“I won’t hurt you. My men were just a bit impatient, that’s why they came up with that idea.” The young man who called himself Henry Foster walked toward Eric Bennett and the others. “Give me five minutes. I just want to take a look at this little brother’s back. After five minutes, we’ll leave.”

“I have pictures here,” said Grace Thompson. “You can take the photos.” Her hands trembling, she took the envelope out of her bag.

“I want to see the real pattern on the skin.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “We need to head to another place immediately, so please hurry.”

Sand Sea I: Phantom Shadows in the Desert

Chapter 7: The Secret on the Back

Eric Bennett was pressed down onto the bed, his back facing up. Several strong men pinned his limbs so tightly he couldn’t move. His upper body was bare. The boss turned on the emergency flashlight app on his phone, shining a strong light on Eric Bennett’s back, his eyes almost pressed against the scars as he examined them.

Eric Bennett chose to comply because he realized he had no choice at all. Whatever decision he made, he had to consider Grace Thompson. Besides, he felt that even if he insisted on resisting, it wouldn’t make much difference. If he angered the other side, the consequences might be even worse. Also, he could sense that, although this group looked like desperadoes, they didn’t seem like the type to kill easily—otherwise, there was no need to talk so much.

So he chose to surrender, letting himself be studied like a roast chicken. He was also puzzled—his back was just covered in strange, terrifying wounds, and he’d already given them the photos. Why did they insist on seeing his back in person? What did they mean by “an excellent clue”? Even if there was an excellent clue, the photos were clear enough. Could it be, as Samuel Cooper said, that someone had left something inside the wounds on his back, so they needed to check so carefully? If that was the case, he was doomed—really doomed this time.

Just as he was thinking this, he suddenly felt the boss’s hand begin to carefully press on his back. Since his wounds hadn’t fully healed, every press burned with pain, but he didn’t dare cry out—he could only grit his teeth and endure it.

At this moment, Eric Bennett heard Grace Thompson say from the side, “You’d better wash your hands, or his wounds will get infected.”

The boss replied, “I washed them before making coffee.” As he spoke, he reached behind his waist and took something out.

Eric Bennett wanted to look up, but couldn’t see. Judging by the sound, it seemed to be something taken off a keychain, which made him uneasy. Sure enough, Eric Bennett immediately felt something cold begin to slide over the spot the boss had pressed. It seemed to be a knife.

“What are you doing?” Grace Thompson immediately shouted. “His wounds were just stitched up and cleaned—there’s absolutely nothing inside!”

The boss completely ignored her. Amidst the intense pain, the stitches on Eric Bennett’s back were picked open one by one. Grace Thompson could hardly bear to watch and cursed loudly, “What exactly do you want!” She was only halfway through before someone grabbed her by the neck, cutting off her voice.

Eric Bennett cursed inwardly: Of course, damn it! But he didn’t cry out, because he knew that begging for mercy was useless in this situation—he might as well save his strength to endure the pain to come. He tensed the muscles in his back, bracing himself for the cold touch of metal.

“Don’t hurt her, this isn’t a big deal.” The boss said to the person holding Grace Thompson. “The pattern on his back is crucial. The most important thing is those lines—the secret is in the lines. But not every line is key or contains information. The most important ones must be the ones carved first, and they were carved especially carefully and slowly. Those wounds should be the deepest and most irregular. As long as I find those lines, I can simplify everything.”

As he spoke, the boss slowly and carefully picked open the stitches, spreading the wounds apart. Eric Bennett’s face turned pale with pain, but aside from trembling, he barely moved at all.

After finishing, the boss took the photos Grace Thompson had given them, made some notes on them, then clapped his hands. One of his men took out a medical kit and handed it to Grace Thompson, indicating that she should stitch him up again.

Grace Thompson was clearly terrified and didn’t say anything more, but her training as a doctor made her put on gloves and begin disinfecting and stitching the wounds. The whole process took three hours. When it was over, Grace Thompson collapsed onto the sofa, completely exhausted.

There was anesthetic in the medical kit, but not enough. Eric Bennett could feel Grace Thompson’s hands trembling, but he didn’t make a sound—just like when his father used to beat him, he endured three and a half hours of excruciating pain with astonishing resilience. When he sat up again, he noticed that Henry Foster was looking at him differently.

“You’re very tough,” Henry Foster said. “Truly impressive.”

I’ll pay you back for this, Eric Bennett thought, feeling the burning pain across his back. Everything I suffered today, I’ll make you pay for it. I’m going to call the police. I want the cops to beat you so badly your own parents won’t recognize you. And when you’re in prison, I’ll bribe the guards to feed you nothing but food full of glass shards!