Chapter 5 A new beginning

Chapter 5

A new beginning

Five years later-

On the coast of the Atlantic, a ship was quietly sailing on the azure sea.

A frail, petite woman, clutching a black bundle, was huddled in a corner of the deck. Her face was buried in the black bundle, as if she was holding a treasure of enormous value.

The woman's long hair had turned dry and yellow. She was clothed in a tattered, colorless hemp garment, much like a large sack draped over her. Underneath the baggy attire was a skeletal frame full of wounds.

"Miss, it won't be long before you can return to your home in Wisky close. Given your help in solving this case, we will safely escort you to the port city of Wisky close and let you go home," said the black police officer on the ship, in fluent English.

Upon hearing the words "go home," the woman suddenly began to tremble violently. She looked up to reveal a small, dry, thin, and dark face.

"I'm not going to the port city. I want to go to Peninsula Island," her voice was incredibly hoarse, as if her mouth was full of sand.

If you didn't listen carefully, you wouldn't really understand what she was saying.

The black police officer patiently said, "That's not possible. Our investigation shows your hometown is the port city. Don't worry, I will take you back."

He was inflexible, allowing no discussion.

The woman didn't reply and simply buried her face back into the black bundle.

Inside the package was a small black urn.

Inside, lay her everything.

Half a month ago, she had finally managed to escape from that living hell with a few companions. They successfully connected with the Norway police and, with their help, completely destroyed the hellhole filled with filth and drugs.

In order to escape from that hellish place, she planned meticulously for five years, costing her best friend's life in the process.

Liberated.

When leaving Norway, Martin Pamella thought to herself, she was finally free.

Five years of fierce torment, day after day, year after year of devastation and despair, she often couldn't help but praise her own tenacity, she was indeed a tough survivor!

Why? Her life was so tough, which merely took the life of the kindest and best person to her.

People change.

Almost two thousand days and nights in the span of five years. Occasionally, she would involuntarily contemplate. What if five years ago, she had died on the operating table, accompanying her child in death? Would her world have turned out to be a bit nicer?

There are no what-ifs.

Holding on tightly to the urn, the last tear from the corner of her eye slowly seeped into the black wrapping paper.

Morgan, I promise you, I promise...I'll live well, live for your share too...

"Miss, we've arrived in the Manchester city."

The black policeman courteously assisted her off the bed. Just as he was about to leave, he seemed to remember something and handed her a fistful of money, not much, all loose change, then he patted her on the shoulder: "Be brave!"

Indeed, be brave.

He was a genuinely good man. After all these years, apart from Morgan, he was the second person to say these words to her.

"Thank you."

The moment she set foot on the land of the Manchester city, the sun-baked ground scorched her feet. She hissed, stomped her foot, and lifted her little face tinged with a sickly pale hue-an expression of confusion crossing her features.

She had arrived at the Manchester city.

But where was she to go?

She glanced at the money in her hand and realized she was far from having enough to pay the fare to Peninsula Island. She licked her dry, pallid lips, thinking swiftly. Where was she to go?

Was there a place for her here?

She didn't need anything grand, just a small corner would satisfy her.

As long as she earned enough for the fare, and could go to Peninsula Island-to see Pan's homeland, to scatter his ashes over the Pearl Lake-she would be content.

Pan had told her about a beautiful natural inland lake in the west of Peninsula Island; it was called Pearl Lake.

Just like her name.

Pan also said even if reduced to ashes, he wanted to be with her forever, to eternally guard the Pearl.

He had also mentioned that a baby of seven months, though forcefully and dangerously taken from the mother's womb, if well cared for, had a great possibility of survival.

Was her child still alive in this world?

"Get lost! Where did this filthy beggar come from? Don't pollute the air standing in front of my shop," snapped a grocery store owner when he saw her on the streets. She retreated several steps, her right leg faltering, nearly tripping and falling. She turned to look nervously at the store owner, "Do you...Do you need a waitress here?"

Her voice was hoarse and unattractive, like there was a thorn stuck in her throat.

"You dare to apply looking like a ghost? Scram, scram, stop stealing my mood." The grocery store owner reacted as if a jinx had appeared. He picked up a broom next to him and swatted at her. Martin Pamella didn't even have time to dodge. Covered in dust with a throbbing and sting on her face, she scurried away frightfully.

"Cursed one, jinx, get lost, stay away from me, if you dare to come here again, I'll chop you up!"

Martin Pamella ran away without a word. The abuse and ridicule still echoed loud and clear. She remained silent, years of servitude had already eroded her pride and self-esteem. It was a luxury simply to survive in that hellish place, and for that, she had lost too much.

The sun overhead scorched as it got hotter. Sweat trickled down her forehead, the translucent beads fell from her messy bangs-covered forehead, sliding down her weather-beaten cheeks, dripping one by one.

Passing by a shop, she glanced at the glass window and saw the reflection of a frail and bent woman. A palm-sized face covered with light brown scars, those stretched from her forehead down her cheek to her chin. Numerous faded scars were all over her. They had faded under the passage of time, leaving behind faint traces.

Withered pale, densely scarred.

She gently touched her face, the once beautiful face that she destroyed with a stone, had become her shelter these past five years.

Otherwise, these five years would have been more than just slavery, they would have been unbearable.

Then, a job advertisement caught her attention. Martin Pamella, dragging her left leg, slowly walked up to it, all the jobs there required were some waitresses or managers.

"Underground Entertainment Club?" She frowned slightly, not having a strong impression of this name. But it's no wonder, she had been away from the Manchester city for over five years, and a lot could change during that.

The last two lines of the job offer were for janitor and pedicurist.

The janitor's salary was monthly 2000, but the pedicurist's salary was double that.

...

"Applying? Sorry, you don't meet our standards for a waitress." The man spoke coldly, his tone laced with impatience as if even looking at her was a waste of time.

Raspy voice coughed lightly, "No, no, I am here to apply for janitorial work."

"Janitor?"

"Yes, it's...it's the pedicurist..." Her voice got quieter until it was nearly inaudible.