Chapter
25: The Medical File of a Madman
By early evening, Khai Minh was back at the villa.
He had barely stepped into the front hall when he sensed
several people standing near the staircase, deliberately keeping quiet.
Khai Minh stopped.
“Who’s there?”
An unfamiliar man’s voice spoke up.
“So the young master’s home?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the new head of security in the house.”
He came down two steps, treading soft on purpose, as if
testing whether a blind man could pin down where he stood.
“Mr. Minh Quan says that from now on, the young master gives
notice before going out.”
“This is my house.”
“On paper it is.”
The man let out a scornful little laugh.
“But the one who calls the shots now is Mr. Minh Quan.”
Khai Minh didn’t answer. He set his cane and made to pass by.
The man suddenly kicked the tip of the cane aside.
The cane slipped from Khai Minh’s grip and clattered to the
floor.
A few of the men around him laughed.
Khai Minh stood motionless.
“Pick it up.”
The man feigned surprise.
“Sorry, who are you talking to?”
“Pick up the cane.”
Khai Minh’s voice ground low.
“Now, now… don’t lose your temper, young master. People are
already worried you’ve got something wrong upstairs. You start flying off the
handle, it won’t look good for you at all.”
He stepped in closer. Khai Minh’s hand clenched tight.
“Get out of my way.”
“I hear that seven years back the doctors ruled you were
having hallucinations. Kept insisting somebody murdered your parents.”
He leaned in close to Khai Minh’s ear and dropped his voice
on purpose.
“Maybe nobody killed anyone at all. Maybe it was you,
distracting them, that sent the car over the cliff.”
Khai Minh whipped around.
Seeing the reaction, the man grew smug. Off in the corner of
the staircase, a phone was filming.
“Your parents died trying to save a blind son. Mr. Huu Loc
died saving you too. Everywhere you go, people die.”
Khai Minh’s chest heaved.
“Shut your mouth.”
“And what about his daughter, hm?”
The man sneered.
“You think she actually cares about you? She’s just scared.
Scared that one day she’ll end up dead because of you, same as her father.”
The last word was barely out before Khai Minh threw himself
forward.
He couldn’t see, but the gap between them was less than a
single step. His hand caught the man’s collar dead on and slammed him into the
wall.
“Say it one more time!”
The man instantly shouted at the top of his lungs:
“Help! The young master’s gone mad!”
The rest of them rushed in. One pinned both of Khai Minh’s
arms, another forced his head down. In the scramble, a fist drove into his side
from behind and dropped him to his knees.
Khai Minh wrenched hard.
“Let go of me!”
The video on the phone caught only this: him gripping another
man by the throat, screaming, thrashing in the middle of a ring of bodies.
Ten minutes later, the men cleared out, every last one of
them.
The cane was set back down at Khai Minh’s feet.
The man he’d grabbed by the collar made a point of leaving
one last line behind:
“Better get yourself ready, young master. Someone’s coming to
collect you soon.”
Khai Minh sat with his back against the wall, one arm wrapped
around his side.
He heard the door swing shut, and something inside him went
cold.
It had all lined up too neatly. Gone too smooth.
He felt for his phone and called Bach, but before the call
could even connect, the sound of a car rose up outside.
Not two minutes later, boots came pounding into the hall. A
man announced himself as an officer from the investigation unit, flanked by two
medical staff and a psychiatrist.
“Mr. Lam Khai Minh, we’re here to carry out the order for
your compulsory evaluation.”
Khai Minh braced a hand and pushed himself upright.
“On whose order?”
“The investigation unit requested the evaluation after
receiving your medical records and a risk assessment report.”
“I’ve never had a psychiatric condition in my life.”
The doctor with them opened a folder.
“We already have the hospital’s conclusion.”
Khai Minh’s voice went cold.
“What hospital? You have no right to declare me mentally
ill.”
The doctor answered quickly.
“This new psychiatric assessment was made on the basis of
your recent behavior.”
“What behavior?”
A phone was switched on.
The footage from the villa hall played out. The audio had
been cut at the front, leaving only the sight of Khai Minh with his hand around
a man’s throat, face rigid, mouth open in a shout.
The doctor read aloud:
“Persistent persecutory delusions. Repeated accusations that family
members murdered his parents, without producing any recognized evidence.
Assaultive behavior toward others. Loss of emotional control. High risk of harm
to himself and to those around him.”
Khai Minh listened to every line, the cold spreading through
his whole body.
This was exactly what his uncle, Minh Quan, wanted.
“I want to call my lawyer.”
“You may contact a lawyer once you reach the evaluation
facility.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The senior officer lowered his voice.
“Mr. Lam, we’d like you to cooperate.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll be forced to restrain you.”
Khai Minh heard the two medical staff move in closer. One
drew out a set of restraints; the other opened a metal case, and inside came
the faint click of glass vials knocking together.
He edged back a step and jabbed at the call button on his
phone.
“Bach!”
Before he could hear an answer, a hand tore the phone out of
his grip.
“Give me back my phone!”
Khai Minh lashed out, but four men seized both his arms in an
instant. He heard a metal buckle snap open, the drag of a fabric strap through
a loop, and a doctor’s flat, cold voice:
“The patient is agitated. Prepare the sedative.”
“I’m not insane!”
Khai Minh screamed it. No one answered.
The needle went into his arm.
He jerked hard, but the drug had already been pushed into
him. Within a few dozen seconds his legs began to give out, the voices around
him sliding away, warping.
Just before he went fully under, Khai Minh heard the doors of
a specialized vehicle swing open.
They laid him on a stretcher and cinched straps across his
chest and wrists.
His mother’s watch scraped against a metal buckle, giving off
the smallest click.
Tick. Tick.
Khai Minh fought to open his eyes, but in front of him there
was only the same darkness that had followed him for seven long years.
The van doors slammed. Outside the villa, a cold wind swept
down the north slope of Dong Cang. The vehicle carrying Khai Minh pulled away
between two rows of trees. This time, his enemies didn’t need to take his life.
They only needed to make the whole world believe that every
truth he spoke was the raving of a madman.