
Cataleya looked down.
It was an old family photo.
Her.
Her father.
Her mother.
Her legs gave out beneath her.
She collapsed onto the floor.
With a furious kick, she slammed the nearby bookshelf.
The books shook violently.
Lowering her head...
She finally broke down in tears.
---
Later...
She went to church.
The service was already halfway through.
Emilio sat beside his mother on one of the wooden pews.
Cataleya quietly walked inside.
Without saying a word, she sat beside her grandmother and gently rested her head on the old woman's shoulder.
The elderly woman froze for a moment before her face lit up with joyful surprise.
After the service ended, the three of them chatted for a short while.
Cataleya didn't stay long.
Before leaving, she looked at Emilio and gave him a small nod.
He understood.
The faintest smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"What a wonderful surprise," Grandma said.
"People grow up," Emilio replied.
"She'll be alright."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"I believe so too."
---
Back in her apartment, Cataleya soaked quietly in the bathtub.
Hot water covered her shoulders.
Steam blurred the bathroom mirror.
Then she suddenly realized something.
She had lost her purpose.
Not the emptiness that comes after revenge is complete...
But the aimlessness of being forced to stop before reaching the end.
After a long silence, she picked up her phone and dialed a number.
"Hey."
"It's me."
The man—who had assumed it was another telemarketer—immediately smiled.
"Hey."
"What a surprise."
"I was just looking at your picture."
His voice carried a warm laugh.
"I've been missing you."
Cataleya's breathing suddenly tightened.
"...What picture?"
"The one I took this morning."
"When you were asleep."
An alarm suddenly erupted from the apartment's security system.
She was already climbing out of the bathtub, running toward the living room.
"How many pictures did you take?"
"Just one."
"Did you send it to anyone?"
"No."
"No one."
She pulled up her security cameras.
The next second—
She saw it.
Black SUVs.
Police barricades.
Flashing emergency lights.
FBI.
She understood instantly.
The phone call she was making had allowed them to pinpoint her location.
On the other end of the line, the man was still apologizing for taking her picture without asking.
Cataleya quietly said,
"I'm sorry too."
Then she threw the phone into the trash.
She dressed at lightning speed, retrieved a pistol hidden beneath the table, and left the apartment.
From the eleventh floor...
She escaped down the emergency stairs to the sixth.
From there, she slipped through another apartment into an elevator shaft leading to the parking garage.
Finally, she entered the subway through the underground parking structure.
It was the escape route she had prepared for the absolute worst-case scenario.
---
By the time darkness swallowed the city, she was standing at the end of a familiar street.
Her uncle's house stood just ahead.
She unlocked the front door with her key and stepped inside the home she hadn't visited in so long.
"Uncle?"
"Grandma?"
She called out.
No answer.
Taking a few cautious steps, she noticed a half-smoked cigar resting on the shoe rack.
A terrible feeling settled in her chest.
The silence...
It was wrong.
She had lived here for years.
She knew every sound this house made.
The creaking wooden floor.
The old refrigerator humming on and off.
Her grandmother's occasional cough.
Now...
There was nothing.
She immediately drew her pistol and slowly climbed the stairs.
The first thing she saw upstairs...
was blood.
Not blood splattered across the walls.
A massive dark-red pool slowly spreading across the floor.
"...Grandma?"
She lay in the living room.
Her body had collapsed awkwardly to one side.
She still wore the old sweater she always wore around the house.
Its sleeves had faded from years of washing.
Her fingers remained slightly curled...
As though she'd been reaching for something she never managed to grasp.
The blood beneath her had already dried.
Cataleya froze.
She had seen countless corpses.
But never...
Never had she imagined seeing her own family like this.
She fell to her knees.
"Grandma..."
"No..."
"This can't be..."
Her trembling fingers touched the old woman's body.
Cold.
Long cold.
Something inside Cataleya finally shattered.
Her cries tore from the depths of her throat, raw and utterly broken.
Turning her head, she screamed,
"Emilio!"
She staggered toward the dining room.
There he was.
Bound tightly to a chair.
Rope wrapped around the chair back, circling his wrists, chest, and torso over and over until it bit through both fabric and flesh.
His body slumped forward.
His head hung low.
His neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
His shirt had been soaked through with blood.
The sleeves were torn away, revealing bruised, mutilated skin.
His face was battered.
One cheekbone swollen.
His lip split open.
The blood had dried into a thin line running down his chin.
This was a body that had endured prolonged torture.
Yet...
His expression was strangely peaceful.
His brows remained tightly furrowed.
Not from fear.
But from endurance.
As though, until his final breath...
He had never given his captors the satisfaction they wanted.
"Emilio..."
Stumbling forward, Cataleya's trembling fingers fumbled desperately at the ropes.
The instant they came loose, his body collapsed into her arms.
She let out a scream of unbearable grief.
Everything inside her had gone numb.
She slowly sank to the floor, leaning against the chair while cradling Emilio's body.
His blood stained her clothes.
She didn't even notice.
Lowering her head, she stared at his face.
The dried blood was still there.
Even in death...
His brows remained knitted together.
As if he'd been worrying about her until the very end.
"I'm sorry..."
This time she didn't whisper.
"It's all my fault."
"I got you both killed."
Only her voice echoed through the silent house.
After a long while, she gently laid Emilio back on the floor and carefully closed his eyes.
Then her gaze drifted downward.
The wounds.
Up close, they were even more horrific than she'd realized in her grief.
Her hand hovered in midair.
She wanted to touch him...
Yet couldn't bring herself to.
"...Wait."
A memory suddenly flashed through her mind.
Rome.
The Continental Hotel.
That miraculous doctor.
He had merely raised his hand...
The pain vanished.
The wounds had disappeared before her eyes—not slowly healing, but simply erased.
Maybe...
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
Ridiculous.
That patient had been alive.
Merely injured.
But Emilio...
She looked down at him.
He was dead.
No matter how miraculous a doctor might be...
No one could do anything about death.
She shook her head, trying to reject the impossible thought.
But once the idea had taken root...
It refused to disappear.
[For ordinary injuries, I'd recommend another doctor nearby. If they can't help...
Come find me in New York.
Seventh Avenue, Brooklyn.
Rayne Clinic.]
She remembered every word.
He hadn't placed any limits on what he could treat.
He had simply said—
If no one else could help...
Come find him.
Then there was that outrageous reverse bounty...
Cataleya's breathing became rapid.
If there truly was someone in this world...
Someone capable of leaving even the slightest sliver of hope after everything seemed lost...
Then perhaps...
It could only be him.
He never said...the dead were beyond saving.
(KEEP SUPPORTING OUR HEALER)
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