CHAPTER 197: CHAPTER 197: DISAPPEARING TOGETHER

The pediatric ward in the morning is usually filled with the cries and laughter of children and the gentle coaxing of parents, but today there is an unusual oppressive silence.

This oppressive silence originates from the small figure curled up on the bed by the window.

Sylvie has kept the same posture since she woke up, sitting on the bed with her knees hugged, her face buried in her arms.

No crying, no noise, no talking, not even moving. A nurse tried to bring her breakfast, gently calling her name, but she gave no reaction, not even lifting an eyelid.

The bowl of warm porridge was left on the bedside table, gradually cooling and forming a skin of fat.

Several experienced nurses gathered at the nurse’s station, exchanging worried glances in low voices.

"Still the same?"

"Yes, all day, hasn’t eaten or drunk anything."

"Have you tried eye contact? Completely unfocused?"

"Yes, it’s empty, doesn’t respond to her name. We don’t know who is inside her right now."

"This is troublesome. Last time she was in this state, it was that violent persona that came out and nearly broke Nurse Wright’s arm."

"Yes, now no one dares to approach recklessly, who knows which persona might be triggered."

The air was filled with a cautious tension.

Everyone remembered the tenants residing in this little girl’s body, some were gentle, some timid, and some... extremely aggressive.

Without knowing which tenant was currently present, no one dared to take any risks.

Rhiannon Ford had just finished taking the temperature of a little pneumonia patient in the next bed and recorded the data.

She noticed the unusual low-pressure atmosphere at the nurse’s station and her colleagues frequently casting worried glances towards Sylvie’s bed.

She put down the thermometer and walked to the window, observing Sylvie from a few steps away.

The small figure was curled up, as if trying to completely hide herself.

The sunlight through the window shone on her dry, yellow hair, but brought no vitality.

She was enveloped in a deathly despair, completely out of place with the world of the surrounding children.

Rhiannon’s heart wrenched. She quickly walked to the head nurse and reported in a low voice, "Head nurse, Sylvie’s condition looks very dire. She hasn’t moved all day."

The head nurse frowned deeply and sighed, "I noticed. I’ve already notified the psychiatric department. We’re waiting for Doctor Sterling or another doctor to come over once they’re done with the urgent cases. Meanwhile, everyone should avoid stimulating her and just keep an eye on her."

Rhiannon nodded, but felt an inexplicable uneasiness.

This complete stillness was more unsettling than an intense emotional outburst.

Following the schedule, she continued with rounds in other wards, administering medications to the children and recording their vital signs.

But her thoughts involuntarily drifted back to the bed by the window.

After completing one round of work, she found herself back at the doorway of Sylvie’s ward, instinctively glancing inside.

That one glance made her blood run cold.

The bed was empty.

The messy blankets maintained the outline of a curled-up figure, but Sylvie was nowhere to be found.

"Head nurse!" Rhiannon’s voice carried a faint tremor as she dashed to the nurse’s station, "Sylvie is missing, there’s no one on the bed."

"What?"

The head nurse sprang up, her face changing dramatically.

She immediately picked up the internal phone, simultaneously shouting to everyone in the nurse’s station who could be mobilized, "Quick, everyone, search for Sylvie immediately! Check every corner of the wards, bathrooms, playrooms, corridors, stairways, leave no stone unturned, hurry."

The calm pediatric ward suddenly burst into chaos.

Nurses put down their work and dispersed rapidly to every possible place like a net suddenly thrown wide open.

The calls for "Sylvie" echoed through the corridors.

Rhiannon’s heart pounded like a drum.

She was the first to rush into the women’s restroom, pushing open each cubicle to check, but found nothing.

She then ran to the children’s playroom, where only a few kids were playing with building blocks, looking at her bewilderedly. There was no sign of Sylvie.

She ran through the corridor, scanning every corner with sharp eyes, asking every medical staff and parent she encountered if they had seen a little girl in a hospital gown, small and thin, appearing to be six or seven years old.

All the answers were negative.

Panic, like cold vines, secretly crept around her heart.

Sylvie was now unresponsive, with an unclear persona state. Where could she have run off to alone? Could she be in danger? Would she do something foolish?

A few minutes later, the people who had been searching returned to the vicinity of the nurse’s station, their faces full of anxiety and helplessness.

"Not in the ward area!"

"Not in the bathrooms!"

"Not in the playrooms or cafeteria either!"

"Checked two floors of the stairway, didn’t see her!"

"What should we do? Should we broadcast?" one nurse asked anxiously.

The head nurse’s face was very grim, "Search again, expand the scope, contact security to check the surveillance footage, and meanwhile... prepare to contact the police and the psychiatric doctors to report the situation."

Her voice carried a hint of helplessness, clearly realizing the seriousness of the situation.

"I’m going to look upstairs!"

Rhiannon didn’t wait for the head nurse’s instructions and dashed towards the staircase of the emergency exit.

She had a strong intuition that Sylvie didn’t go to a crowded place; she went somewhere more hidden, higher up.

She climbed the stairs floor by floor, pushing open the door to the emergency exit on each level, quickly sweeping the corridors with her eyes, calling out Sylvie’s name.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty stairway, along with her own increasingly rapid breathing.

"Sylvie, where are you? Answer me."

"Sylvie, come out quickly, don’t scare us."

No response.

A sense of despair started to consume her bit by bit.

By the time she climbed to the last flight of stairs leading to the rooftop, her legs were somewhat weak.

She forcefully pushed open the heavy iron door, which was usually locked but was ajar today, seemingly for ventilation.

The afternoon sun was a bit glaring, and the open rooftop wind instantly messed up her hair.

She squinted her eyes, adapting to the change in light, and her gaze eagerly swept across the entire rooftop.

Then, her breath stopped.

On the edge of the rooftop, above the low guard wall, a small figure in a blue and white striped hospital gown stood with their back to her.

The wind stirred her loose hospital gown, making her seem even more fragile, as if she could be blown off in the next second.

It was Sylvie.

Rhiannon’s heart contracted sharply, almost leaping out of her throat.

She forced herself to calm down and gently called out in as steady and non-jarring a voice as possible, "Sylvie?"

The figure standing at the edge moved slightly but did not turn around.

A thin, trembling, yet extraordinarily clear voice drifted over with the wind, carrying a heart-wrenching determination.

"...Don’t come over. If you do, I’ll jump right now."

Rhiannon immediately stopped all forward movements, raising her hands slightly in a non-threatening gesture.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm, but the slight tremble betrayed her fear.

"Okay, okay, I won’t go over. I’ll just stand here. Sylvie, don’t move first, okay? Let’s talk."

She stared intently at the back, her mind racing.

Which "Sylvie" is in control now?

"Sylvie," she ventured, asking in the gentlest tone, "can you tell me who I’m talking to now? Is it Sylvie?"

After a brief silence, the thin voice sounded again, thick with nasal congestion and fatigue: "...It’s me."

It was the primary personality, Sylvie.

The originally timid, sensitive little girl who bore everything.

Rhiannon’s heart slightly eased, but was then gripped firmly by greater confusion and urgency.

It was the primary personality, why was she seeking death?

Typically, those with suicidal or self-destructive tendencies are the secondary personalities suffering from too much pain and negative emotions.

"Sylvie," Rhiannon carefully began, her tone full of confusion and concern, "if it’s you... why are you doing this? Haven’t you been trying so hard to live? Don’t you hate those who hurt you and others? You should be thinking about helping Uncle Sterling and Nurse Wright, making those bad ’them’ disappear, so why hurt yourself?"

Sylvie’s shoulders shook slightly, as if crying, but her voice was eerily calm, a terrifying kind of calm.

"I tried, I really tried, but it’s no use, no use at all."

Her voice was filled with utter despair and helplessness.

"Living only continually bothers Mom and Dad, makes them sad, takes lots of money, and I also hurt nurses and Doctor Sterling who are good to me. I don’t want to continue like this. If I disappear, they’ll disappear too, right?"

This logical yet despondent speech cut into Rhiannon’s heart like a dull knife repeatedly.

This child, amid the immense pain of her mental struggles, was feeling guilty about the burden and harm she caused others.

"No! Sylvie, listen to me!"

Rhiannon hurriedly refuted, her voice raised from urgency but quickly controlled.

"No one sees you as a burden. Your parents love you very much. Their greatest wish is for you to get better. We, all the doctors and nurses, never disliked you. We all like you, like the quiet, kind Sylvie. We all hope you’ll recover soon, so you can go to school and play happily like other kids."

Sylvie was silent, not responding. The wind moved her hair, the thin figure swaying slightly at the rooftop’s edge, a sight making Rhiannon’s heart race.

Rhiannon knew just how hollow such comfort sounded at this moment.

She must offer a stronger reason, one that would support her to continue living.

Her mind raced, and suddenly, a name flashed through her mind.

"Sylvie," her tone turned particularly serious and determined, "your illness will get better. Doctor Sterling, Uncle Sterling, told me so himself."

Upon hearing "Uncle Sterling," Sylvie’s body subtly stiffened.

Grasping this chance, Rhiannon continued with an unmistakably confident tone, as if asserting a settled fact.

"Uncle Sterling said Sylvie is improving, that the treatment is effective."

"He said you’ll get better soon, you’ll defeat those causing you discomfort, victory is in sight, Sylvie!"

As she spoke, she inched forward at an extremely slow, imperceptible pace.

Her gaze tightly locked onto Sylvie, not daring to slacken even a bit, her mouth continually reinforcing and strengthening the hope she hastily constructed:

"So now, you absolutely mustn’t do something foolish, you’re on the brink of success, about to become a healthy, happy Sylvie again."

"Hold on a little longer, okay? For Uncle Sterling, for Mom and Dad, and for yourself..."

Sylvie seemed touched by these words, slightly turning her head to reveal a bit of her pale cheek and reddened eyes, her voice carrying a trace of tentative hope and tremor.

"...Really? Did Uncle Sterling really say that?"

"Yes, he told me himself. Doesn’t Sylvie believe Uncle Sterling?"

Rhiannon confirmed without hesitation, her heart pounding in her chest, yet her tone was extraordinarily firm.

She took advantage to inch a little closer, now only less than three meters from Sylvie.

She could see more clearly the tear streaks on Sylvie’s face and those eyes, long shrouded in despair but now slightly flickering due to a faint glimmer of light.

"He told me, Sylvie is a very brave child, she’s trying hard, and she’s about to succeed."

Rhiannon almost held her breath, mimicking Simon Sterling’s calm yet assured tone, speaking word by word.

Her entire attention focused on that precarious little figure, calculating the last step’s distance and timing.