Part 170
His eyes seemed to hide many things, yet also seemed utterly empty. They were as black as a vortex, making it impossible for anyone to see through.
The Vault shifted her gaze, looking behind him. A low-key dressed girl stood not far away, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, hiding in the shadows, glancing over at them from time to time.
It was absolutely impossible for Harry Forrest to have evaded the police search and hidden himself completely in City A without anyone’s help. But The Vault hadn’t expected it to be such a young girl.
The Vault smiled, surprised herself that the first thing she would say upon seeing Harry Forrest again was, “Every time I see you, there’s always a girl by your side. Seems you’re quite popular with the ladies.”
“A friend.” Harry Forrest said in a low voice, “You still love to joke as always.”
His voice sounded a bit unfamiliar to The Vault, so much so that after her teasing, she fell silent.
She didn’t know what to say next; all the usual pleasantries didn’t apply to them.
—“Have you been well?”
Impossible.
—“How have you been lately?”
Not very optimistic.
—“Any plans for the future?”
To seek justice and clear his name.
None of them were suitable.
The Vault decided to channel Mrs. He’s spirit and asked, “Do you need money?”
Harry Forrest said, “No.”
The Vault: “Oh.”
That was it.
So poor that only a little money was left.
After a long pause, The Vault discarded all unrealistic thoughts and said, “Come back.”
No ups and downs, no excitement, just the most ordinary advice, yet it carried a reassuring strength.
Harry Forrest said painfully, “I can’t come back.”
He thought he would walk in darkness forever, and at most, what he could leave behind was a blurry background. As soon as he stepped into the sunlight, he would vanish like a ghost in the light.
Ten years of prison and infamy had left him with indelible marks. His habits and ways of thinking all proved that he had once lived as a convict. The better his memory, the harder it was to heal.
Harry Forrest lowered his head, his whole body swallowed by shadow: “Sometimes knowing too much is a painful thing. I have to face the mistakes I made, clearly.”
“What mistake did you make?” The Vault paused, then told him firmly, “This wasn’t your fault.”
Harry Forrest murmured softly, “It was my fault.”
Harry Forrest hated this place intensely; it marked the beginning of his tragedy. Standing on this street, he felt suffocated and oppressed. Yet Logan Carter kept coming back, hoping again and again, only to leave disappointed each time. Her trust in him had probably long been worn away in every corner of this street, with only a mother’s stubbornness left. That’s why she chose to leave.
All because of him.
The Vault spoke to him with an unprecedented tone of assurance: “I will clear your name. Many people are helping you. Give me one more month.”
Harry Forrest’s eyelid twitched. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm, asking sharply, “Have you already found out? The person behind Harold Thornton.”
The Vault licked her back teeth with her tongue, not answering immediately.
“Tell me.” Harry Forrest saw her hesitation, and a surge of suppressed emotion rose in him. “Teacher, if you really want to help me, then tell me!”
The Vault felt a sharp pain in her arm. She calmly said, “Then tell me first—what do you want to do?”
Harry Forrest retorted, “Didn’t you say I could trust you?”
The Vault felt that every question in front of Harry Forrest was hard to answer.
Harry Forrest didn’t press her. Time ticked by between them. Gradually, he let go and stepped back.
The Vault considered for a moment and said, “That addict you followed last time…”
Harry Forrest interrupted, “I’m not talking about him.”
The Vault’s throat was dry, but she still unconsciously swallowed. In the end, she admitted, “At present, there’s a small amount of evidence pointing to Leonard Campbell.”
“Leonard Campbell…” Harry Forrest murmured the name, his thoughts drifting far away.
He felt his heartbeat speeding up, almost leaping out of his chest at a certain frequency. His long-silent soul began to howl, wanting to tear apart the person who had pushed him into the abyss.
The Vault took a step closer, sensing something was wrong: “Harry Forrest?”
“I know him.” Harry Forrest’s body seemed to tremble, but his voice betrayed no violence. “He visited me in prison. He’s always been in contact with my mom and Annie.”
·
Henry Harris finished signing and glanced inside. The guard on duty smiled and gestured for her to go in directly.
As a detective who was always on the move, Henry Harris was already quite familiar with them. She took off her fitted jacket, draped it over her arm, and walked into the room.
Xavier Daniels sat inside with his head tilted, giving her a perfunctory smile when he saw her.
He asked, “Where’s The Vault?”
“Don’t forget, I’m the one who caught you.” Henry Harris wasn’t angered by his deliberate disdain. She sat down across from him and retorted sarcastically, “Put away your arrogance, loser.”
Xavier Daniels raised his hand to touch his hair.
Most prisoners wouldn’t ask for such a short cut, but he’d almost shaved his head.
Feeling the prickly stubble, Xavier Daniels smiled and said, “See, I always forget I don’t have hair anymore.”
Henry Harris sat casually and comforted him, “Don’t worry, the things you lose will only increase.”
Xavier Daniels lacked empathy; in a way, it made him seem very even-tempered. He said lightly, “It’s just to remind myself not to make the same mistake again.”
“Your first mistake hasn’t been resolved yet, so don’t get too comfortable in prison.” Henry Harris took out a photo, pressed it against the glass, and showed it to Xavier Daniels. She asked, “Did you meet with Leonard Campbell?”
Xavier Daniels lifted his chin.
“Leonard Campbell?” He fixed his gaze on her face, thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think it was him.”
Henry Harris frowned, “Why?”
Xavier Daniels replied uncooperatively, “Why does a feeling need so many reasons?”
Henry Harris pressed the photo down, leaned back in her chair, and stared at him intently.
There was a clear sense of hostility and irritation in her eyes. Xavier Daniels, being glared at, actually laughed, raising both hands in surrender: “I get it, I get it. But it really is just a feeling.”
“What kind of feeling? I don’t think you’re someone who acts on feelings.” Henry Harris said coldly, “Don’t try to brush me off with feelings for the third time. That’s pointless.”
Xavier Daniels leaned forward, elbows on the table, thought for a moment, and pointed through the glass at the photo she had turned over.
“As a well-known professor at D University, Leonard Campbell did come to see me, wanting me to help with a social psychology research project. Besides me, there were several other student council members. But he didn’t say anything strange to me, just chatted for a bit…” Xavier Daniels’s voice faded, and he gave a short laugh. “Looks like no matter how senior a psychologist is, they still have to follow procedure. I don’t like being tested, so I stopped it halfway.”
Henry Harris asked, “And then?”
“Hmm…” Xavier Daniels’s gaze drifted as he recalled, “He didn’t give up, kept trying to contact me. Before my father’s accident, he tried several times to talk to me, pretending to casually discuss juvenile delinquency and how special groups should integrate into society…”
Henry Harris asked sharply, “He knows about your past?”
“No.” Xavier Daniels paused. “I mean, I don’t know.”
Henry Harris realized she was too tense, relaxed her expression, and nodded, “Go on.”
Xavier Daniels spread his hands. “There’s nothing more to say.”
He didn’t need Leonard Campbell to tell him how to view juvenile delinquency. Long before, someone else had already approached him and conveyed such ideas. Besides, he knew what methods a psychology expert would use to approach a patient and broach a topic. Watching Leonard Campbell pretend to be a third party in front of him, he actually found it laughable, and was also evaluating this industry heavyweight in reverse.
Xavier Daniels stated calmly, “Leonard Campbell’s system is somewhat similar to that person’s, but their views are not the same. Even with mastery of the same discipline, their understandings are worlds apart. Their opinions slip out unconsciously. Besides his psychological knowledge, Leonard Campbell’s self-awareness leans more toward Confucianism, with a bit of that ‘restrain oneself and return to propriety’ flavor. But that person is not like that.”
The person behind the scenes would incite, would encourage, would push him to the edge of danger. That person would tell him that a genius is a genius, different from everyone else. They would separate him from society, then watch as he fell from the heights.
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