Chapter 8

At William's suggestion, Caleb followed him to Marcus' house for a quick inspection.

The moment Caleb stepped into the foyer, his emotions were unsettled. To a voyeur, the room of the person being watched was like a sacred place, with even the air there being more precious than the air on the highest mountains.

Caleb's excitement surged almost instinctively, but it was quickly doused when he realized that the room's owner had become an inmate, effectively knocking him off his "pedestal".

His mood shifted from excitement to complicated, and it turned into a sense of lament when he saw the disarray in the room. Small items he was accustomed to viewing through his telescope now lay scattered on the floor in disarray. Caleb could hardly suppress his urge to restore them to their original state.

"The room being turned upside down like this is certainly suspicious," William remarked as they exited the house.

Removing his shoe covers, he handed Caleb a cigarette. Having already brushed his teeth, Caleb waved it away.

"Didn't Marcus say he had evidence?" Caleb asked. "If that's true, could it be that the intruder was looking for that evidence?"

"It's possible," William replied, nodding as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "But if the evidence really existed, where would he have hidden it?"

It was impossible for Marcus to have brought it with him to prison.

Every inmate underwent a thorough search before entering. Not even a needle could be smuggled in, let alone a memory card or similar item.

"Perhaps at his friend's place, though I'm not sure," Caleb mused.

Caleb understood Marcus' habits, but knew little about his social circle. For instance, he knew Marcus liked to sit on the left side of the sofa to watch TV, but he had no idea if this was the same when friends visited, as Marcus had never invited anyone over to his house before.

"Let's leave it for today. I'll ask a friend from the forensic unit to come by tomorrow."

"Can't we formally file a case?" Caleb inquired, catching the implication in William's words.

"You know how it is. The Prospera Enterprise case has already been adjudicated, and the chance of overturning it is slim," William replied.

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. Having worked in the courts before, he knew that reopening a case was no easy feat.

Even if Marcus' claims were true, unless the evidence in his possession was something decisive, it wouldn't be enough to reopen the case. Moreover, Marcus had little faith in law enforcement, making him reluctant to hand over any evidence he had.

Of course, all this hinged on the assumption that Marcus was telling the truth.

If Marcus was lying, then he didn't have any evidence on his boss' criminal activities at all. Rather than not trusting the police and refusing to hand over evidence, it was more accurate to say that he had nothing to hand over in the first place.

Realizing this, Caleb suddenly had a question for himself.

Why was he even concerned about this in the first place?

He was just a correctional officer—why was he getting so involved in something that didn't concern him?

Despite this, that night, Caleb remained restless over Marcus' situation, tossing and turning until he barely managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning.

The following day, he overslept for the first time in a long while. He hurriedly spread strawberry jam on a slice of bread and shoved it into his mouth before driving like a maniac to Southern Prison.

After delivering the mail, Caleb was dozing off at his desk, finally relaxing from a tense morning, when Hector suddenly appeared at the library door.

He knocked on the frame. "I need a favor."

"What's up?" Caleb asked as he looked up in confusion.

Just as Caleb finished speaking, a figure in prison garb appeared behind Hector. If Caleb remembered correctly, this person and two others should all have been in solitary confinement.

"He needs to be given a psychological evaluation," Hector said, gesturing to Marcus, who was standing off to the side, with his thumb. "Someone in the sewing factory sewed through their own finger, and I need to take care of it. I'm too busy right now."

For inmates who might have potential psychological issues, the prison staff conducted preemptive psychological evaluations to prevent severe violent incidents in the future. Given how badly Marcus had beaten up Nine the day before, his psychological state and level of danger warranted serious attention.

"Can't you just print out the questions and have him complete them later?" Caleb asked, feeling reluctant to create more trouble for himself.

"Not an option." Hector shook his finger with a hint of frustration. "He can't read. He has a reading disability."

"A reading disability?" Caleb glanced at Marcus, who stood idly beside them, then looked back at Hector. "So, you want me to read the questions to him?"

"Exactly. Glad you understand," Hector said, turning and shoving a tablet into Marcus' hands. "I've got patients to deal with, so he's your responsibility now."

"Hey, wait a minute!"

Caleb wanted to call Hector back, but the man had already disappeared through the door.

Marcus, handcuffed and holding the tablet, walked in. "Where should I put it?"

Caleb sighed and took the tablet from Marcus, gesturing with his chin to the desk and chairs nearest to him.

"Sit over there."

Marcus quickly moved to the indicated spot and sat down, then stared at Caleb without moving. There was no trace of the earlier hostility in his eyes—he was simply waiting for Caleb to speak.

"Can you not recognize words?" Caleb asked.

This was the first time he was speaking to Marcus alone. What would have been an unthinkable task before had now become an ordinary affair.

"Not exactly," Marcus replied. "I have a reading disability."

Reading disabilities could stem from two main causes: due to intellectual impairment, or due to a high intelligence that affected reading ability. Historically, many geniuses were considered poor students in their childhood, but research later showed that these individuals often had reading disabilities.

Caleb's question was asked in an attempt to clarify Marcus' situation, especially given the latter's comment in the recreational room the day before, which had left Caleb unsettled.

"Can't you even recognize the words that form the question?" Caleb asked, pulling up the psychological evaluation questions on the tablet screen.

"I can manage one or two lines of text. But anything longer is difficult. If you leave it to me, I might take all day."

"What about school exams? Were you too lazy to read the questions?"

"It's not that I'm lazy. It's that the questions are troublesome," Marcus replied.

Caleb had written certain parts of the evaluation questions. The questions themselves weren't difficult, but the answer choices were a bit tricky.

For example: "What are the correct societal values?"

A. Freedom, balance, justice, rule of law

B. Freedom, equality, fairness, rule of law

C. Freedom, equality, justice, rule of law

D. Freedom, equality, justice, self-governance

Such questions could indeed be challenging for someone with a reading disability.

However, Caleb was more concerned about another issue. Based on Marcus' behavior, his reading disability seemed to align with the second type.

In other words, Marcus hadn't just stumbled upon Caleb's behavioral flaw by chance in the recreational room yesterday.

Caleb suddenly felt a surge of irritation and curtly said, "You really should work on your reading skills."

"My reading skills?" Marcus raised an eyebrow, as if surprised that Caleb cared about the issue.

However, his response was as nonchalant as ever, "Your handwriting is quite nice."

Well, of course.

Caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, Caleb was momentarily distracted, unsure of how to respond. Deciding to abandon the issue, Caleb shifted his focus to the task at hand and began reading the questions to Marcus.

"How would people who know you describe you? A—enthusiastic and sensitive, B—logical and clear."

"No one has described me before. I think I'm B," Marcus replied.

He really was quite meticulous.

Caleb glanced at Marcus, selected the B option on the tablet, and continued, "Which of the following sounds more appealing to you? A—Going to a crowded social event with a partner. B—Staying home with a partner and doing something special, like watching an interesting movie and enjoying your favorite food."

"I don't have a partner," Marcus said.

"This is a hypothetical question," Caleb said, trying to suppress his growing headache. "If you had a partner, what would you want to do with them?"

Marcus looked away, thought for a couple of seconds, then looked back at Caleb. "I'm open to anything, mainly depending on what the other person wants to do."

Caleb was speechless.

He impatiently placed the tablet on the desk and asked, "Are you messing with me?"

"You asked me what I'd like to do with a partner." Marcus shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Caleb's frustration.

"Just choose between A and B." Caleb picked up the tablet again with a forced calm. "I don't want to hear any more nonsense."

"Alright," Marcus agreed but immediately added, "Do you always treat inmates so fiercely?"

"So, you do understand that you're an inmate?"

"Then, I'll choose B."

"What?"

Suddenly faced with an answer, Caleb took a moment to process.

"I said, I choose B—staying home with a partner."

It was a simple question, yet it had taken so many twists and turns to get an answer. It made Caleb feel as if a damned cat was persistently scratching him lightly but annoyingly, pushing him to the edge of insanity.

Fortunately, Marcus stopped rambling after that. He answered Caleb's questions directly whenever asked.

"Do you prefer: A—structured, rhythmic work, or B—flexible, more relaxed work?"

"A."

"Are you eager to have a broad social circle? A—Yes, B—No."

"B."

"Do you prefer dogs over cats? A—Yes, B—No."

"B."

About ten minutes later, a knock sounded at the door.

Hector entered the library, wiping his hands with a paper towel and asking Caleb, "How's it going?"

Caleb glanced at the remaining progress bar. "Halfway done."

Hector extended his hand toward Caleb. "I'll take over from here."

"Sure."

Caleb handed the tablet to Hector, but as he did, Marcus suddenly spoke up, "I'd like Officer Johnson to read it to me."

"Huh?" Hector was momentarily taken aback. "Why?"

"His voice is more pleasant to listen to than yours."

Caleb was speechless.

Could Marcus stop making things difficult for him?