"After all this treatment, he's improved a great deal."
Doctor Vanessa pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose as she spoke.
"Having learned from last time, we put in some extra effort on stress resistance for this round.
Now his emotional state is far more stable than before—at the very least, he won't immediately slip into a stress response over some minor stimulus."
"So what you're saying is, we can question him about the code?" Russell asked.
"In theory, yes—but I'd rather you didn't," Vanessa said.
"His tolerance has merely improved. He can handle some fairly... borderline probing.
But if you throw Moriarty's name, or anything connected to it, straight at him, his sanity will still crumble very quickly."
Vanessa explained further.
"The link between the code and Moriarty is far too tight—practically right on each other's heels.
So I really don't recommend you approach it from that direction. It's best to come at it from another angle."
She paused, then added, "Besides, we've examined Charles Brown's current condition.
If he goes into a stress response a few more times, I'm afraid it will trigger his brain's protective mechanism."
"And what happens if that protective mechanism is triggered?" Charlotte asked.
"His brain, in order to protect him, will make him forget that portion of his memories," Vanessa said.
"In other words," Charlotte said, arms folded, her brow slightly furrowed, "this is our last chance."
"Perhaps not quite the last," Vanessa smiled, "but it's always wise to treat it as though it were."
"I understand." Charlotte drew a deep breath. "Take us to see him."
It was the same familiar ward as before, the same ghastly-pale hospital bed.
Charles Brown sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered, hands resting on his knees. He looked far calmer than last time, though his gaze was still somewhat vacant.
Only when he saw Doctor Vanessa walk in did he slowly lift his head, a faint glimmer flickering through those cloudy eyes before quickly dimming again.
"Good morning, Mr. Charles," Vanessa said in her usual gentle tone.
"How are you feeling today?"
"I'm... I'm all right." Charles's voice was a little hoarse.
"Miss Holmes and Mr. Watson have come to see you." Vanessa turned aside, revealing Charlotte and Russell behind her.
At those words, Charles raised his head, his eyes landing on the two of them. His body instinctively tensed, but he did not immediately sink into terror the way he had last time.
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Charles." Russell stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face, his voice pitched soft and low.
"We've only come to chat with you, just like ordinary friends would."
As he spoke, he drew a chair over and sat down not far from Charles.
Charlotte took a seat beside him as well, not speaking right away.
When it came to easing someone in and lowering their guard, Russell truly was better at it than she was.
"Chat...?" Charles repeated, looking somewhat confused.
"That's right, just a chat," Russell said, nodding. "About things from the past. Is that all right?"
Charles didn't answer. He simply lowered his head in silence, his hands beginning once again to unconsciously wring the loose fabric of his hospital gown.
"Let's talk about something pleasant." Russell's voice was gentle, like a stream flowing in the afternoon sun.
"For instance—back when you were in the army, weren't you quite popular?"
Charles's fingers paused slightly. He lifted his head, and a faint glimmer flickered through those cloudy eyes, as if some long-buried memory had been stirred awake.
"That was... all a long time ago..." he murmured.
"It is, isn't it? I heard that back then, you were the finest mechanical repair technician in your unit," Russell said, nodding. "And a lockpicking expert, too."
"Yes... yes, I was," Charles said with a nod, and his tensed body seemed to relax a fraction.
"They... they all used to call me the Key," he said, "because there wasn't a lock I couldn't open."
"That sounds pretty cool," Russell offered his praise at just the right moment. "By rights, you must have been quite proud of yourself back then."
"Back then... everyone needed me."
On that always somewhat vacant face of Charles's, a faint trace of a smile actually surfaced.
"The officers always praised me, too."
"That must have been a wonderful time." Russell smiled in agreement.
"And afterward? After you were discharged, how did life treat you?"
"Not well..." At the mention of life after discharge, the smile on Charles's face faded swiftly, replaced by a stretch of gloom.
"I made a mistake... I got drunk, got into a fight with someone, and then I was forcibly discharged for a serious breach of military discipline.
It was a very serious matter... I couldn't receive any of the benefits a veteran should have. My record was stained... I couldn't even find a decent job."
As he spoke, he then buried his face in his hands in anguish.
Seeing this, Vanessa, at his side, had meant to signal Russell to change the subject—but she soon noticed that Charles showed no sign of breaking down.
If anything, Russell's words were opening the door to his heart, little by little.
It seemed that as long as they didn't touch upon anything to do with Moriarty, Charles's tolerance for other topics was far higher than she had imagined.
So she quietly held her tongue and fixed her attention on Russell and Charles, intending to see how this young man would handle things.
"And then?" Russell coaxed gently. "After you left the army, what did you do?"
"I... I tried all sorts of jobs, but I couldn't do any of them well.
All I knew how to do was repair guns and pick loc—but there's no honest work that needs those two skills.
Even when I applied at a locksmith company, they turned me away because my record wasn't clean."
The hands covering Charles's face trembled slightly. "I needed money..."
At last, he squeezed a few words out from between his fingers, his voice hoarse and despairing.
"I needed to survive—and then... Pilsen found me."
As his voice fell, Russell and Charlotte both froze at the same instant.
Not because of this history, but because Russell had never intended to steer the conversation onto Pilsen.
He had only wanted a topic to get Charles to let his guard down first, and then slowly, indirectly, work his way in.
Who could have known this fellow would go on talking all by himself.
"Pilsen?" Russell followed his lead and pressed on. "How did you come to know him?"
"He was the one who found me... I was already at the end of my rope back then, reduced to asking everywhere whether anyone could give me a job," Charles said.
"And then Pilsen found me. He said he too had once been in the army, and that he was willing to give me a job."
He slowly lowered his hands, and in those cloudy eyes, his emotions were complicated.
"He had me join them. He said there were a lot of people there who needed my skills, and what's more, I could earn a great deal of money."
"And you agreed." Charlotte's voice suddenly rang out, calm and certain.
Charles looked toward her, fell silent for a moment, and in the end still nodded.
"I had no choice."
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