Chapter 2740: Hollywood Rhapsody (63)

Charles saw the dried blood spreading along the sheets, trailing all the way to the end of the bed, and even seeping into the gaps of the floorboards, imbuing them with an ominous dark red hue.

Crows were still cawing outside the window.

Charles didn't find the scene horrifying because he didn't experience a sense of terror here. The blood had even become as ordinary as the patterns on the bed linen, proving that Erik had never felt fear from this.

But this was indeed something to be feared, Charles thought, frowning. He could even see clearly a woman screaming on the bed, with her swollen belly, scared during childbirth... It must have been fright, there was another faint scent of fear present.

Charles stepped further in and as expected, he saw the disarray of footprints on the balcony. Intruders had burst in while Erik's wife was giving birth, startling the pregnant woman, ultimately leading to a difficult labor.

With a medical education background, Charles could tell that the birthing process had been very problematic, and the doctor, half-kneeling in front of the delivery bed, had chosen an episiotomy, resulting in a lot of blood loss, essentially turning the place into a pool of blood.

The conditions of both the mother and the child must have been dire. Although Charles wasn't very knowledgeable about obstetrics, he knew that under such circumstances, it was very likely that both could have perished.

Perhaps this was the primary reason why Anya died before she reached six—the complications during birth left her with inherently weak cardiopulmonary functions, necessitating the prolonged use of a respirator.

So what about Erik's wife? Did she survive? Charles was doubtful, considering the circumstances, it was highly improbable, but if the doctor was proficient enough and could suture the wounds without being disturbed in such chaos, there still was a chance.

"Magda is still alive." Erik's voice came from behind the door; Charles turned to look at him, Erik's face held a trace of nostalgia but wasn't particularly moved. He said, "She passed away only three years ago."

"Did she ever see Anya?"

"She did, but by that time she was already a grandmother and didn't have a strong impression of the little girl who had been taken away at birth. Although she recognized her in the end, she only regarded their encounter as a common dream."

"The midwife you hired must have been very skilled," Charles remarked. "I can imagine how dire the situation was. There must have been at least five intruders."

"In fact, there were seven, from two different factions, all armed."

Charles looked up at Erik; he didn't ask anything, but he knew Erik understood the question he had in mind.

"I killed them, in front of Magda, tore them completely apart, and that was the main reason she was frightened."

"The doctor completed the sutures perfectly, but due to excessive blood loss, she needed to be taken to the hospital for a transfusion immediately. Anya was left with me, and since then, I never saw her again. The doctor told me she didn't wish to see me and that she left."

Charles let out a soft sigh, "I know you couldn't control it, but that could terrify anyone."

Erik silently stared at him, and as Charles seemed puzzled, he heard Erik ask, "...Really couldn't control it?"

Charles tensed inside; he immediately thought of his own loss of control. Yes, could he really not control it at that time? No, he just wanted to get Magneto's attention.

"You did it on purpose? Why would you do that?"

Erik shook his head, "No, at least not this time. I hadn't anticipated their arrival. Anger consumed me, and in an instant, I killed seven people..."

"Wait." Charles realized something was amiss. "If you truly lost control, it shouldn't have been seven, but ten people, including your wife, your child, and the doctor. None of them should have survived. Where did it go wrong?"

Erik fell silent.

His figure disappeared by the door, and Charles didn't linger in the room either. He turned to another, smaller room beside it, which used to be Anya's.

It was a typical children's room, although it lacked cartoon wallpaper, it had a soft, bright white bed that didn't match the old style of the house, along with many dolls and toys.

Charles saw a group photo with three people in it, himself, Erik, and Anya. Back then, both he and Erik were young, and Anya was about four, pale and frail, but with a radiant smile.

Thinking about the girl's pained expression when she was later lying in the hospital bed, Charles felt his own heart begin to ache, thankful that now she was free from the body that caused her pain, forever living carefree in the Psychic Battlefield.

Charles went downstairs, sat back on the sofa, and saw the recently tapped ashes in the ashtray. He chuckled, "I wouldn't have thought you'd smoke here. Aren't you afraid Anya would find out?"

Erik stared straight at his work and ignored Charles, who seemed used to it by now, settled in for a moment, and then stood up again, starting to survey the walls of the room.

The wall to the right of the fireplace was covered with yellowed old wallpaper, showing many of Anya's random scribbles. To the left was a wall of clippings from newspapers of that era.

Because they were so densely packed and the newspapers had started to lose their ink, Charles hadn't looked closely before, for the sake of his eye health. But this time he focused on scanning the news, wanting to know the identities of the uninvited guests who had entered the house.

Actually, there were too few people to choose from. Charles, too, was from that era. Although the situation in England had always been relatively stable, he could still hear from the radio that the Soviet Army was steadily advancing towards Berlin.

But the newspaper headlines plastered on this wall were different from what was broadcasted. They recorded the Soviet Army's retreat, almost back to Stalingrad, while the German Army seemed to have divine assistance, as if they couldn't wait to plant their flag atop the Kremlin.

Suddenly, a piece of news caught Charles' attention. It read, "A resurgence of the mysterious Church killer. The Secret Squadron has identified possible suspects and will execute them publicly soon."

Looking further down, there was another update on the Church killer, but it too claimed that the Gestapo had pinpointed the Church killer's identity and residence and were about to catch him. Further down, it was still about to happen, continuing to say, "soon, soon, and soon."

The series of reports in the newspapers all conveyed a promising future, essentially arguing that the secret military forces were unstoppable, and the Church killer was quaking in fear. However, by the end, Charles still hadn't figured out who the Church killer was, and he knew these were just foolish propaganda tricks. If they had truly caught him, wouldn't they have posted a photo?

Charles looked very carefully, so he noticed that the way this series of clippings were pasted up was different from the others. Erik was a very meticulous man. When he pasted something up, he'd surely apply glue to every corner and stick it down very smoothly, without leaving any gaps, until it was perfect.

This series of clippings didn't seem to be done with as much care. Not only were they paper-based, but two clippings had been glued on crookedly, which was not Erik's style.

Although Charles had noticed, he didn't speak up. He speculated on the relationship between the Church killer and the person who had broken in. Generally speaking, a serial killer wouldn't have a group of people; at most, it would be one or two individuals working together.

Could it be that the Gestapo were chasing the Church killer here? But why would the Church killer come here?

At one point, Charles considered that Erik might be the Church killer, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Erik, though often a jerk, wasn't enough of one to leave his pregnant wife, about to give birth, while going out to commit serial murders.

Erik had no allure for the Gestapo, as he had escaped from a concentration camp in Poland. The people of Berlin wouldn't recognize him, and the fact that he could live here proved that he had completely shaken off his pursuers.

The clippings on the wall weren't his work, and the cigarette ash in the ashtray was probably not his either, which indicated that besides Magda and Erik, there was another adult in the house.

Who could it be?

Without needing much further thought, Charles knew that the only person with a motive to be here was the doctor who had come to deliver Magda's baby. The doctor was the one watching the Church killer.

Erik had mentioned that two groups had come to the door, one of which was definitely the Gestapo. These people were increasingly crazy in the Berlin of that time, and even Charles, far away in England, had heard of their exploits. Only they would barge into civilian homes like this.

But what about the other group?

Unable to come up with an answer for the time being, Charles went back and sat across from Erik. Now he had pushed the short video to the back of his mind and just wanted to know what was going on.

"What exactly happened?" Charles asked, unable to hold back; he noticed something detached in Erik's expression.

A pale woman's hand clutched tightly to a flower vase, her spilled blood soaking the freshly dried petals, while Shiller, focused, continued suturing. At his feet lay seven bodies.

The bodies were intact, seemingly unharmed on the surface, yet their obliterated internal organs spilled out of their mouths, mingling with the blood, like a macabre feast.

By the door stood Erik, his face somewhat pale as he stared intently at Shiller, who, oblivious, deftly stitched away and said, "They might have come for me, but the reasons are certainly different from what you imagine."

Erik seemed to calm down slightly as he stepped over a body and stood beside Shiller, asking, "How is Magda?"

"The incision isn't very large, and apart from a bit too much bleeding, everything else is fine. But she'll need to be taken to a hospital for a blood transfusion immediately. If you hadn't damaged the listening device, we could contact someone capable of doing all this much more efficiently."

Erik's brow furrowed deeply.

"I killed a scientist named Artur because he was the only one who could figure out if Hydra still had the technology related to the Atomic Bomb. Another group aiming to stop Hydra had been watching me; they are natural allies."

"As for the ones who rushed in today…" Shiller sighed slightly as he spoke, "Those who wanted to stop Hydra would look at me for this reason, and of course, Hydra would, too. But I didn't expect them to find me so quickly, bringing a bunch of bungling fools with them."

Erik looked at the bodies on the ground, their shoulder patches bearing the swastika, unable to distinguish between the Gestapo and Hydra members. Shiller seemed to hear Erik's thoughts.

"They don't differentiate between one another, or rather, at this point, Hydra is indistinguishable from all of Berlin. Anyone you see could be Hydra."

"What do we do now?"

"I suppose you've recorded the signal from that listening device earlier. Follow that signal and send a message to a man named Nick Fury to come take Magda for treatment and look after Anya in the meantime."

"What about us?"

Shiller set down the suture needle, stood up, looked at the distant bodies, and said, "I must admit, you're very efficient. But now, we can engage in some more delicate work."