I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 126 The Saintess's Blessing (7k-word chapter, please vote and subscribe)

The monitor's ticking sound is very steady.

Clara was fast asleep, her breathing so regular it was almost unreal.

Aaron lay by the bedside from morning until three in the afternoon.

He was startled awake four times during that time, not by noise, but by the silence.

He dreamed that the monitor was screaming, that the electrocardiogram waveform turned into a straight line, and that a nurse pushed open the door and rushed in.

Each time he woke up with a start, he would look up sharply and see his daughter still breathing. Clara's chest rose and fell slightly.

She is still alive.

Aaron buried his face in the blanket, his shoulders trembling for a long time, then closed his eyes again, still not daring to sleep too soundly.

Debbie stood at the entrance of the experimental center, following behind Richard.

Hidden behind a maple forest on Long Island, the building has no sign or markers and looks like an ordinary private estate from the outside, but the security measures at the entrance reveal its special nature.

There are two access control gates, four or five fully armed security guards, and you need to swipe a card to press the floor button in the elevator.

The building was quiet, filled with a chilling aura of death.

The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant, which was different from the smell in most hospitals; it was more pungent and sharp.

"Can I not go?" Debbie whispered.

Her fingers fiddled with Richard's cuffs; the atmosphere made her a little scared.

"It's alright," Richard reassured her. "Clara seems to have recovered a lot. Check on her; if she's feeling unwell, let me know, and I'll take you away immediately."

"Okay." Debbie took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. She tried to distract herself.

"Can you come with me to the offline training session tomorrow?"

"In-person training?"

"The Giants' tryout; they made it to the Super Bowl this year, and the game is in February. They have a vacancy for a backup cheerleader."

"A substitute?" Richard asked curiously. He thought she was a regular cheerleader, but it turned out she was just a substitute.

"Of course, a substitute," Debbie said. "To become a full-fledged cheerleader, you have to be a substitute for at least one or two years. That's how everyone works their way up. There are a total of 130..."

We had multiple candidates, and we performed live.

""

"How much income do you have?" Richard interrupted curiously.

No man could refuse to watch 130 beautiful women with perfect figures dance.

"$25,000."

"So tall?" Richard exclaimed in surprise.

"Yeah, $25,000 a year," Debbie said with a grin.

$25000 a year! Richard couldn't understand: "Are you guys crazy? You put in so much effort, suffered so much, and all you get in the last year is $2000?"

For the first time, Richard felt that these pretty girls were really easy to fool.

Debbie said discontentedly, "I can become famous, get some bad points, and most importantly, this is the Super Bowl!"

"Alright," Richard said helplessly.

The Super Bowl holds a similar status in the United States as the Spring Festival Gala at its peak.

Just like many celebrities who appear on the Spring Festival Gala, they receive almost no income.

These beautiful girls not only have to endure long hours of training and dieting in order to get into the Super Bowl, but they also earn very little.

Debbie's voice brimmed with energy as she spoke about cheerleading: "The hardest part is the 30-minute impromptu dance. The organizers will choreograph a new dance, we have 30 minutes to learn it, and then we're randomly grouped to perform on stage on the spot. If we succeed, we can move on to the final audition, which greatly increases our chances of success."

There's even an interview!

Richard sighed, "There are so many turtles in shallow water."

The income of over $2 attracted a group of beautiful girls to flock to it; what a clever tactic.

Without a doubt, there are all sorts of shady dealings involved.

We've arrived.

Debbie wasn't wearing the elaborate formal attire she wore to Mass today. Instead, she wore a simple white dress, without lace trim or fancy embroidery, made of ordinary cotton-linen blend.

Her hair was casually tied into a ponytail, and she barely wore any makeup.

This was Aaron's request; he didn't want Clara to feel that the saintess had come to perform a final farewell, but rather to act like a friend.

For the sake of $1500 million, Richard agreed.

When the two pushed open the ward door, Clara was still asleep.

Aaron sat on a chair by the bed, holding his daughter's hand in one hand.

When he saw Richard and Debbie come in, he stood up quietly, put his finger to his lips, and made a shushing gesture.

"She's never slept so soundly before." His voice was very low, almost like he was mouthing the words.

Aaron's eyes reddened, revealing a vulnerability born from prolonged torment, a disbelief in any chance of good fortune: "Clara took so many medications, underwent so much chemotherapy, so many painful treatments—she never slept peacefully. Now she's finally asleep."

Richard nodded. He understood Aaron's state of mind. The greatest torment cancer patients suffer from is the endless pain and sleepless nights.

Cancer patients are like a lump of meat in the hands of doctors, completely losing all dignity.

Doctors don't care how much pain patients are in; they just try their best to keep them alive, but they often fail.

Every time a patient dies, the family members are devastated. They feel that the treatment was a futile effort that only prolongs the suffering of their loved ones and depletes their family's wealth.

Debbie walked to the bedside and looked down at Clara.

The fear suddenly vanished.

Instead, a completely different emotion arose—not pity, but something quieter and heavier.

It's like seeing a kitten soaked by the rain on the roadside. You don't know if it will survive, but most people want to give it some help and hope for survival.

"How old is she?" Debbie asked softly.

"Just like you, I'm seventeen," Aaron said.

His self-shine moved from Debbie's face to his daughter's face, and then back from his daughter's face to Debbie's face, as if he were comparing something.

"Seventeen years old?" Debbie was stunned.

She looked down and re-examined Clara's silhouette curled up under the covers. Her cheekbones were high and prominent, and her wrists were exposed outside the covers, so thin that they were just skin and bones.

She looks about fourteen or fifteen years old, or maybe even younger.

Cancer had drained all her life force.

Aaron struggled to suppress his emotions, sobbing softly, "I've regretted it countless times. Why did I buy that house in Baytop Villa! Why did I move in! Why didn't I find out sooner!"

Clara's eyelashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.

Her self-light first fell on her father's face, then slowly moved to Debbie.

Her eyes suddenly lit up, and her voice was soft but clear: "Debbie—it's so good to see you."

"Huh? Hello?" Debbie was at a loss for words.

She has encountered many different kinds of people.

A high school boy whose very breath exudes hormones.

A girl who's a sister to her face but calls her a bitch behind her back.

Archbishop Sawyer, who always starts his phone calls with a sigh and ends with "How can you be a saint like this?"

Believers, whether they doubt or trust.

Her parents loved her unconditionally.

And then there's the strange Richard. She's doubted countless times whether Richard is impotent—how could an 18-year-old boy not want to sleep with her? (Even though I never close my bedroom door every night!)

But no one had ever looked at her like that before.

Like a drowning person seeing a hand reaching into the water!

Clara gripped Debbie's hand tightly.

She used a lot of force, and the thin tendons on the back of her hand bulged out.

But Debbie felt the force was still very light.

The illness drained her of all her strength.

"Is there really a heaven? Does God really exist? What is the heaven like?" Clara's voice was tinged with fear.

"Is Mom waiting for me in heaven?"

Debbie was silent for a moment.

Suddenly, she found herself unable to utter the clichés that Sawyer had taught her.

For example, "Lord, have mercy on your lamb" or "May the grace of the Father be with you."

I couldn't bring myself to say those words to a girl like that.

She inexplicably thought of her father.

Will Mike be waiting for me in heaven?

"Who knows?" Debbie said frankly, "I've never been up there either, and I'm curious about it too. Once you go up and check it out, be sure to let me know."

Aaron was puzzled. Was this a blessing?

What is this?!

Clara was taken aback at first, then laughed: "How am I supposed to tell you once I get up there?"

"Ah..." Debbie tilted her head and thought for a moment, her tone as serious as if she were discussing what dress to wear tomorrow: "The Virgin Mary will give me a cloak, and you can give me something too. How about we make a deal? If you throw me a white headscarf, it means heaven is alright, and Mom is waiting for you there, so my dad must be waiting for me there too. If you give me a green headscarf..."

"That's a terrible place up there, full of filthy puddles, don't come up there."

Clara chuckled. The laughter tugged at her chest, and she coughed lightly twice, but the smile didn't disappear; instead, it grew even wider.

"How can you say such things about God?" Clara whispered.

"Who knows?" Debbie shrugged helplessly. "I don't know why he chose me. I feel like it's all a coincidence, but it doesn't feel like a coincidence either. I asked other people if it was true or not, and half of them told me it was true, and the other half said I was a liar."

"From beginning to end, I was simply myself, and that's how I was chosen. Perhaps because I changed, the gentleman in heaven no longer likes me?"

Clara laughed again.

Aaron's expression softened.

Whatever kind of blessing it is, as long as my daughter is happy, that's all that matters.

Richard glanced at Debbie.

Debbie, this girl, sometimes has a strange wisdom that emerges from being incredibly stupid.

What's this—a wise fool?

wrong.

Even a husky can guess a few math problems correctly.

Debbie and Clara had a great time chatting.

They talked about all sorts of things.

Debbie recounted her conflicts within the cheerleading squad.

Her grades at school were terrible.

How could she drape a sacred object over that cat named Shadow, film a short video, and then deny it to the archbishop?

It was mentioned that Archbishop Sawyer always spoke in a voice that sounded like the sky was about to fall when he made phone calls.

Clara listened, occasionally bursting into laughter.

She held Debbie's hand tightly the whole time, never letting go.

Richard clearly saw that an apostolic faith began to emanate from Clara's chest.

At first, it was intermittent, fine golden threads.

His magic began to slowly return.

Aaron, sitting on the other side of the bed, had no apostolic beliefs.

He no longer believes in God.

His wife had been tormented by cancer for two whole years, and it had metastasized throughout her body. When she took her last breath, he knelt on the floor and asked God countless times why, but each time there was no response.

This is not a test from God, this is punishment!

After chatting for more than ten minutes, Clara clearly showed signs of fatigue.

Debbie began to finish her prayer.

Her prayer was very informal.

She did not kneel down, make the sign of the cross, or recite those Latin prayers.

She simply held Clara's hand, her eyes closed, and said, "God, please let Clara recover. She's a lovely girl; she shouldn't be in heaven so soon."

Richard walked to the bedside and picked up a very simple air pump blood pressure monitor.

He wrapped the sleeve around Clara's thin upper arm, pressed his fingers gently against her arm, and began to inflate the ball.

Adam didn't notice Richard's actions.

The on-duty doctor, Summers, and nurse, Michaela, had already received Christina's orders: do as Richard says.

Unless Richard does something that clearly endangers the patient, they completely allow Richard to do whatever he wants.

Richard gently touched Clara's skin, quietly initiating a process of flesh and blood regeneration.

The morning's treatment has already shown initial results, and her body is slowly recovering.

But the cancer cells still spread throughout his body, like a highly poisonous vine piercing into various organs.

If these cancer cells are not eliminated, they will soon devour all the progress made today.

Richard prioritized absorbing cancer cells located in vital organs one by one.

Metastatic lesions around the heart were cleared first, followed by the liver, spleen, and stomach wall.

The lungs are the most troublesome. Osteosarcoma metastases are spread throughout both lungs, like sesame seeds sprinkled on bread. Some are so small that they are difficult to identify even at the cellular level.

He couldn't finish cleaning everything in ten minutes, but he removed the largest and most dangerous ones and then restored some healthy tissue cells.

After performing these actions, his [Fresh Flesh and Blood] storage increased by 5 units.

After this treatment, Clara's stomach function has basically recovered, and her lung breathing efficiency has greatly improved. She can breathe, eat, and digest on her own.

Ten minutes later, Clara was clearly showing signs of fatigue.

But she was very reluctant to see Debbie leave.

During her years in the hospital, she rarely had girls her own age to talk to, and Debbie was not only her age but also the famous saint.

Those ten-odd minutes of conversation were enough for her to reminisce about for a very long time while lying in her hospital bed.

Suddenly, Clara said something.

The sound was very soft, but everyone in the room heard it.

"Dad, I'm a little hungry. I want to eat something."

Aaron looked up abruptly, almost unable to believe his ears.

Are you hungry?

His voice trembled, and before the tears in his eyes had dried, new ones welled up again.

Clara hadn't been hungry for a very, very long time.

Initially, she was fed through a nasogastric tube.

She would gag every time the tube was changed, until tears streamed down her face.

Later, her stomach was almost completely destroyed by the cancer cells, and all her nutrition was provided through intravenous infusions of glucose, amino acids, and fat emulsions, which were hung in bags on the IV stand next to her bed.

Aaron asked, "Dr. Summers, is it edible?"

Summers and Michaela looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

It's generally not a good thing for terminally ill patients to want to eat.

It could very well be a final burst of energy before death, but Clara doesn't seem like it.

Richard said, "You can give her some. Something light and easy to digest."

"good!"

Soon, the maid brought in a bowl of hot oatmeal and a serving of mashed potatoes.

Clara's eyes lit up when she saw the two dishes of food. She took a sniff and said, "They smell so good."

"9

When she said those two words, it was as if she were reliving some forgotten sensory memory.

Aaron watched as his daughter ate most of the bowl of porridge spoonful by spoonful, and his fingertips began to tremble.

He also thought of something.

His current situation is too good, so good that it frightens him.

"Could it be a deathbed lucidity?" he asked the doctor in a low voice.

Michaela stared at the data on the monitor for a long time.

Heart rate is stable, blood oxygen levels are stable, and blood pressure is normal.

She has witnessed countless "final resurgences" of terminally ill patients. Some of them suddenly become lucid before they die, say a few words, eat something, and then pass away peacefully.

However, Clara's case does not conform to any known pattern of post-luminescence.

“No,” Michaela said. “I’ve never seen this kind of brief moment of lucidity before. It’s like she’s recovered?”

A final burst of adrenaline before death can last from a few minutes to a few hours.

Immediately afterwards, an exhausted Clara fell into a deep sleep again.

Aaron jumped up in alarm, yelling, "Quick! Quick! Save her!"

"Daddy, don't make noise..." Clara murmured in her sleep.

"Huh?" Aaron stood there, stunned.

Summers and Michaela anxiously checked the equipment, finally having to admit, "Let's wait a bit longer. It seems there's no need for resuscitation; she seems to be doing quite well."

Aaron swallowed hard, a kind of unspoken expectation welling up inside him, for fear that uttering it would shatter it.

Richard removed the blood pressure monitor, stood up, and said, "The readings are normal. Get some rest. I'll come see you again tomorrow. Clara will definitely feel better tomorrow."

Richard will come tomorrow to harvest faith.

Before leaving, Debbie took a silver cross from her bag and placed it beside Clara's pillow: "She'll be alright."

Aaron simply held Clara's hand, remaining motionless.

On the way back, Debbie acted somewhat strangely.

She leaned back in the passenger seat without saying a word, watching the maple forest rushing past the window.

As Richard drove, he asked curiously, "What's wrong?"

This is unlike the usual Debbie.

Debbie said with some confusion, "Seeing how much she cares about me, I—well, I have a very strange feeling. I've never felt this way before."

"How does it feel?"

"But it seems pretty good."

Richard laughed: "Perhaps you really can become a saint."

"Come on," Debbie pouted, the familiar Debbie back: "I'm going to be in the Super Bowl soon, and those old men like Sawyer will be furious when they see me in a short skirt showing my thighs. I wonder how much trouble I'll cause then."

"Come on, you're just a substitute, you'll never get to play."

"Richard!"

Night fell over the experimental center.

Michaela stayed by Clara's side in her hospital room all night.

Aaron gave so much.

Aaron was also in poor health and couldn't stay up all night, so he lay down on the bed next to her to rest, fearing that something might happen to his daughter.

Michaela sat on a chair by the bed, holding a nursing record board, recording vital signs every half hour.

She has worked at this hospital for twenty years, personally seeing countless patients off and witnessing all kinds of death.

Some are slow and painful, while others are as violent and sudden as a storm.

She has also witnessed all sorts of final moments of life.

Some people suddenly become lucid and say "I love you" before they die.

Some people do suddenly crave food in their last few hours, but they crave only certain specific things, and after eating, they vomit, which usually marks the end of their lives.

But Clara was different; she was purely hungry and would eat anything.

And... her pain disappeared too quickly.

Clara slept very soundly tonight without even needing a painkiller injection.

My appetite returned so naturally.

The improvement in blood pressure and blood oxygen levels is so stable, it's not a temporary rebound, but a smooth curve that continues to rise.

At 3 a.m., Michaela checked Clara's blood pressure again and found that it was 5 points higher than at midnight, still within the normal range, but the trend was steadily upward.

She put down the blood pressure monitor and stared blankly at the record.

Michaela is a Catholic, and has been since childhood.

She had been a believer for decades and worked in this hospice ward for twenty years. Every patient who died in agony made her doubt her faith.

But tonight, staring at the steadily improving data in her nursing records, she confirmed God's existence for the first time.

She suddenly lowered her head and made the sign of the cross on her chest.

The more specialized one is, the less they believe in technological breakthroughs.

Because she had seen too many failed new drugs.

Therefore, she didn't believe that Christina's golden pill was some kind of groundbreaking scientific achievement.

It's Debbie!

It's Her Highness the Holy Maiden!

Michaela remembered very clearly that Clara had been recovering rapidly ever since Debbie arrived.

Her faith in God made her consciously ignore the fact that Clara also slept for a few hours after taking her medicine.

Summers struggled even more than Michaela after seeing the data.

Are you sure there's no record error?

"Of course! I've checked it repeatedly!"

He is an oncologist with thirty years of experience, during which he has witnessed countless deaths.

He understands the principles behind targeted therapies.

No targeted therapy can reverse the overall condition of a patient with end-stage cancer within hours.

It takes at least three days for oral small molecules to reach an effective blood concentration; this is basic pharmacology and is written in the first chapter of all textbooks.

But Clara finished the whole bowl of oatmeal porridge that afternoon!

The fact that you haven't vomited means your stomach function is recovering!

This is unreasonable!

Summers is a Protestant, and he was watching a video on his phone of a scene from the Princeton memorial service, where the Virgin Mary's scarf floated onto Debbie's shoulder.

Damn it, am I going to become a heretic?

How about we go visit the Catholic church this weekend?

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting golden lattice patterns on the white sheets.

"Dad, I'm hungry. Get me something to eat. I'd like some eggs," Clara said.

She said it smoothly without catching her breath.

Aaron looked at his daughter, his lips trembling for a long time before he finally managed to squeeze out a single word: "No problem. Of course, no problem."

The maid went to prepare the food.

Aaron knelt by the bed, clutching the silver cross that Debbie had given him.

God above!

A moment later, the maid came in carrying a breakfast tray.

Oatmeal, mashed potatoes, eggs, and a small glass of orange juice.

Aaron watched as Clara ate spoonful by spoonful.

Dr. Summers arrived.

Nurse Michaela has arrived.

All the staff members on duty arrived.

Everyone stared in disbelief as the girl ate.

"OMG! This is impossible!"

"Clara started recovering after Debbie arrived."

"Watch your address, you're Her Highness the Saintess!"

"Oh, yes, it's Her Highness the Saintess!"

"No! It must be Professor Shepard's new drug taking effect!"

"It takes at least 3 days for orally administered small molecule drugs to take effect!"

"How do you explain that Debbie was able to eat as soon as she arrived?"

"The medicine I took this morning might be taking effect this afternoon?"

"What a coincidence!"

Those who believed in God began to pray, while those who did not believe in God attributed it to Christina.

"Could it be a final burst of energy before death?" Aaron asked again.

He needs to ask this question repeatedly because he is terrified that the answer will be "yes".

Dr. Summers shook his head and explained the mechanism of the final burst of energy in an almost lecturing tone: the final release of adrenaline, the last energy mobilization at the cellular level, and the simultaneous brief struggle of all organs, usually lasting from several minutes to several hours, and at most no more than half a day.

But Clara has been in this state for 18 hours, from yesterday afternoon until now.

Even if adrenaline can temporarily restore mental state, it cannot restore the patient's stomach function, allowing her to finish a bowl of oatmeal porridge and eat an egg without vomiting.

And a stable heart rate and blood oxygen level overnight.

"In short, although the reason is unknown, Clara is indeed recovering rapidly," Summers said. "If Clara can maintain her current condition, she can live for at least another three years."

Three years! Aaron's shoulders trembled violently.

For a healthy person, this number is simply the distance between high school and college.

But for Aaron, three years meant Clara could live to be twenty.

"Really? Then I'll get to see Debbie dancing in the Super Bowl." Clara smiled, her eyes crinkling into slits.

Cage Cancer Center.

Mitchell completes a surgery.

Another doctor, while cleaning, asked casually, "I heard your patients, Aaron and his daughter, were transferred to another hospital?"

"Yes, he believed the liar." Mitchell chuckled. "Christina Shepard and her men tricked him."

"Dr. Shepard?" the doctor hesitated. "She's a very important person. Could she have some new breakthrough?"

"Dr. Shepard is indeed very capable, but her area of ​​expertise isn't cancer. We are the real experts!" Mitchell said casually. "I'll contact Aaron in a bit. If things get bad over there, he can come back and at least live a little longer."

"Hmm." The doctor smiled.

"Mitchell, you're such a kind person."

Mitchell shrugged, returned to his office, glanced at his patients again, and then put the matter out of his mind.

Around noon, a new patient arrived at Aaron and his daughter's ward.

Looking at the familiar hospital room, he finally remembered Aaron.

After he finished his work, he picked up his phone and called Aaron.

"Hey Aaron, how's it going over there?"

"It's fine." Aaron hesitated a bit. He had signed a strict confidentiality agreement with Christina and was unsure what he could and couldn't say.

Mitchell could tell from the conversation that the situation over there was probably not good. Aaron said awkwardly, "Aaron, if you want to come back, you can come back anytime. Life is more important than pride. However, your room has been taken by someone else, so you'll have to change rooms."

Worried about revealing secrets, Aaron couldn't hold back any longer and quickly hung up: "Dr. Mitchell, I'm a bit busy. I'll contact you again when I have time."

After saying that, he hung up the phone.

"Huh?" Mitchell looked at his phone, a little confused.

What happened?

Aaron wasn't like this before, was he?

It was as if they were in a hurry to hang up the phone.

Moreover, his tone sounded like he couldn't contain his excitement.

Why?

What's there for him to be happy about?

Surely Clara couldn't have been cured?

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