Chapter 155: Chuck: I'm a Professional at Treating OCD!
Chuck hung up and called Detective Amy Santiago.
What he said was indeed the truth. Little Sheldon always made mountains out of molehills, and even Little Sheldon's mother and grandmother wouldn't unconditionally agree to his demands.
Let alone him.
But now that Little Leonard had asked, he didn't mind making a phone call to inquire.
There were many reasons for this.
First, Chuck had watched The Big Bang Theory in his previous life and felt sympathy for poor Leonard. Well, any normal person who knew about Leonard's childhood would be moved to tears.
Second, the original Chuck whose body he inherited had experienced similar school bullying as Little Leonard, and the residual emotions made him empathize with Little Leonard. He didn't want to see Little Leonard turn to the dark side.
In The Big Bang Theory, more than ten years later, Leonard didn't turn evil despite being bullied like that.
But now, over a decade earlier, Little Leonard has already met his lifelong tormentor Sheldon. Furthermore, this is a world woven together from American TV shows and movies, with countless psychopaths lurking around. The power of negative role models is immense, and the possibility of Little Leonard, who's no stranger to suffering, taking a dark turn is high.
This is largely due to Chuck's butterfly effect.
Furthermore, by giving Little Leonard validation, he's also indirectly putting Little Sheldon in his place, earning him double satisfaction.
All these factors combined ensure that he treats Little Leonard completely differently from Little Sheldon.
"Chuck, what's up?"
Detective Amy Santiago asked after answering the call.
"Can you check if there are any cases in your department involving the author of 'The Signal'?"
Chuck said straight to the point.
"Let me see."
Inside the NYPD's 99th Precinct, Detective Amy Santiago, phone to her ear, hands on her computer, browsing files as she asked, "Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?"
"A reader's been following the updates,"
Chuck said simply.
"Is this comic really that good?"
Detective Amy Santiago asked with amusement.
"No,"
Chuck shook his head. "It's just obsessive-compulsive behavior. Once a story begins, it needs to have a proper ending."
"..."
Detective Amy Santiago paused. What kind of fan is this? Then her expression changed and she clicked her tongue. "This comic might be discontinued forever. I found that the author, John McCann, is seriously injured and hospitalized..."
"What else?"
Chuck noticed something was off in her tone.
"He was found on the street, nearly castrated. He was rushed to the hospital and barely survived. His fiancée was also found... murdered."
Detective Amy Santiago said with difficulty. "The autopsy revealed she was three months pregnant..."
"Anything else?"
Chuck asked calmly.
"This case wasn't under our jurisdiction. I never knew about it before."
Detective Amy Santiago instinctively explained, the case being too horrific.
"Understood,"
Chuck said calmly. "It's just one death, and one serious injury. It doesn't even meet the threshold for major news coverage. There are countless more horrific cases."
"..."
Detective Amy Santiago was speechless.
This was the harsh truth.
"We don't have jurisdiction, but you're a consultant to the entire department and could definitely take this case,"
she reminded him.
"No,"
Chuck shook his head. "I only take interesting cases. This one is ordinary, and it's not interesting at all."
"Okay."
Detective Amy Santiago mentally criticized Chuck's coldness, but didn't say anything more. Crossing jurisdictions was taboo, and even if she wanted to take this case, she couldn't.
And honestly, even Chuck the consultant was indifferent. As NYPD officers accustomed to horrific crimes, she didn't feel any real emotion beyond professional courtesy.
She was simply already numb!
"By the way."
Shaking her head to suppress the negative emotions, Detective Amy Santiago quickly regained her composure and said to Chuck with a smile, "Is Chandler really not gay?"
"I don't know,"
Chuck said. "I can't assume someone's sexual orientation."
"That's awkward,"
Detective Amy Santiago said with a wry smile. "I originally thought Chandler was gay. As a girl, especially one who works around men all the time, I've always wanted a gay best friend. So the moment I saw Chandler, I knew he would be my bestie. You know? He has that, um, how should I put it?"
"Vibe,"
Chuck replied.
"Yes, yes, yes, vibe!"
Detective Amy Santiago clapped her hands. "You put it perfectly."
"It wasn't my description; it was the collective assessment of his friends,"
Chuck said bluntly.
"Honestly, he's not still mad, is he?"
Detective Amy Santiago asked. "I didn't know at the time. We were having such a great conversation at first, but when we got to that topic, his face went dark."
"Ignore him,"
Chuck said.
"Why?"
Detective Amy Santiago complained. "This is just like when comedians have to develop thick skin and use self-deprecating humor. Is this some kind of training that comedians must go through?"
"Not this time."
Chuck shook his head.
"Then why?"
Detective Amy Santiago was concerned about her potential gay best friend, Chandler.
"Besides his vehement denial when you asked him about it, is there any other evidence that he's not gay?"
Chuck asked pointedly.
"Uh."
Detective Amy Santiago was stunned, her eyes widening as she asked, "You, what do you mean?"
"Let me ask you, what did you learn about Chandler during your conversation?"
Chuck asked.
"Of course I learned things. He knows so much about makeup, fashion, dancing... everything girls love. We had such an amazing conversation, and everything was exactly as I imagined."
Detective Amy Santiago couldn't help but exclaim, "I'm an actual girl, but in front of him, I feel like a clueless guy. That's my biggest question. How could someone who knows so much not be gay?"
"Case closed,"
Chuck said, and hung up the phone, leaving Detective Amy Santiago thoughtfully mumbling to herself, "Yes, yes, many closeted gay men don't admit they are."
Inside Chuck's warehouse apartment, the laptop screen on the table automatically lit up, revealing a hospital ward. Two NYPD officers were taking a statement from a young man slumped in bed covered in bandages, his face twisted in agony.
"Like always, late at night after being with Maggie, I was inspired to draw comics. Maggie was wearing my shirt and watching me draw. We were so happy.
She said she wanted some beef jerky and asked me to go downstairs with her to buy some. I was against it at first because it wasn't safe, but Maggie insisted, so how could I refuse her? So we went downstairs.
Then we bought beef jerky and ate it on the way home. She said she loved beef jerky and that she got it from her mother. She asked me if I liked it.
I said it was hard to say whether taste preferences were inherited, and that it was more influenced by environment.
Then she stopped and looked at me with a smile, saying she was curious whether the baby would also like beef jerky.
I was stunned for a moment before I understood from her happy smile: she was pregnant with my child! She also said she wanted to name the child after me.
I was so happy that I got down on one knee and proposed to her.
But what I got wasn't her joyful acceptance, but a look of terror.
I turned around and saw a group of thugs surrounding us, blocking our way.
They told Maggie to answer my proposal.
I stood up. I tried to protect Maggie, saying I didn't want any trouble.
They said what I wanted had nothing to do with them.
I pulled out money, saying I had cash.
But the leader just yelled at Maggie, 'Answer his question!'
Maggie cried and said 'yes,' saying she would marry me.
But by then, joy was gone, only endless fear. I kept trying to comfort the sobbing Maggie.
The leader said, 'Congratulations, man! You've got more than you bargained for. You've got a fiancée, and you definitely don't want to lose that.'
Then they pinned me down and dragged Maggie into an alley. I struggled and screamed for help, but no one came. They held me down and assaulted Maggie right in front of me. Even when I closed my eyes in despair, they wouldn't let me, prying them open to force me to watch Maggie's suffering."
At this point in the video, the young man paralyzed in the hospital bed was so overcome with emotion that his wounds reopened and blood seeped through his bandages. The hospital monitors went off, and nurses and doctors rushed the unconscious young man back to surgery.
"Without the death penalty, there's really no deterrent for the worst crimes,"
Chuck said flatly.
A six-panel grid appeared on the computer screen, showing six mugshots of violent criminals. Chuck glanced at them, then dialed the Hofstadter home. He said to Little Leonard, who answered, "This isn't something you should know about. All you need to know is that this comic has been discontinued."
"How can that be?"
Little Sheldon immediately objected. "I want to know the whole story."
"He has OCD, but that's fine by me. Chuck, whatever you say is fine. I trust you,"
Little Leonard smiled.
"That's easy to fix,"
Chuck said. "Mr. Cooper, do you like riddles?"
"Of course I do."
Little Sheldon perked up. "Actually, in DC Comics, besides Batman, my favorite character in Gotham City is the Riddler. Tell me your riddle, and I'm sure I can solve it."
He felt like Chuck was about to challenge him to a battle of wits, and he became alert, his competitive spirit rising.
"Listen carefully."
Chuck said calmly: "Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left?"
"Obviously it's Repeat!"
Little Sheldon immediately gave the answer.
"Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left?"
Chuck continued to ask.
"It's Repeat again!"
Little Sheldon said immediately.
"Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left?"
Chuck asked again.
"...Repeat."
After the third repetition, Little Sheldon finally realized Chuck's malicious intent.
"Repeat" here is not only a person's name, but also means to say again. When he answered correctly, he was asking Chuck to repeat the question. For someone with OCD like him, this riddle could go on indefinitely.
"Pete and Repeat were sitting on a fence. Pete fell off. Who was left?"
Chuck was a merciless repeating machine.
Although Sheldon saw through Chuck's malicious intentions, he had no choice but to continue because of his OCD. After a long time, his mouth twitched, his eyelids spasmed, and he was nearly broken down, but he still tried to hold on with tears in his eyes: "Repeat..."
(End of Chapter)
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