1 Christmas Eve

It was not the first visit Leona paid to Dr. Garrett Johnson's office, yet she still amazed at the stately interior design: oil paintings hanged on Victorian wooden wall, book shelves reaching high up to the ceiling, and the delicate embroidery of the carpet under the cozy armchairs by the fireplace. Might seem odd and uncomfortable to others, this room, but it gave Leona a quiet sense of peace and safety: it was stagnant, like a fossil preserved in amber, while the outside world is constantly changing—a lonely island, an otherworldly space, so whatever she said can be left here and will not be uncovered and judged by the anyone outside the door.

"Merry Christmas, Leona."

Garrett was expecting her. He poured out a glass of wine and put it on the coffee table near Leona's seat, greeting with a subtle London accent. As he put it, drinking a small amount of wine is "very conventional for evening sessions".

"Merry Christmas, Garrett."

Leona suspected it's crossing boundaries to be on a first-name basis with her psychiatrist, but Garrett insisted, and he never took notes in front of her. She had a feeling that he's trying to turn these therapies into simple conversations as much as possible, by sparing these…formalities.

"How's your day?"

Leaning herself onto the back of the chair, Leona seemed unusually tired, considering her answer to the question: "Nothing special, really…cleaned up the house, finished the laundry, and did some research for work."

The doctor smiled at her response: "Not too many people spend time on work voluntarily on Christmas eve."

"Not too many psychiatrists have evening sessions on Christmas eve either, Garrett." And she smiled back.

Leona was very sharp and proactive for a patient, but they both know these were just friendly jokes. "Suppose we are both the career type, then." and Garret asked, "Alice invited you to her family dinner tonight, didn't she? So…you refused?"

"Yeah." Leona's smile went a little bitter, "She's a great friend and her intention's genuine, I know, it's just…it seems like something for somebody else. And even if I were there, I will just be a bystander, like I'm watching them from a movie screen, knowing that kind of ordinary happiness will never be a part of my life…Believe me, I've been there several times. Besides, Christmas for you westerners is a family occasion, right? Me at the table is simply…redundant and intruding."

With these pessimistic words, however, her tone was calm and steady, like she was telling a story of a stranger, but beneath that undisturbed surface, there was a sadness so deep and vast that the air felt heavier with its presence, which just looked so wrong in the eyes of a young woman in her early twenties. Garrett sighed, tried to find the right words for such a topic: "I understand. It's the day to celebrate with family for everyone else…but for you, it's the day you mourned your family—the only family you ever had."

Leona didn't answer. She took a breath, long and deep, turned her eyes towards the fireplace, watching those mesmerizing, warm flames changing shapes quietly. The orange halo of the fire casted a dancing contrast of light and shadow on her silhouette, making her a statue sprinkled with gold powder.

"Do you want to…talk about his death? Or just him?" Garrett raised the question tentatively, while observing her reaction. He had tried to move to this subject a few times, and had always been met with rejection.

At the same time, Leona began to slightly regret even telling Garrett anything. She talked to no one about this. Usually she's very open about all the crap that happened in her life, instead of hiding and whining or putting up a I-hate-the-world face, because she never wanted to think of herself as a victim, and if she had to tell the story…then at least, it helped numb the pain.

But no. Not the pain of losing him. She won't forget every inch of it.

Yet when Leona decided to bury the secret and looked firmly right into Garrett's eyes, she hesitated. She doesn't know what kind of strange charm this Dr. Johnson possessed, but his smile, his gesture, all just suddenly looked so…convincing and trustworthy—even more than usual.

"Do you think it's what he wanted for you, Leona, if he really cared about you?" Garrett reached out and touched the back of her hand gently, further softening his voice, "Being so painful because of him, never letting him go?"

Leona never noticed before, but now at a closer distance, she could see a weird, hypnotizing glow of his emerald eyes, drowning her conscious like water, and slowly…his words started to sound like the voice of her own mind.

"I suppose you are right, doctor." Leona gave in eventually, while a satisfied, even victorious smirk flashed on Garrett's face: "You said he's family…so are you related?"

"No, he just…took me in after my parents died. We spent two years together before…before he died and I went to orphanage." Though even at this state, Leona seemed very careful about the words she said, resisting his influence, and the doctor just kept pushing by bowing down lower and getting closer, staring at her with a hound-like look, with his voice tender still : "What was it like…living with him?"

A rush of nostalgia climbed on the gentle but impenetrable defense Leona built up on those memories, putting a beam of childish innocence on her cheeks: "Most of the time we were…drifters, moving from state to state, sometimes Europe. It wasn't easy for me at all, for a 14-year-old to adopt his way of life…you have to be smart, vigilant and prepared all the time, prepared to run…and lie. But it's not that bleak as it sounds, he tried to make it like traveling, and it's the first time in my life I felt…meaningful.

"My real families…were just a couple of strangers who were always too busy cleaning up and quarreling about their own mess. No one cared about me, and I didn't even care about myself: I was wearing ragged clothes, stinking like a wild animal and being joked about at school, nothing you would picture about a girl of middle-class, affluent background, and it just didn't bother me at all…until he taught me everything, like brother and father, everything that is…beautiful and worth loving in this world…"

Leona stopped all of a sudden, holding down the quaver in her voice, and said, like a judge declaring the sentence to the court:

"And God just took him away."

The two both lost the words at this moment. There's no sound but the cracking of burning firewood left in the room.

"How did he die?" Garrett asked, breaking this silence.

After a deep breath upon the question, Leona took a sip of the wine, answered in a wry smile and a weak voice, as if bringing up these memories had drained out her energy: "If it was just an accident, or a disease, I wouldn't hate God so much for ending his life…But he just loves drama, doesn't he? He just had to get someone murder him, making him die protecting me."

Saying this, she finished the drink at once, with a mild contempt on her face—both for God and herself, probably.

"Indeed. God is beyond measure in wanton malice, and matchless in his irony." Agreeing with her in a trifling delight, Garrett suddenly changed the subject in a strange direction, "If, Leona, if God finally found mercy in his heart and brought this man back to life, will you be willing to give up the life you have right now as a price?"

"Yes."

Leona answered without any hesitation, which surprised her doctor a little.

"Are you certain?" Garrett harbored some doubts in her determination, "You have a business degree from University of Chicago, a promising career in one of the world's best consulting firms, and even though you find it hard to open your heart completely to them, you do have friends that care about you. Don't you think…the price is too high?"

Going through all the things she had achieved so far, one by one, as Garrett listing them in front of her, Leona wasn't as sure as before, and immediately she felt ashamed of herself for this hesitation.

She didn't know.

Sensing the struggle of her mind, Garrett just suddenly sat up straight and let go of this eerie interrogation of his, ended the conversation in a friendly and professional manner: "I think we will leave it here today, it is a wonderful progress we've made. Have a nice evening, Leona."

Like waking up from a long dream, Leona stood up and shivered, face pale like this man sitting right in front of her is a ghost. She had no idea how he…talked her into telling him about all this, and this astonishment just compelled her to grab the bag and rush out of the door, escape from this scary psychiatrist as fast as possible, but even as she got into the car and drove away, Garrett's question was still in her head, leaving her thinking over and over about this ridiculous choice.

"This is pointless." Leona laughed at herself, because she knew there was no such thing as coming back from the dead.

The next thing she knew was a homeless covered in blood dashing across the road right in front of her car, almost got himself hit, left a fresh, throbbing bloody handprint on the hood. She got off the car, but the homeless guy was in such a panic that he just took off without any reaction to her call-outs.

"What the…"

It was late at night and it's not really the safest neighborhood in Chicago, so Leona didn't intend to stay here alone for any longer—that bloodstain on her car was unnerving enough. But when she turned around to get inside the vehicle and call the police, a firm fist hit her on the back of her head, cold and efficient, immediately knocking her down.

Damn it…Is it a robber? She held on to her car for balance, but the ache was almost blacking her out. When she struggled to open the door, however, she realized one very weird thing: the attacker didn't do anything to stop her—he could have threatened her, dragged her, beaten her, but she didn't hear, see or feel anything after the hit.

Why? Is he gone? Regaining her balance, Leona stood up and glanced back, hoping that she was already safe, but she couldn't believe what she saw.

"Zack…Is that…you?" Her lips were shaking as she spoke his name.

It was the exact same face from seven years ago, like he hadn't aged for one bit—eyebrows shaped like the edge of katana, the mole under the right eye, and that forceful nose bridge so rarely seen among Asians, as if someone made a copy of him from her memory…but paler, in black, and marked with striking flesh wounds, making it impossible to say the blood dropping from his face belongs to whom.

And his eyes…were unnaturally, radiantly red.

He froze right in front of her, clearly as shocked as she was, until the gunshots and screaming from the dark alley behind pulled him back to reality. Before Leona could even realize, the red-eye man disappeared in a blink, leaving her alone under the lamplight.

The rain started to fall, and she collasped, sitting by the car with a blank look, like a soulless body-joint doll.