To be honest, I really thought I was done for this time. Jumping off a moving motorcycle—how far would a person have to roll? Even if I didn’t die from the fall, I could have been run over by passing cars.

But luckily, I didn’t die this time. When I woke up, I was already lying in a hospital bed, a piece of white gauze wrapped around my head, my mind still a bit hazy. Sitting at my bedside was someone—it was Captain Smith.

It turned out that the reason Captain Smith was in the hospital room was because I had called him before jumping off the bike. After I passed out, a passerby picked up my phone and told him I’d been in an accident, so he rushed over.

When Captain Smith saw I was awake, he said I was really lucky, daring to run a red light. But fortunately, it was just a mild concussion.

Although my head was still spinning, I still remembered what had happened before. Still shaken, I told Captain Smith that it wasn’t me who wanted to run the red light—it was Little Clark who wanted to harm me. He deliberately ran the red light with me on the back.

“Little Clark was already dead before your accident. Where did this Little Clark come from? Clearly, you were the one who ran the red light yourself,” Captain Smith rolled his eyes.

Seeing that Captain Smith didn’t believe me, I got anxious. I said I really was with Little Clark at the time—he was driving me. If you don’t believe me, you can ask the bystanders at the scene; someone must have seen him.

But Captain Smith said, “Nonsense! I’ve already checked the surveillance at the intersection. At the time, you were the only one on the motorcycle. Also, according to multiple eyewitnesses, when they saw you, you were acting crazy—waving your arms, shouting, like you’d lost your mind. Then, just before reaching the intersection, you jumped off the motorcycle yourself…”

Hearing this, I was stunned.

Just me? I remember Little Clark was driving me. I was sitting on the back and even answered a call from Captain Smith. My hands weren’t even on the handlebars—so who was driving the bike? It couldn’t have just moved on its own while I was sitting there, right? Besides, I don’t even own a motorcycle.

I was deeply confused, feeling like I was going crazy. I asked, “Captain Smith, what the hell is going on? I remember it perfectly—I was sitting on the motorcycle, Little Clark was driving me. There’s no way the bike could have gone by itself!”

Captain Smith gave me a look and said, “That’s something you’ll have to answer. Your riding skills are amazing—according to both the surveillance and the witnesses, you were flailing your arms in the air like a madman. It was really dangerous.”

“Did the surveillance also show that my hands weren’t on the handlebars?” I was stunned.

Captain Smith nodded. “No, you were just sitting upright on the bike.”

At that, cold sweat broke out all over me. I said, “How the hell could I drive like that?”

Captain Smith rolled his eyes and said, “That’s for you to figure out. But you’re lucky to be alive. If you’d jumped a bit later, you would have been hit by the truck along with the motorcycle.”

“The motorcycle was hit?” I asked, trembling.

Captain Smith nodded and said that after I jumped off, the motorcycle was hit by a big truck and thrown more than ten meters away, the body completely smashed to pieces.

Hearing this, I shivered violently, a wave of inexplicable panic and fear washing over me. If I’d still been on that motorcycle, I’d be dead for sure.

I told Captain Smith that I didn’t even own a motorcycle. Captain Smith recited the license plate number, and as soon as I heard it, I realized—it was Little Clark’s motorcycle!

I was on the verge of tears. I said, “Captain Smith, you have to believe me. I have no reason to lie to you. At the time, Little Clark really was driving me. I don’t know what’s going on, but now that Little Clark is dead, I must be next. Captain Smith, you have to help me!”

This time, I survived by sheer luck, but what about next time? Will I be so lucky again?

Honestly, it was all thanks to that call from Captain Smith, telling me that Little Clark was dead. Otherwise, I would have died at that intersection today.

Thinking of this, I felt a wave of panic.

Captain Smith frowned, looking helpless. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but this whole thing is just too bizarre. You say you’re next, but there’s no sign of a killer. How am I supposed to help you?”

Hearing this, I opened my mouth, but in the end, said nothing. Yes, he’s a cop, but what I’m dealing with is a ghost—how could he possibly help me?

I felt utterly hopeless. At that moment, Captain Smith patted me on the shoulder, told me to rest well, and not to put too much pressure on myself.

After a few words of comfort, Captain Smith left.

Lying in the hospital bed, the more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. Now Old Smith is dead, Little Clark is dead, and it’s clear I won’t escape death either.

Thinking about this, I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. I didn’t want to just lie there waiting to die—I had to find John Thompson, because maybe he’s the only one who can help me now.

I forced myself to leave the hospital, bought another pack of cigarettes, then hailed a taxi and headed to John Thompson’s place…

Following the address provided by the police, I easily found John Thompson’s residence.