"That's it?" I couldn't hide my disappointment—the information from Yvonne was no different from my own experience. "But I still want to try communicating with him. What he did shouldn't mean he has to suffer this much."
"If he doesn't want to, what can we do? Listen to me—don't waste your time on this. Just close the case the way I did."
"But what if he doesn't actually not want to? Maybe the signals he's trying to send just aren't getting through. Maybe he's crying out for help?"
"Ah, Little Nan." Yvonne sighed deeply. "You haven't changed. That's not a bad thing, but unfortunately I can't help you."
After chatting a while longer, I hung up. I'd planned to sleep early—fresh thoughts might come in the morning—but sleep wouldn't come. I stared at the ceiling light, flipped through the case file again, knowing it wouldn't yield anything new.
I'd read Gordon Chase's criminal record countless times. He'd been a playboy, spinning women around his finger. I understood men like that. But what I needed to understand was who Gordon Chase was now.
How had he spent these twenty-plus years? Maybe I could ask around town tomorrow. Even though he lived in isolation, he must have had some contact with people—the cabin wasn't that far from Saden.
I looked again at the list of evaluators on the final page. Had they all run into the same wall I had? What made me think I could reach Gordon Chase when they couldn't? Should I just take Yvonne's advice and close this case quickly?
Wait. Hold on. A jolt of energy shot through me, and I tapped my finger on the names of the first two evaluators. The first was Jason Mercer, who had evaluated Gordon Chase one year into his sentence. The second, Eliza Liu, hadn't conducted an evaluation until eleven years later. Subsequent evaluations had been spaced four to five years apart, making those initial two stand out even more.
Why had there been an eleven-year gap between the first and second evaluations? Had something happened? I felt excited by this discovery and frustrated that I hadn't noticed it sooner. Something must have happened, and Jason Mercer might have the answers.
I checked my watch—it was already past midnight. Otherwise I would have called the bureau right away to dig up Jason Mercer's files. All I could do for now was wait. But once I'd settled on tomorrow's plan, sleep finally came. When I woke, the sun was already high; a few more minutes and I could have skipped straight to lunch.
The bureau tracked down Jason Mercer's information: he'd retired ten years ago. His old phone number was disconnected, but his daughter's number still worked. She told me that every year around this time, her father would stay at his vacation cabin—fishing, hunting—and had no mobile phone. She gave me his landline number and the cabin's address.
I tried calling several times, but no one answered. Given the early hour, he probably wouldn't be home until evening. But the cabin was near Saden—not far at all, actually—on the other side of Lake Beto. I calculated the drive: about three hours. If I found Jason Mercer, I could be back before sunset.
Face-to-face conversation was always better than a phone call anyway. With that in mind, I didn't linger. I grabbed some bread, ate quickly, and hit the road. The vacation area had well-maintained roads, and with it being the off-season, there was barely any traffic. I made it there in just two and a half hours.
I knocked, but no one was home. Figuring he might be fishing, I walked toward the lake and spotted a man sitting by the water with a fishing rod. I silently prayed it was Jason Mercer—searching the woods would be a hassle.
"Hello, are you Mr. Jason Mercer?" I approached and asked.
"I am. And you?"
"Hello, hello! I'm Nathan Zhang—I'd be your junior in the profession." Relieved, I couldn't hide my excitement. I shook his hand repeatedly and introduced myself.
He was around seventy, white-haired but still powerfully built, with no sign of frailty. He pulled up a folding stool for me to sit beside him, and his genial expression put me at ease. I explained my problem and asked if he remembered evaluating Gordon Chase twenty-six years ago.
"Him? How could I forget?" Jason Mercer gave a cold grunt. I noticed his eyes shift the moment Gordon Chase's name was mentioned—though it was the first time, not the many times since. "After all these years, I thought he'd be dead by now."
"He's still alive—living across the lake right now." Jason Mercer stared across the water for a long moment before looking down at the file I'd shown him. "You're the first one to come find me out of all these evaluators."
"Maybe I'm just too curious for my own good."
"Ha! Then you're not suited for this job. It'll get you killed sooner or later." Jason Mercer grinned. "But if you'd come a few years earlier, maybe I wouldn't have told you what happened. Now? I'm old enough that some things can't be hidden anymore—or don't need to be."
Jason Mercer said he'd never told anyone about what happened—not even his wife and daughter—only a few people directly involved at the time. Evaluating had been a new profession then, and he'd previously worked at the police department. He'd barely started when he was assigned Gordon Chase's case.
Back then, Gordon Chase wasn't the feral creature he was now. In fact, he hadn't withdrawn from society at all—he was renting an apartment in a residential complex. Jason Mercer contacted him by email and arranged to meet at his place the following afternoon.
"The next day I went on time, and you know what happened?" Jason Mercer asked. I shook my head. He gestured for me to step behind him, parted his hair near the back, and pointed to a scar that ran a considerable length across his scalp—barely visible beneath his white hair, but shocking to behold.
"When I got there, I knocked, no answer. Found it odd he wasn't home, tried the door handle, and found it unlocked. I figured he'd left it open for me, walked in—and got this." He pointed at the scar on his head.
"He did that?"
"Who else? His apartment, his appointment time. I barely set foot inside and he whacked me from behind. The doctor said I was lucky to be alive—huge gash, my brain was practically spilling out."
"So you didn't actually see him do it?"
"What, you don't believe me?" Jason Mercer shot me an irritated look.
"No, no—please don't misunderstand," I said quickly. "I just don't understand why he'd do that. You were there to reduce his sentence. What could attacking you possibly gain him?"
"Who knows? Lost his mind, probably. Or maybe his usual tricks didn't work anymore, so his worse side came out. Making someone worse is easy enough. His fingerprints were on the weapon anyway—that was the most direct evidence."
"What happened to him afterward?" I hadn't seen any related conviction on his record.
"Afterward?" Jason Mercer smiled suddenly. "You've been doing this work for a while—haven't you heard the rumors?"
When I shook my head, he gave me a look of mild disappointment. "When I woke up in the hospital, my wife and daughter hadn't even visited yet—they made me sign a confidentiality agreement to keep it quiet. But after all these years, the rumors have leaked. In a few more years, nothing'll be left to hide. You're probably just clueless."
"What is it, then?" My curiosity was thoroughly roused.
"When the Shielding Law was first introduced, nobody knew how it'd pan out. Plenty of controversy. But the government kept emphasizing that the people given bracelets weren't a physical threat—they wouldn't endanger public safety. But Gordon Chase? A good-looking con man who learned to kill after just one year of wearing the bracelet—if the public found out, what would they think? Could the law have survived?"
"You're saying the government covered it up?"
"It wasn't just Gordon Chase. Similar incidents kept happening in those early years, which is why the law kept getting revised."
"So what happened to those people?" I asked, though I could already guess.
"The information I got was that they were gathered in one place—I don't know where. Things were chaotic there. Some died, others went mad and were sent to psychiatric hospitals. But those were only in the first two or three years. After that, I lost access to any information, so I always assumed Gordon Chase was either dead or insane. Turns out he's alive and well."
"Then the eleven-year gap in his evaluation records—he was probably locked up there the entire time."
"Exactly. That might explain why he's the way he is now. Served him right, though! But listen—don't get involved with him anymore. You've learned what you wanted, your curiosity's been satisfied. Do what the others did before you. Honestly, I'd skip visiting him altogether. Don't end up like me with another scar on your head—I guarantee you won't enjoy the experience."
As the sun set, Jason Mercer invited me to dinner at his cabin. I didn't refuse, and we talked long into the evening. By the time I drove back to Saden, it was past nine.
I'd learned far more than expected on this trip. My options now: take tomorrow afternoon's train home, or try the cabin one more time. I should at least see where he lived—I hadn't even been inside his house yet. Was I really going to close this evaluation based solely on what others told me?
I lay in bed, torn. Then Yvonne called.
"Little Nan, are you still in Saden?"
"Yeah, what's up?" I couldn't guess her reason for calling—maybe to check if I'd taken her advice. If so, I'd disappoint her.
"You haven't given up on Gordon Chase?"
"I want to try again."
"Of course you haven't." A pause on the line, and from what I knew of Yvonne, she had something she wanted to say. "Little Nan, I was hoping you'd already left. But since you're determined to keep investigating, there's something I need to tell you—something that might help."
"What is it?" I sat up, sensing a lead.
"After I spoke with you yesterday, I thought more about Gordon Chase. I remembered something—when I went to Saden to find him five years ago, I ran into someone in town. He was a lumberjack who frequently went into the woods and had crossed paths with Gordon Chase a few times. He told me that once, when he passed by the cabin, he saw a woman inside."
"A woman?"
"Yes, a woman. I didn't know if he was telling the truth, and I never went to the cabin myself." Yvonne paused and sighed. "I knew in my heart he was telling the truth. I was just too scared. I never even went to look. Maybe I'm not qualified to be an evaluator—what do you think?"
"Yvonne..." I didn't know what to say.
"Little Nan, if you're really going—go when Gordon Chase isn't around, or bring several people with you. It's been five years—maybe the woman is gone. Who knows?"
She gave me more warnings, but my mind was still reeling from what she'd just said. A woman? Things were getting more and more complicated.
I slept poorly and woke early. By seven, down at breakfast, I was trying to figure out how to recruit people to visit the cabin with me—I couldn't handle Gordon Chase alone. Then, of all places, I spotted Gordon Chase himself—head down, carrying a cloth bag, walking into the general store across the street.
I asked around. The locals all knew him; he came into town about every two weeks to buy supplies. Nobody had ever spoken to him—they called him the mute old man.
I watched him enter the store, hand a piece of paper to the owner, and just stand there, not speaking, not gesturing, simply waiting while the shopkeeper gathered the items on the list. I'd never seen someone under full shielding handle daily life before—I watched intently at first, then suddenly realized something and slapped my thigh in frustration. Right now, while he was in town, was the perfect time to search his cabin!
Gordon Chase had walked here—it'd take him at least three or four hours to get back on foot. If I drove there now, I'd have plenty of time to look inside. I abandoned breakfast, shoved a couple of bites in my mouth, and hit the road. Having been there before, I found the cabin quickly.
The cabin door wasn't locked—just a wooden bar. I lifted it and the door swung open with a creak, revealing a dim interior.
"Hello?" I called from outside. No answer. Was the woman already gone? Still, it would be worthwhile to see the inside.
I stepped in carefully. For some reason, the image of Jason Mercer's scar flashed through my mind, and I felt my neck tingle. I touched it instinctively, then quickly glanced behind the door—nothing.
I laughed at my own nervousness, but my body refused to relax. I looked for a light switch, only to realize the cabin probably had no electricity. A table, a few simple pieces of furniture, and another door—likely leading to an inner room, where the darkness was even deeper.
The door behind me creaked again. I spun around—just the wind. Desperate to avoid a second scare, I wanted to shut it, but that would make the room even darker. I decided to press on into the inner room.
Inside, along the wall near the door, were several shelves of books. Too dim to read the spines, but I was surprised—were these how Gordon Chase fought his loneliness? Then my gaze moved to the bed in the center, and the sight nearly made me cry out.
A person lay on the bed—an older woman, to be precise. Perhaps because of the dim light, or perhaps because she was in my blind spot when I first entered, I hadn't noticed her. The strange thing was, she wasn't speaking. Faced with an intruder like me, she showed neither anger nor fear—she simply stared at me, her gaze deeply unsettling.
"H-hello." My voice trembled despite myself. Pathetic.
"It's you." At least the woman could talk.
"You know me?"
"You came the day before yesterday. The evaluator. He's not here—you should leave." After she spoke a few sentences, I wasn't so afraid of her anymore—at least she wasn't impossible to communicate with, like Gordon Chase. Though it would've helped if some sunlight could reach us.
"It's fine, I can wait for him. Um, would you mind if I opened the curtain?" I pointed at a thin strip of light by the window.
"No. I'm about to sleep." Her expression matched her voice—completely flat—and I had no idea how to respond. We fell into an awkward silence. She looked at me, I looked at her, but perhaps only I found it awkward. She seemed entirely at ease.
"You—" Just when I thought this standoff might last forever, her face gradually came into focus in the darkness. Or perhaps my eyes had finally adjusted. "Are you Joanna Zhang?"
"Yes." Her matter-of-fact admission only confused me more. I should have recognized her sooner—then again, how could I have? I'd studied her photo at least twenty times over the past few days. She was one of Gordon Chase's victims from back then. In the photo she was twenty; now she was a gaunt, pale woman.
"Why?" I couldn't fathom why a woman would choose to live with the man who'd deceived her. And I was certain she was here voluntarily.
"Because I love him."
"After what he did to you, you still love him?"
"I forgave him."
"But does he love you?" Her calm made me feel like I was talking to a madwoman—only a madwoman would say these things. "He didn't love you back then, and now, with the shielding bracelet, he couldn't love you even if he wanted to."
"He does love me. I know it. Even though he can't express it, the love is still there."
"You're deluding yourself." A woman's foolish fantasy about love.
"You don't understand. When a person has no companion at all, the despair is unbearable. Nobody understands him, no one communicates with him, no one relates to him—I'm all he has. I'm willing to give him everything. I'm the only outlet for his soul. So tell me—what choice does he have but to love me?"
Seeing me speechless, she smiled—an expression finally crossing her face, though I wished she hadn't.
"By the way, I should thank you. Without the shielding bracelet, I wouldn't have gotten what I wanted."
"So you made him refuse the evaluation, to keep the shielding going forever?"
"That's right. What's wrong with that? He has me, and that's enough."
"You're being selfish." Looking at Joanna Zhang's self-justifying expression, I found it intolerable. "He should have the right to choose. I'm going to make sure he gets evaluated—and whether his sentence is reduced will be up to him."
"I! WON'T! ALLOW IT!" Joanna Zhang's eyes suddenly blazed like an enraged beast. "Who do you think you are? What right do you have? Nobody is going to tear us apart! Nobody! Get out! Get out of my house!"
Her hysterical screams were completely different from her earlier composure. I concluded that her mental state had indeed been affected—years of living in the wilderness with Gordon Chase must have taken their toll. I decided staying silent was the wisest course, rather than provoke her further.
"No, you don't need to leave." Suddenly she was calm again, speaking normally. "I've decided not to let you go."
"You've changed your mind?"
"It's you who doesn't understand—because you can't leave." Joanna Zhang smiled coldly. "He's coming back soon."
"Don't try to trick me. I saw him in town before I came. It'll be at least two or three hours before he gets back."
"Don't you know? He takes the bus back. If you calculate, he should be almost here." She might have been lying just to make me leave, but I had to admit—she'd frightened me.
"So what if he comes? I'll just persuade him to accept the evaluation." But I said this without much conviction. Who knew what Gordon Chase might do? I thought of Jason Mercer's warning.
"I'll make him kill you. What, scared? I've already killed someone for him. Now he kills someone for me—that's only fair."