96: Chapter 96 Rachel

Ballard's mentality was still quite stable.

She quickly digested the information about the "demon" and hurriedly asked, "What now? Can we find it?"

Sean shook his head. "It's not here; it's gone."

He looked at the walls, which were permeated by the demonic aura. "But what it left behind is still here—inside the walls, underground, in places we can't see."

Wind poured in through the broken window, making the documents scattered on the floor rustle.

Elizabeth squatted down in the corner.

That was where the documents were piled highest, covered in dust, some gnawed by rats with ragged edges.

She wasn't wearing gloves, flipping through them with her bare hands, the paper making a crisp sound between her fingers. Sean watched her for a while, and then her movements suddenly stopped.

She pulled something out from the pile—not a document, but a photograph.

Then she stood up, walked over to Sean, and handed it to him.

"Look at this."

Sean took the photo.

It was a black-and-white photo with yellowed edges, depicting a woman.

She was wearing a white nurse's uniform and a white cap, standing behind a nurse's station with her hands folded in front of her.

Her expression was calm, the corners of her mouth slightly curled as if she were smiling, yet also as if she had no expression at all.

Ratchet.

Elizabeth said, "Sense it."

Sean glanced at her.

He held the photo and closed his eyes.

Sean focused his senses.

In an instant, he felt it.

It wasn't a lingering scent in the photo; it was alive.

He snapped his eyes open. "She's still alive."

Ballard frowned. "Who?"

"Ratchet." Sean looked at the photo. "She's still alive. I can feel that she's still alive."

Ballard's expression changed. "That's impossible. The photo is from 1949; it's been almost eighty years. If she were still alive, she'd be at least a hundred years old."

Sean didn't speak; he was also thinking about this.

Over a hundred years old—ordinary people couldn't live that long.

Ratchet was a mortal; she wasn't a witch or a Vampire, and she didn't have any supernatural powers.

How could she have lived this long?

Elizabeth looked at his expression and smiled. "You find it strange? Sean, you don't know who Ratchet is. She's no ordinary nurse."

Sean looked at her. "Who is she?"

Elizabeth didn't answer.

She turned and headed toward the corridor. "We'll know once we find her."

"Let's go! To the basement!"

After Elizabeth finished speaking, she turned and walked down the corridor.

Sean followed her, with Ballard bringing up the rear.

The three of them walked through the long corridor, flanked by closed iron doors whose numbers flickered in the dim light.

At the end of the corridor was an iron door, larger and thicker than the others, but it wasn't locked.

Elizabeth pushed the door open to reveal a flight of stairs leading down, very steep.

The lights weren't on, and it was pitch black below; nothing could be seen.

Air surged up from below—damp, cold, and carrying a scent Sean couldn't quite describe.

Elizabeth pulled a small flashlight from her pocket and twisted it on.

The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the stairs. The steps were concrete, riddled with cracks from which water seeped, shimmering.

Sean was puzzled by this.

Why would a Vampire need to use a flashlight?

Shouldn't they be able to see more clearly in the dark?

But Sean didn't say it aloud; he just followed along.

The flashlight's beam wavered in the darkness, shining on the walls, the steps, and the ceiling. The staircase was long, with two turns, and it grew colder the further down they went.

Sean's breath condensed into white mist before him, dissipating in the beam of light.

After walking for about two minutes, they reached the end of the stairs.

Inside was a large room, even bigger than the hall above. The ceiling was high, and darkness pooled overhead, making it impossible to see the top.

Sean stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes. That aura had grown even stronger.

It was right here, somewhere, in a place he couldn't see.

He opened his eyes and followed the aura forward to the deepest part of the room.

There was an iron door there, smaller than the others, looking like the door to a storage room.

The door was closed and unlocked, but it wouldn't budge. Sean placed his hand on the door and pushed hard, but it didn't move.

Sean took a breath and pushed again, using even more force.

The door creaked open, leaving a small gap.

It was even darker and colder inside.

He squeezed in sideways, the flashlight's beam illuminating the room.

It was small, like an office.

There was a desk, a chair, and a bookshelf.

A woman was sitting in the chair.

She was wearing a white nurse's uniform and a white cap.

She sat in the chair with her hands folded on her knees, eyes closed as if she were sleeping.

Her face was very white, but not an unhealthy pallor; it was a white like porcelain.

Ratchet!

Sean stood at the door, the flashlight's beam shining on her face.

She didn't move or open her eyes, looking like a wax statue.

But Sean could feel that she was still alive.

Her heartbeat was very slow and weak, but it was still there. Her breathing was very light, almost imperceptible.

But she was alive.

A mortal had lived in the basement of this abandoned Asylum for nearly eighty years.

Elizabeth walked in behind Sean, her flashlight shining on Ratchet's face.

She didn't speak, just watched with a look of scrutiny on her face.

Ballard was the last to enter, her hand resting on her lower back, staring at the woman in the chair with a deep frown.

After watching for a long time, Elizabeth suddenly burst into laughter.

The laughter echoed in the basement, bouncing off the walls and ceiling like countless bats circling overhead.

Sean had never heard her laugh like this—not an elegant, restrained laugh, but a genuine, unbridled laugh that had been suppressed for too long and finally erupted.

"I finally found you."

There was a sense of intense excitement in Elizabeth's voice.

Then she raised her hand.

That hand glowed white in the dim light, and the dark red on her nails looked like clotted blood.

Elizabeth reached her hand toward Ratchet, her fingers splayed like a claw.

Ratchet didn't dodge.

She sat in the chair, hands folded on her knees, watching Elizabeth's hand approach without any change in her expression.

The moment Elizabeth's fingers touched Ratchet's forehead, Ratchet's body suddenly tensed up.

Her mouth opened, letting out a sharp, inhuman cry.

The sound didn't come from her throat; it came from deep within her body, from somewhere that had been suppressed and hidden for a long time.

Ratchet's face began to change... not a distortion, but becoming transparent.

Something was surging and struggling beneath her skin, trying to squeeze out.

Elizabeth's fingers tightened as if she were choking something by the neck.

She pulled outward, and a cloud of black mist was dragged out of Ratchet's body.

The black mist slowly condensed into a human shape—blurry and transparent, but with visible facial features.

It was a man, not very old, with a distorted face and red eyes like two glowing coals.

His mouth was open in a silent scream...