```
"Reed! You can't go on like this!" Katelin burst into the room, somewhat agitated.
However, Reed turned a deaf ear; all he knew was that he needed money, needed to buy two pills, twenty US dollars would be enough.
Upon opening the drawer of his mother's bedside table, he indeed found several folded US Dollar bills there. A smile appeared on Reed's face as he snatched the money and headed out.
"Reed!" Katelin caught his arm and pleaded desperately.
"Mom, I need this money to buy methadone. You know, the doctor at the rehab center recommended it." Reed shook off Katelin's hand and continued on his way out.
"No! Reed! You said the same thing last time, but Carl from the pharmacy said you've never been there," Katelin said, obviously no longer trusting him.
"You've been following me, Mom!" Reed said angrily, while also becoming increasingly irritable inside.
He knew he couldn't wait any longer; he now needed a hit urgently.
Ignoring Katelin's attempts to stop him, Reed quickly stepped out the door and onto the lawn in the yard. Freshly fallen snow reached above his ankles.
"Reed, I beg you, it will destroy you!" Katelin, wearing only a light dress, followed him out.
Lacking the warmth of indoors, the piercing cold wind made Katelin subconsciously hug her arms, but it couldn't stop the urgency in her heart to save her son.
"F*ck! I told you I'm going to buy medicine, going to buy the miracle drug!" Reed's forehead was covered in sweat as he stuck out his tongue to lick his dry lips, feeling like there was a jazz band playing in his chest.
He could wait no longer; the craving was coming on.
Reed's eyes, now wild with agitation, pushed Katelin aside and ran towards the east of the city.
There was the miracle drug he needed, and he couldn't wait a moment longer.
Reed's running figure gradually faded into the distance, while Katelin, dressed only in her light garment, fell heavily into the snowpile after his shove.
With a history of asthma and frail in strength, Katelin struggled to get up.
But after several attempts, she simply couldn't muster the energy. Watching her son get farther away, Katelin, overwhelmed by desperation, began breathing faster and faster.
Huffing out large clouds of breath, Katelin felt the air growing thinner; she was struggling to breathe.
In the distance, Reed's figure was blurring, blurring to the point where she couldn't even see the snow in front of her clearly.
Was it because he ran too fast, or because her vision was failing her?
Katelin thought she could smell sulfur in the air again, just like she used to in the steel mill workshop.
The workshop of the steel mill was not only filled with the smell of sulfur; it also had the steamy furnaces.
Feeling the rolling heat waves, Katelin felt like she was back there again, cozy all over.
A smile formed on her lips; though the days at the factory in Youngstown were hard, at least Reed and Dean were well-behaved and obedient.
My Reed, my Dean…
One hour later, Mrs. Howard, the neighbor, coming home from the mall after her shift, found Katelin lying in the snow, smiling.
The crystal clear snow had formed a thin layer on her face, making her blue eyes even more enchanting.
...
"No! Mom! Mom!" Reed screamed, springing up from the bed.
"Easy, Reed, it's over," Anna, the housemother of the Serenity Club, comforted him by the bedside.
"No! No! I saw her there, just lying on the ground. Anna, I'm going to hell," Reed cried in a breakdown, tortured daily by the same dream since his mother passed away.
He didn't know it would turn out this way; he never imagined one day his mother's death would be blamed on him.
He was a hopeless addict, but he loved his mom.
The pain of withdrawal and his mother's death tortured him night after night, just like now.
Reed buried his face in his hands as sobs and tears poured out from between his fingers.
"Reed, hold on. As long as you get rid of the drug dependency, both God and your mom will forgive you," Anna, who had been serving at the Serenity Club for ten years, had seen many such scenes.
"Newborns" like Reed had to be accompanied around the clock; they must not be left alone under any circumstances.
The Serenity Club, under the umbrella of Alcoholics Anonymous, knew well what "magic tools" a detoxifying addict needed.
Water, lots of water, a lot of coffee, vitamins, cigarettes, food, and if necessary, supplemented with alcohol.
Of course, the most important thing was company, with nausea, convulsions, runny nose accompanying the withdrawal, painful and prolonged.
Today was Reed's fifth day of being sober, the first time in a year he hadn't smoked "the leaf."
But withdrawal was still unbearable, and Anna was his companion for today. The Serenity Club spared no effort for its "sobering up" newcomers.
Meet once a day, provide 24-hour companionship, all to help the "newborns" get through the withdrawal.
"Newborns" is the term used by the Serenity Club for new members who just joined; they need constant care during the detox process.
To sever the "newborns" completely from all sorts of "leaves," the Serenity Club employed its own structure to replace the members' original drug contacts.
Thus, Reed had spent nearly a week at the Serenity Club already.
"Reed, you must have family left in Youngstown. If possible, let them come to one of the Serenity Club's meetings too. It could help your detox a great deal, couldn't it?"
From Reed's incoherent mumblings in his sleep, Anna could guess that he surely still had family nearby, perhaps not far from here.
"No! Anna, they won't forgive me!" Reed rejected her suggestion immediately, without even thinking.
It wasn't so much about fearing that his family wouldn't forgive him; Reed was more afraid of facing them.
```
"Reed…"
"Don't say anything, Anna." Reed got out of bed and haphazardly put on his coat, "We've run out of toilet cleaner in the bathroom. Come with me to buy some."
Reed was grateful that the Serenity Club had taken him in during his dying moments, so these past few days, whenever he overcame a withdrawal bout, he used his moments of lucidity to clean the club.
Mopping the floor in the lobby, emptying ashtrays, scrubbing the toilet in the bathroom—he'd do anything, Reed couldn't let himself be idle.
Pushing open the club's door, the cold air of early morning involuntarily made him shiver.
He was reminded of the scene a week prior, lying beside a trash can waiting to die, a few days after he had learned of his mother Katelin's death.
He loathed himself, he had thought about ending his own life. In fact, he had planned to "bliss out" with an overdose of leaves, except such a luxurious way to die was beyond what he could afford.
Having no other options, he had gone to the only psychological counseling center in the east of the city, hoping to receive guidance from a psychologist before arriving in hell, to at least ease his mind a bit.
And then that quirky psychologist had told him the location of the Serenity Club. In his words, it was a place where you could experience every pain, including death.
So Reed went.
…
"Doctor Murphy, thank you for telling me all this."
After listening to Sean Murphy's story, Dean remained silent for a long time.
"I just gave him some advice, as for where he is now, I have no clue," Sean Murphy shrugged.
"But that still doesn't negate your kindness." Dean's memories of Reed were complex.
When he first heard the news about him, there was a tinge of joy, but what followed was mostly anger.
Reed had been directly involved with his mother's accidental death, something he had known about quite some time ago. But neither his old dad nor his aunt and her family wished to mention Reed, so Dean also automatically ignored his existence.
Now, suddenly hearing news about him, Dean felt surprised and conflicted.
"Alright kid, from the sound of it, you didn't come today just to inquire about another Price.
So, what exactly did Wedner send you here for?" Sean picked up a beer from the table and took a swig.
Seeing a psychiatrist—let's just call this dilapidated office a clinic—drinking straight in front of his patients, no, his guests, Dean could hardly imagine how he had ever gotten his medical license.
Had it not been for the prominently displayed doctorate diploma from Carnegie Mellon University on the wall behind him, Dean would have doubted whether he had fallen into a trap and both Wedner and the man before him, Sean Murphy, were swindlers.
"Doctor Murphy, Mr. Wedner said that you advocate firmly for the view that alcoholism is a physiological disease."
"Of course, I'm one of the victims myself," Sean picked up his beer again and took another generous gulp with utmost naturalness.
Great, Dean liked doctors who practice what they preach.
Since Sean Murphy was also a victim, everything would be easy.
Dean then briefly recounted to Sean the case of Peter as well as the advice given to him by Wedner.
"As a fellow victim, Doctor Murphy, you should understand the injustice my father Peter has borne. Victims should not be subjected to further punishment by the law!" Dean declared righteously.
"You're absolutely correct~!" Sean began to scribble on a form.
"So, to alter this unfair situation, we should make our voices heard. At the very least, we need to let those big shots in the courtroom know that drunkenness is not intentional, it's an uncontrollable physiological disease!" Dean launched into an impromptu speech.
"Beautifully said, I'll find a way to publish a related article in 'The Youngstown Guardian'," Sean added a few more ticks on the form.
"Doctor Murphy, your kindness, your generosity, has caught the gaze of Saint Mary!" Dean rose and gave a gentleman's bow, preparing to say goodbye and leave.
"Saint Mary doesn't reap the fruits of others' labor for free, so could you settle the bill before leaving, Mr. Price?"
"???" Dean.
"So, is this one of the services offered by the psychological counseling clinic?" Facing the bill Sean passed to him, Dean Grant was uncertain.
"This is an extra value service, not available to just anyone," Sean raised an eyebrow, looking like Dean had snagged a great deal.
"Ah ha, what an honor," Dean pressed down on his middle finger, trying hard to focus on the bill in front of him.
"Emotional management? Art therapy? 200 US dollars?" He hadn't looked for long before he pointed at the bill, incredulous.
"Emotional management is my anticipation of your reaction to the bill. Evidently, it's quite necessary," Sean shrugged.
"And what about art therapy?" Dean highly doubted the inclusion of such a therapy in psychological counseling.
"To publish an article in 'The Youngstown Guardian', how could you do it without a bit of artistic flair, ah?" Sean defended with conviction.
"But I saw on the notice board outside that the initial consultation fee is 20 to 50 US dollars," Dean struggled desperately.
"Price hike?"
"Since when?"
"Just today. Also, the previous Price's psychological consultation fee is included in there, it's a package deal."
Seeing that the other party was unyielding, with brows nearly knitted together, Dean could only grimace and pull out the 200 US dollars his aunt had given him that morning.
The 200 dollars, he hadn't even warmed it, damned capitalism!
Satisfied with the money, Sean nodded, "Don't worry, the editorial will be published three days before Peter's trial. We'll make sure to hit a grand slam in cooperation with Wedner."
"It'd better be," murmured Dean, having failed to freeload, and left sullenly.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling, the phone rang as Sean admired the 200 dollars in his hand.
"Don't worry Wedner, your cut won't be a penny short. Pleasure doing business with you~"