17 Chapter 17: We Will All Be Buried in the Tomb Called Universe

"A root beer, please."

Peter stood in front of Kelly's Fruit Shop and spoke to the owner.

The place was a combination of a grocery store, a cold drinks counter, and a gas station.

In addition to selling cold drinks, they also sold beer, cheap wine, Uncle Yellow, and various off-brand cigarettes.

"Alright, you don't have to keep following me, Gwen, I've seen you."

While the owner prepared the root beer, Peter turned around and said to the person behind him.

In a corner, Gwen stood somewhat awkwardly.

"Afternoon, Peter."

Gwen was dressed casually today, with her golden hair tied up with a shamrock green headband, a tight-fitting Basque shirt accentuating her bust.

She tried to make her expression look natural, coughed lightly, and said to Peter, "I was at the café earlier and saw a figure that looked like you, so I followed, and it turned out to be you."

"Well, what a coincidence."

Peter pretended not to have seen through Gwen's careful thoughts and took the large frosted mug from the owner's hand.

"I remember you like root beer."

He said as he handed the mug to Gwen.

"For me?"

Gwen blinked.

She was somewhat surprised that Peter remembered her fondness for root beer.

"Yeah, consider it a thank-you for standing up for me in Vice Principal Morton's office yesterday."

As he spoke, Peter pushed a five-dollar bill onto the marble counter.

Gwen took the root beer, exhaled softly, took a sip, and said, "I thought you might blame me. Maybe I did something stupid yesterday."

Peter shook his head and said, "No, some people don't even have the courage to do something stupid."

Gwen's mood brightened considerably upon hearing Peter's assessment of her courage.

She wanted to ask Peter why he had come out of the Elder Council Hospital, but she felt it would be presumptuous and impolite.

So, in her hesitation, the atmosphere became silent and quiet.

"I believe Josh's death has nothing to do with you, Peter."

After a while, Gwen, holding the root beer, stared at Peter firmly and said, "Peter, you are a victim."

"Well, Gwen,"

Peter calmly took the change the owner had given him and said to her, "whether it was the bullying before or being suspected after Josh's death, these things don't matter to me."

"They don't matter?"

"Some people lack empathy."

Peter said slowly, "They don't realize that their actions can really hurt others. Humanity has never become better, just smarter. When you become smarter, you still tear off the wings of butterflies, and you find better reasons for this behavior. Principal Morton said he would feel sorry for my past experiences, but he wouldn't, and I also believe that no one can understand the feelings of an unrelated person every day, every moment, and they don't care."

Listening to Peter's words, Gwen felt a bit tongue-tied.

She felt sorry for Peter.

"I'm one of those people, Gwen."

Finally, Peter added to Gwen.

"So, I can't empathize, and naturally, I don't care about others' opinions."

Gwen wanted to say that you are not that kind of person, but in the end, she swallowed her words.

"Thank you for the root beer."

She handed the frosted mug to Peter and muttered softly, "I can feel you."

"Do you need another one?"

Peter asked her.

"No, I think my stomach can't take it anymore, even though I really like root beer."

Gwen waved her hand, indicating that she had already had enough.

"Do you think something like the 'Josh' incident will happen again, Peter?"

She still wanted to discuss the "Josh" incident with Peter.

"I always feel things are not that simple."

Frowning, Gwen voiced her thoughts, "Perhaps the killer will continue to strike, hiding the bodies in the storage room, maybe as a provocation."

Peter nodded, "Could be, maybe that guy fancies himself special, likes showing death to others."

"Death, such a detestable term."Frowning, Gwen said, somewhat annoyed.

Next to her, Peter, hearing Gwen's aversion to death, suddenly remembered Mrs. Weber's comment about him being the "hand of death."

After a while, he cast his gaze onto the passing vehicles on the road.

Whether he was speaking to himself or to Gwen was unclear.

"Death might not be frightening, entropy is irreversible, heat death is likely to be our end. From ancient times to the future, everyone we can imagine, everyone we can't imagine, all species, living and non-living, everything, in the end, will die. In a sense, we will all be buried in a grave called the universe."

Listening to Peter's words, Gwen stared blankly at his profile.

Under the morning sun, the contours of Peter's profile suddenly made Gwen feel a bit mysterious and handsome.

Her heart beat a little faster.

After parting with Peter, Gwen took the subway home.

Although her mood was still a bit gloomy, the conversation with Peter at the fruit shop had lifted her spirits somewhat.

The only regret was that she still didn't know why Peter had appeared at the Elder Council Hospital.

In her room, she turned on her computer.

In her inbox, an email about the school postponing the regional football championship appeared on the homepage.

She opened the email, briefly glanced at it, and then deleted it.

It was the first time Midtown High School had made it to the regional championship in ten years, and the school was supposed to hold a celebration on the day of the game.

Unfortunately, due to Josh's incident, the game had been temporarily postponed.

"But it doesn't concern me. I'm neither a member of the football team nor a cheerleader."

Gwen shook her head and continued browsing her inbox.

Soon she found another boring email. It was a somewhat strange confession letter.

Although being confessed to by a fan as a member of the "well-known" school band shouldn't be strange, receiving a confession via email seemed odd.

After all, her email wasn't public.

Since the sender of the email didn't sign their name, she couldn't know the name of the confessor.

"Is this a prank?"

Muttering to herself, Gwen deleted the email. Glancing at the cuckoo clock on the wall, the hour hand pointed to seven in the afternoon.

Closing her computer, she prepared to go to the kitchen to make something to eat.

Her father had called earlier to say he wouldn't be home tonight, so she had to prepare dinner for herself.

Somehow, an idea popped into her head. If only this email was from Peter.