Chapter 134

"Hate?"

George looked at Zoey, genuinely surprised, like the question had never crossed his mind before.

They had once been the best of friends, united by a common goal. But twenty years ago, that friend had tried to kill him, and even now, two decades later, was still trying.

For over twenty years, George had been in hiding, never seeing his son or wife, as if he had vanished from the world. He endured endless loneliness and pain all by himself.

How did one hate someone? Did they curse them, wish for their death to ease the hatred in their heart? Or did they wish for them to suffer more than death, to live in agony, sleepless nights, constant worry, tormented by life or fate until they lost their sanity?

What I got was George's laughter.

His smile had a mysterious power, much like Alan's gentle smile, unpretentious and understated, with the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, like a spring breeze brushing across his face. The laughter seemed to come from the depths of his soul, audible from any distance, even from the depths of hell.

"Over twenty years ago, someone died in my place. I was knocked out by the smoke, and when I woke up, the old steel mill was in ruins, everything charred black. In that moment, I felt like the fire had burned away all my ideals, friendships, justice, and family. I couldn't cry, and there was no hatred in my mind. I knew who did it, but I just couldn't hate them."

George looked at me, Zoey, and Bob with a smile, his eyes glistening with tears. He paused for a moment.

"I stood there, my mind blank, dazed for a long time. Was I betrayed, or had I faced some calamity? I should have cried out loud to release my emotions and quickly calm down, as the psychology books suggest, but I didn't. In that instant, I seemed to return to my teenage years, when I would do anything for a friend, only to be reported for fighting and punished by the school. I thought about it, and it wasn't much different. Of course, I was sad, but not for my own suffering. I was sad for that childhood friend and for Ronald. People are too obsessed. I tried my best but couldn't save them. That's my fault..."

"What about your middle school friend? How is he now?" Zoey asked instinctively, her eyes shining with a different light, perhaps a mix of pleading and unrealistic hope.

It was human nature. I knew that everyone who knew about this would tell Zoey that it was her father's issue and had nothing to do with her, that she shouldn't feel any psychological burden. It was an unrealistic attempt to distance oneself from the pain, like waking up from a nightmare and mumbling, "It has nothing to do with you, don't worry about it."

But how could that be possible?

Watching her father step into sin and face the cycle of karma, how painful must that be for a child?

I understood Zoey, so I echoed her question.

That was all I could do. I wanted to deeply understand Zoey's feelings and hoped to do a little more for her.

George didn't speak. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down a couple of times, like he was trying to swallow the pain in his heart. For over twenty years, he'd always managed to do that, but this time he couldn't. He broke down, his voice trembling as he pointed to himself and then to the sky.

Zoey let out an instinctive scream. I was stunned. We looked at each other, sharing a sense of disbelief.

We understood. His childhood friend had grown up and worked with George at the steel mill. When the mill relocated, he stayed behind at the old mill, forced to cook for criminals. Later, he learned of Ronald's plan, couldn't persuade him, and died in the fire in George's place.

The martyr's beginning and end, everything became clear.

I was speechless.

Zoey's expression darkened, her pain deepening.

"No need for that. Everyone has their fate. Maybe I lived these extra twenty years to save him and bring closure to this matter."

George said slowly, frowning and touching his chest. Maybe talking too much and the emotional turmoil had caused his wound to reopen.

"Dad..."

Bob hesitated. He knew George's temperament well. If he could be persuaded, there wouldn't have been the grudges from over twenty years ago.

"Guess who I saw in the ruins the next morning?"

George looked at me with interest. The answer was obvious: Howard.

I suddenly understood why George could live in hiding for so many years. Bob and Mike were just kids when they left the old steel mill and lived with other children in Shadow City under Ronald's supervision. They couldn't have seen George.

But if Howard had helped, Ronald would never have suspected that his best friend had hidden George in Shadow City, right under his nose, for years without being discovered. Only Howard could have come up with such a plan. This also explained why Bob insisted on returning to Shadow City after graduation.

"What did Howard say?" I asked.

George wasn't surprised that I guessed it. He glanced at Zoey, perhaps seeing some inexplicable resemblance to Howard, and replied, "Like her, he asked if I hated. I said I didn't."

"And then? What did Mr. Martin say?" Zoey asked.

"He cried, took out his lawyer's license from his briefcase, and threw it into the still-warm fire, burning it to ashes. He mentioned that I was truly compassionate. He couldn't be like me, but he couldn't bear to let Ronald continue making mistakes. It will end someday."

George said, repeating the last sentence, "It will end someday."

Yes, it would end. That day was not far off.

"Do you miss home? Your family has your picture hanging up. Tom and Tony have been thinking about you." I asked, recalling the years Tammy had spent raising two kids in Sand Village, thinking of Tony's feelings for Anna and Lally. I didn't know what to say.

George nodded. "I miss them. I know it's been hard for them, but I can't show up. Ronald has always had doubts about my death, even if he doesn't say it. Otherwise, he wouldn't have had Laura arrange for Anna to be in Tony's life."