Pain Is a Family Matter Chapter 07
Cool wind rushed past my face. For a split second, I felt like a bird spreading its wings.
Then I slammed into the mountainside.
The impact was brutal. Hard stone crashed into my body, as if it meant to tear me apart.
I bounced, rolled, and slammed again. This time, a jagged ridge tore across my chest, splitting my skin open. By. the time I finally reached the bottom, my clothes hung in shredded rags.
From the viewing platform above, one of my brothers screamed. I could not tell which one.
I leaned against the rock wall and forced myself upright.
The Shared-Sense System’s voice echoed in my ears.
[Severe injury detected. The host has reached a near-death state. All accumulated old injuries will now be randomly transferred to one bound target.]
Another scream rang out from the platform.
I looked down at myself. Beneath the torn fabric, my body was intact. I had no broken bones or twisted limbs.
I started walking. Step by step, I climbed back up toward the viewing platform. Thick drops of fresh blood fell from above, splattering against the ground.
Nelson lay at the center of the platform, gasping for air, his face ashen. “Call… an ambulance. Call an ambulance…”
Beside him, Stefan stared at his wrist, eyes stretched wide with disbelief.
“My hand… What happened to my hand?” he whispered. “My right hand. Why can’t I control it?!”
The ambulance arrived with sirens wailing and rushed Nelson away. He was soaked in blood when they pushed him into the operating room.
This time, I was the only one waiting outside.
Stefan dragged every doctor he could find over to examine his right hand. An ugly scar cut across it, and the hand trembled without stopping.
“I’m a pianist,” he kept shouting. “My hands are priceless. Nothing can be wrong with them. I have a lot of money. Fix it. As long as you fix it, I’ll pay whatever you want.”
The doctors stared at him as if he had lost his mind.
“This scar looks old,” one of them said at last. “Years old. It resembles a self-inflicted cut. If it had been treated properly back then, a full recovery might have been possible.”
The doctor shook his head. “But this? Too much time has passed. There’s nothing we can do.”
At that moment, I finally felt it. A sense of lightness spread through me.
My steps were steady. My body responded the way it once had. My legs felt whole. My right hand rested where it belonged. After all these years, my body was finally mine again.
Nelson remained in surgery for over 14 hours.
Amber did not dare show herself. She had already gone into hiding.
Stefan ran wild through the hospital, telling anyone who would listen that he was a world-famous pianist and that his hands were priceless. In the end, the doctors called the police, and he was taken away for disturbing public order..
After 15 hours, Nelson was wheeled out.
“High-level paralysis,” the doctor said. “We did everything we could.”
Nelson heard the verdict as he woke. His mind shattered.
He thrashed on the bed, trying to sit up, sweeping everything within reach onto the floor.
“The Ritualist,” he rasped. “Where is the Ritualist? Why wasn’t it you who got hurt?!”
“He ran,” I said calmly, pulling the blanket back into place. “But I helped you report him. The police already caught him. He’s a fraud. A professional con artist who targets rich people.”
I met his eyes. “Especially rich people with no conscience. He’s scammed over 20,000,000 dollars in total. You’ll probably see each other in Hell.”
Nelson sucked in a breath, choking, and a single tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
He had always cared most about appearances. Every time he went out, he dressed like a peacock. He used to despise the way I limped, to the point that he refused to walk beside me.
Now he would never stand again. Only gray days awaited him.
Once I finished watching his punishment, I turned and left.
Stefan was released later. The police recommended a psychiatric evaluation.
I took him home. He locked himself inside and spent his days staring at his uncontrollable right hand.
One day, something finally clicked.
“When Amber cut her wrist back then, wasn’t it her right hand?” he said hoarsely. “I’m the lead pianist. My right hand is everything. If she cut her right hand, why did the retribution land on me? Shouldn’t it have landed on her?”
Rayden sat in his wheelchair by the window, staring out. He glanced over and said in a flat tone, “What about me? Aren’t my injuries the same? If Amber hadn’t insisted on that two-thousand-foot, rope-free jump, I wouldn’t be like this.”
He paused, bitterness flaring in his eyes. “My racing career, all those gold medals… Now, even walking is a dream.
His hands curled into tight fists. “It’s all Amber’s fault. She caused everything, yet we bear the consequences. And if she gets hurt, it rebounds on us. What can we even do to her?”
His voice dropped. “It’s my fault too. When Viola begged us to stop her, to keep Amber from doing those dangerous things, she begged us. We were the ones who spoiled her.”
He closed his eyes and slammed his fists against his useless legs.
Stefan stared at his hand, his eyes hollow. “I can’t play the piano anymore. I want Amber to die.”
