Chapter 27 Epilogue 2 second person
You've all heard the saying that people who experience a terrible accident often lose their memory of the accident—the shock of the accident wipes out short-term memory of the time—but in fact you remember it vividly. Live that accident.You remember that the rain made the road slippery that day, so you slowed down.You'll remember that BMW went through a red light and the driver was on his phone, yelling, and you knew he wasn't yelling at you because he wasn't looking in your direction, and he didn't see your bike car until the motorcycle hit the fender of his car.
You remember being thrown into the air and enjoying it for a split second--like the thrill of flying--until your brain realizes what happened, and a bucket of icy water poured down your head, and the next second you His helmet hit the pavement hard.You feel your body contort in a way no human being should, and you hear something inside your body crack and snap as it shouldn't.You feel the faceplate of the helmet being knocked off, the fiberglass or carbon fiber or whatever the helmet material is scraping away against the road and it's only an inch away from your face.
After a burst of twisting, bursting, bending and scraping, it finally subsides, and you can only peek out a little bit of the world through the dilapidated helmet, basically looking down at the sidewalk.There are two thoughts in your mind at that time: first, you will feel surprised because you can't feel any pain; second, you have a vague worry from the cramping sensation in your neck.Your body lands in a strange fashion, your legs tucked haphazardly under your body, your ass pointed skyward.That you cared more about the position of your butt than you did about losing consciousness should have shocked you even more.
And then you hear a scream coming down your face; it's the driver of the BMW, pissed off by the state of the fender.You try to catch a look at him, but you can't move, you can barely catch a glimpse of his shoes.They were a pair of black leather shoes made of exquisite materials and well-crafted, indicating that their owners were in the entertainment industry.It's not just the shoes that tell you who he is, it's the jerk's attitude—running a red light by yelling at the phone, then yelling at you for crashing his car.
For a moment, you wonder if this guy knows your father, but then you finally pass out from your injuries and everything fades from consciousness.Whether it was the manager, the entertainment lawyer, or anyone else, his voice became indistinct and became a humming croon, like a lullaby, accompanying you into a slumber.
That's what happened to your accident, and when you recall the details now, you really break out in a cold sweat.That scene clearly emerged in your mind, like playing your dad's TV series on a high-definition Blu-ray disc.Now when you're going through it all in your head, besides your motorcycle, that BMW, the driver of the car (who later turns out to be an entertainment lawyer for violating the California state law for the third time using a cell phone while driving) traffic safety regulations, sentenced to fifteen days in jail and three hundred hours of hard community service), and a brief flight curve between your car and the sidewalk, and you even added a commentary soundtrack.You'll never forget all this.
What you forget is what happened next, until you wake up a few weeks later, lying in your own bed, fully dressed, not a single bruise.
That's when things start to bother you.
"You have amnesia," your father replied when you asked about everything. "It's not uncommon to lose memory after an accident. I was in a traffic accident when I was seven. I don't remember anything. One second I was in the car, going to see my great-grandmother, and I got off In a second I woke up in a hospital bed with my whole body in a cast and my mother standing next to me with a big stick of ice cream in her hand." "But you woke up the next day," you said to your father. "I was in a car accident a few weeks ago, and I was lying in bed until a few days ago." "It's not like that," your father said, "you woke up earlier. And you can talk and talk. You just don't remember that." "That's what I'm trying to say, too," you say, "that it's not like a memory disruption at the time of the accident. It's a loss of memory weeks after it happened." "You hit your head," your father said. "You flew out at forty-five miles an hour and you hit your head. Even the best of luck, like yours, must leave some aftereffects, Ma. Xiu. So I'm not surprised that you lost some of your memory." "Not part of it, Dad," you say. "It's all of it. From the moment the accident happened until I woke up to see you and Mom and Candace and Renee standing by my side." "As I said, you fainted," your father said, "and we were all worried." "So, I passed out and woke up and couldn't remember anything from the previous few weeks," you say, "You know why I'm so obsessed with this." "Do you want me to make an MRI appointment for you?" your father asked. "I'll do it for you. I'll have the doctor come in and see if there's any other possibility of traumatic brain injury." "I think it's a smart thing to do, don't you?" you say, "Dad, I don't want to be a fancier, but I'm kind of bothered by missing a few weeks for no reason. I want to make sure it doesn't happen again in the future." It’s not a good feeling to wake up and find a hole in your memory.” "Okay, Matthew, I see," your father said. "I'll get Brenda to arrange it as soon as possible. Satisfied?" "Ok." "But correspondingly, I hope you don't worry too much." Your father said, "The doctor told us before that you may have this or that. So it's normal." "I don't think this is a 'normal' thing," you say. "It's not uncommon for motorcycle accidents to happen," your father said, "as it is now." "I don't like 'normal' in this sense," you retort. "It's not the worst," your father finished, looking haggard and tearful, as he had been for days.
While you wait for your MRI, you flip through the script for The Intrepid Chronicles that was handed you.The good news is that your character will play a central role in the event.The bad news is that you don't have a single line, and you spend the entire episode lying in a medical bed, pretending to be unconscious. “That’s not how it works,” Nick Weinstein replies when you mention this to him.The lead writer of the script brings the revised script to your home, which is a special privilege that other actors can't enjoy. "Look here—" he said, flicking the last page of the play, "—you wake up here." "The Hearst crew opened their eyes and looked around." You read the script prompt. "Isn't this regaining consciousness?" Weinstein asked. "You say yes." You said. "I know you don't have a lot to do," Weinstein said, "but you're just recovering, and I don't want to burden you too much." The goal has been achieved anyway, you say to yourself as you continue to flip through the script in the MRI waiting room, rereading the episode where you just lay back and do nothing.There's a lot of action in this episode—in particular, Captain Kerensky gets plenty of face time, both piloting a shuttle and running through an exploding walkway, where scene props clatter down and take out other red Team Shirts—albeit more disorganized than the meaningful action scenes in the original film.Weinstein does a good job of designing dialogue and emoting emotions, but he and the other writers seem to have little talent for plot.You have a strong thought that if you know more about sci-fi TV, maybe you can find scenes from other shows that Weinstein and his colleagues stole. Hey, college is not in vain, you can't help but think, not to mention that I am still the one who needs to do MRI. But it's also true, you think.Although it is not unreasonable to want the family business to do something meaningful instead of making fast food entertainment products that are exactly like other fast food products.But if you were to do it, your family might as well be in the plastic hanger business. "Mr. Matthew Paulson?" asked the technician in the nuclear magnetic room.You look up. "We're ready," he said. You walked into the examination room, stored your clothes and belongings as instructed by the technician, and then put on the hospital gown.No metal objects of any kind are allowed in the MRI room.After you change your clothes, you walk into the room, and the technician is going through your medical records. "Okay, you've been here before, so I assume you've got experience, right?" the technician asked. "Actually, I don't remember being here before," you say, "that's why I'm here again." The man looked at the medical records again, and a slight blush appeared on his face. "Sorry," he said, "I wasn't always so ignorant." "When was the last time I was here?" you ask. "Just a few weeks ago," the technician said, frowning, reviewing the medical records again. "Well, maybe," he said after a moment, "I think your medical records may have been mixed up with someone else's." "Why do you say that?" you ask. The technician looks up at you and says, "I can't answer your question just yet." He says, "If there's a mix-up—and I'm pretty sure—then I can't easily reveal the privacy of other patients." "Okay," you say, "but if this is really my medical record, please do let me know." "Of course," said the technician. "You have the right to know. But for now, let's focus on this examination." He instructs you to lie on the examination table, sending your entire body into a suffocating chamber. in the pipes.
"So what do you think the technician was looking at?" Sandra asked while you and Sandra were having lunch together at PF Zhang.You don't like the store, but she does for no reason, and you still like her.You meet in front of a restaurant, the first time you've seen her since the accident.She hugged you, cried on your shoulder, then pulled away and playfully slapped you for not telling her sooner.Then you walk into this upscale fusion restaurant chain. "I don't know." You said, "I wanted to take a look too, but after I checked, he just asked me to put on my clothes and said that I would be notified when I got the results. Before I could put on my pants, he left already." "Whatever he's looking at, it's not a good thing," Sandra said. “Whatever it is, it definitely doesn’t fit with who I am. It’s weird that I’m walking around and talking like a normal person now,” you say, “especially since I was alive and kicking a week ago.” “Medical filings are always wrong,” said Sandra, a first-year UCLA law student at a medical class-action lawsuit firm. Company internship. "Maybe." You say. "What the hell is going on?" Sandra said, staring at your face for a moment, "You don't think your parents are lying, do you?" "Do you remember anything?" you ask, "everything after my car accident." "Your parents won't let any of us see you," Sandra said, looking tense, looking like she was trying not to accidentally say something she shouldn't say. "They didn't even tell us." She said. After a moment of hesitation, he said, "I didn't know this happened until Kehama forwarded the story from the Los Angeles Times to me on Facebook." "Another story?" you asked in surprise. "Yeah," Sandra said, "it's not really about you, it's about the bastard who ran the red light. He's a partner at Wellcome Larson Jenkins and Binying, most of the production companies outside lawyers." "I'll have to find that article," you say. "I'll send it to you." "thanks." "You almost died in the accident, and I only got information through the Los Angeles Times. I am very dissatisfied," Sandra said. "I should not be treated like this." "My mother hasn't liked you since you broke my heart," you tell her. “We were sophomores at the time,” Sandra said, “and you pulled yourself out of the slump and picked yourself up very quickly, because a week later you were stalking Jenna.” "Maybe." The so-called Jenner affair, in retrospect, was a troublesome time. "Anyway," Sandra said, "whether it's your father or your mother, if they don't want to tell me, they should tell Nellen, he's your best friend. Or tell Keel, Or Gwen. So we immediately realized that they didn't want us to see you. They said they didn't want us to see you like that." "That's what they told you?" you ask. Sandra was silent for a while, then said: "They didn't say it clearly, but we all knew what they said. They didn't want their son to be seen like that. They didn't want us to be like that. Memories. Nairen was the most determined to see you, you know. He even planned to come back from Princeton and camp out on your doorstep until your parents relented. Then you recovered." You smiled, remembering the crying and fussy conversation you had with Naylen when you called to tell him you were safe.Then you hold back your smile and say, "That doesn't make sense at all." "What do you mean?" Sandra asked. "My dad said I woke up and recovered before I lost my memory," you say. "He said I was acting normal for a while." "Okay," Sandra said. "So, why didn't I tell you?" You say, "When I lived here, we saw each other a lot every week. Why didn't I tell Nellen? We talked on the phone every day. Why wasn't I on Facebook Post a new status or diary? Why didn't I tell everyone I'm fine? If I really woke up, I would definitely do these things first." Sandra opened her mouth to say something, but then fell silent, lost in thought. "You're right. It doesn't make any sense," she said. "Normally you'd call us or text us or something. If for no other reason, you'd do it, otherwise we would have kill you." "Indeed." You said. "So you do think your parents are lying to you." "Maybe." "And you feel that the strange condition of your medical records is also involved." "Maybe." You repeated. "Do you think there is any connection between this?" "I don't know either." You admitted honestly. "You should know that legally speaking, you have a right to know about your own medical records." Sandra said, "If you think this matter is related to treatment, you should obviously start from here." "How long will it take?" you ask. "If you go to the hospital to check? They will make you write an application, throw it in the corner of the back room for a few days, and then give you a summary of the medical records." Sandra said, "maybe It will be useful, or it may not be." "I see you laughing, so I guess you have another plan," you say. Grinning, Sandra picked up her phone and called someone, and she sounded bright and enthusiastic, mentioned your name, then paused, waiting for you to tell her the name of the hospital.After a while she hung up the phone. "Who is it?" you ask. "My company sometimes needs to get information faster than the formal legal process," Sandra said. , he has his own informant at every hospital. You'll have your medical report by dinner time." "How do you know this guy?" you ask. "Huh? Do you think a partner at a law firm would let this guy's number appear on their contact list?" Sandra said. If you get caught, there is a way to get out cleverly. Just blame those stupid and self-willed law students. This is a genius idea." "Except for you, if your informant is caught." You said bluntly. Sandra shrugged. "I'll be fine," she said.You recall that her father sold his software company to Microsoft in the late 1990s for $3.6 billion, before the dot-com bubble burst.In a sense, law school and the like were a ridiculous existence to her. Sandra sensed the subtle expression on your face. "What's wrong?" she asked with a smile. "It's nothing." You said, "I just thought about the extravagant lifestyle of a speculative nouveau riche." "Then you'd better count yourself, you—this—a—big—learned—changed—eight—times—major—professional—yet—not— Poor bastard who knows what he's going to do," Sandra said, "I'm so sorry to see you alive and well. Woolen cloth." "I'll find something I want to do," you promise. "You're the worst of us," Sandra said curtly. "I've only changed majors four times." "And then spent years doing nothing before finally starting law school." "I started a new company," Sandra said, "and my dad is proud of it." You smile without saying a word. "Well, let's say I started this company with my dad and his friend's, and then I was announced as the spokesperson for the company, and someone else was in charge of the actual stuff," Sandra said, "So you Are you satisfied?" "Satisfied." You said. "But that's kind of a thing," Sandra said, "and I'm working on something real right now. Going from institute to institute isn't doing you any good. Your life doesn't need Just because you worry about it doesn't mean you can live without worrying about it. We all know people who get away with it. It's not a good life." "Indeed." You agree. "So have you found your purpose in life now?" Sandra asked. "My priority right now is to figure out what's going on with me," you say. "Only when I figure it out will I feel like I've got my life back. Otherwise, I don't feel like I've found my purpose." of."
You're standing naked in front of a mirror not because you're a naturalist, but because you're broken.Your iPad shows the medical records that Sandra's informants have investigated for you, including information about your car accident.There is also a picture of you in the hospital as you prepare for surgery; they also took a picture of your brain after the anesthesia. You scroll through the list of ruptured, punctured, and torn organs in your body like an anatomy paper in school.These photos look like the mannequins that the crew put all over the place in the low-budget horror movie your dad made when you were a kid.It looks like you are not far from death in the photo, and after all the treatment they did to rescue you, it stands to reason that at this moment, your best condition is nothing more than lying on your back with all kinds of bruises all over your body. She couldn't move on the bed, and all the places on her body that could be intubated were filled with tubes. But you are standing in front of the mirror, naked, without a single scrape on your body. Oh, still a little bit.You have a small gash on the back of your left hand, the prize of your thirteen-year-old tricks on the handlebars.And a very small, inconspicuous burn on your lower lip, from when you were sixteen and you leaned over to kiss Jenna Feichman and she ended up holding a lit cigarette to her mouth.There is also a small laparoscopy wound from eighteen months ago, which you have to peel off the pubic hair to see.Before a car accident, even the slightest injury leaves marks on your body that you will notice. And those scars have nothing to do with the car accident. Gone was the violent scrape that nearly scraped the skin off your right arm; There are shredded muscles and blood vessels in the body, and there is no evidence that it ever existed. You have been tossing and turning in front of the mirror for almost an hour, looking through all the injury records in your medical records, and then looking in the mirror for possible traces left on your body.Nothing at all.You have the impeccable fitness of a man in his early twenties, and it doesn't look like a car accident happened at all, or, at least, it didn't happen to you. You grab your iPad, turn it off, and force yourself not to look at your most recent MRI and the "what the hell?" the technician wrote on it because of the previous MRI and the latest results It's as different as the coast of Spain from the east coast of the United States.The previous MRI report showed that your best bet was to be an organ donor, but the latest report showed a healthy body with a brain healthy enough to be a specimen. There is only one word to describe this situation. "Impossible." You said to yourself while looking at yourself in the mirror.I am afraid that seeing this situation, anyone will say to you: "How is this possible." You look around your room, trying to see it from a stranger's perspective.It’s bigger than most people can afford a first apartment, and it’s filled with memorabilia from your past few years, and proof that you’ve changed majors while trying to figure out your purpose in life.On the table is your laptop, originally bought for writing screenplays and turned into your primary tool for checking Facebook updates from your friends.On the bookshelf is a stack of anthropology lecture notes, proof of a postgraduate degree certificate that you now know is a scrap of paper; it's just a procrastination device to escape the reality that you don't know what to do. You have a Nikon SLR camera on your bedside table. When you said you were thinking about taking photography, your mother bought it for you; you fiddled with it for a few weeks and then put it away.On the side is the script for "The Chronicles of the Intrepid," which is evidence of something you've done recently to test the waters to see if you can make it in TV. Like screenwriting, anthropology, and photography, it's not a life goal you want, and you already have the answers.Of course, like everything else, it takes a while to see the truth and get out of it.You realize you don't like anthropology when you get your degree.For script writing, it's when an agent has a twenty-minute absent-minded meeting with you for your father's sake.As for acting, you chose to resign after you starred in this episode, and then you come back to this room, looking for the next field to try. You're back in the mirror, looking at yourself again, naked and healthy, and wondering: Is being an organ donor more valuable to the world than being the healthiest body you can be now and doing nothing?
You lie motionless on the stretcher. "The Chronicle of the Intrepid" is being filmed, and it's getting more and more uncomfortable waiting for the crew to move en masse for the next shot.On the one hand, because of the special effect makeup that makes you look pale, weak, cold, sweaty and bruised, you have to have people put a layer of glycerin on your face from time to time, which feels like body lubricant; , the other two actors are staring at you from beginning to end. One of them is a bitch like you, named Brian Abnett, you can basically ignore him because you know you're the son of a producer and you know that no-name guy like this Actors are very happy to get close to you to improve their status. This behavior is called taking shortcuts by relying on relationships.You know what kind of guy he is, so you don't want anything to do with him. But the other is Mark Corey, who is the star of the show.He's already close enough to your dad that he doesn't need to court you to advance his career, and you can infer from Pake.com, Celebrity.com, and your dad's occasional comments that he doesn't Wasting his priceless precious time with you.So it's kind of weird that he keeps staring at you. For hours on end, you play the role of a patient in a deep coma, while Corey and another supporting character stay by your stretcher, engaging in a simulated space battle as they run around the aisle while carrying your stretcher. Then ran into the scene set up as an infirmary, and a group of cosplayers in uniforms of medical staff greeted you, poked you everywhere with space needles, and at the same time waved props that looked like high-end medical equipment, trying to diagnose you. The appearance of the condition.Every now and then you sneak your eyes open to see if Abnett or Corey is still staring at you.Usually one or the other of them is.The scene that really requires you to open your eyes is the moment you wake up from the coma.This time both eyes are on you.That's what it says in the script.But you can't help but wonder if one or both of them wanted to ask you out after today's shoot. It's finally the end of the day at work, you take off all that nasty makeup and say goodbye to your acting career officially.When you come out of the studio, Abnett and Corey are talking.You changed your course by some mysterious circumstance and stepped forward to the two of them. "Matthew." Mark greeted you when he saw you approaching. "What's going on?" you ask, the tone of your voice revealing that this is not a casual greeting, but a real question. "What do you mean?" Mark asked. "You two have been watching me all day," you say. "Uh, yeah," said Brian Abnett, "you're playing someone who's unconscious. We've been escorting your stretcher all day. So we've got to keep an eye on you." "Excuse me," you said to Abnett, "tell me what happened." Mark hesitated to speak, then turned to Abnet and said, "I will continue to work here in the future." Abnett smiled wryly: "Well, in this case, you can just push the red shirt to me." "That's not true," Mark said, "but he has a right to know." "I agree." Abnet said, patting Mark on the shoulder. "Leave it to me, Mark." "Thank you," Mark said, turning to you and saying, "Nice to meet you, Matthew. Really nice." Then he walked away quickly. After Mark walks away, you say to Abnett, "I don't know what you're talking about. I thought he didn't care about me at all." "How are you feeling, Matthew?" Abnet didn't answer your question directly. "What do you mean?" you ask. "I think you know what I mean," Abnett said. "Do you feel in good shape? Healthy? Rejuvenated?" You suddenly shiver. "You know." You say. "Yes," said Abnett, "and I see you do too. At least you know something." "But I don't know as much as you do," you said. Abnett said: "Well, maybe. Anyway, I think we should get out of here and have a drink somewhere. Probably a few drinks."
In the middle of the night, you go back to your room and stand in the middle of the room, searching for something.Search for information left for you. "Hearst left you a letter," Abnett told you in detail of what happened, everything that seemed so ridiculous, he said at last. "I don't know where because he didn't tell me. He told Kerensky, Kerensky told Mark, and Mark told me. Mark said it was in your room and only you could find it, Others don't even look at it. You don't usually pay attention to this place, unless you deliberately look for it." "Why would he do that?" you ask Abnett. "I don't know," said Abnett. "Maybe he thinks you might not find anything. And if you don't, why tell you? Maybe you'll find it hard to believe. I I couldn’t believe it myself, and then I met the character I was playing. I can tell you, it’s so weird. You’ve never seen the person you play, let alone believe it.” You have no doubts.You've found solid evidence.The proof is yourself. You turn on your computer, go through the folders one by one, looking for file names you have never seen in the piles of documents.Finding nothing, you sort the files by creation time and start looking at new documents added since the crash.still none.Then you open your e-mail to see if there is any e-mail you sent to yourself.No.Your Facebook page is filled with messages from high school, college, and grad school classmates who heard about your recovery and discharge from the hospital.There are none sent to yourself by you, and no new photos appear in the album.No hint of any information. You stand up from the table and turn around to look around the room.Then you go to the bookshelf and grab a stack of blank pages that you bought when you were thinking about being a playwright, thinking about jotting down ideas on paper that you might use in your next big book.You clatter over and they are still as empty as when you bought them new.You put the pages back on the shelf and your eyes land on the high school yearbook.You pull out those yearbooks, dust off the covers, turn the pages, and search for the newly added handwriting between the lines.still none.You put the yearbook back on the bookshelf, at this moment you notice another shape of falling dust on the bookshelf, which has traces of being passive, but it is not the shape of letting go of the book. You stare at the mark, then turn around and grab your camera from the nightstand.You slide open the memory card slot cover, pull the card out, plug it into your computer and open the photos folder, sorting the files by date modified. Since your accident, there are three new documents, a photo and two videos. The image file is someone's legs and shoes.You smiled.Then there's a video of a very shaky camera of a person walking around a room, shaking the camera back and forth as if trying to figure out how the thing works. Another video is about you.Your face appears on the screen, and there's a crackling sound as you position the camera so your face doesn't jump out of the frame.You sit in front of the camera.The autofocus lens hums for a while, and your image finally comes into focus. "Hi Matthew," you say, "I'm Jasper Hearst. I'm you. Pretty much. I've been with your family for a few days now, and I've been talking to them about you , they told me you haven't touched this camera in a year, I think it's a perfect vehicle to leave a message for you. If you wake up from the coma and continue walking your life path intact, you will You won't notice it, so it won't affect you. But since you found it, it means that you are actively looking for it. "If you're actively looking, something's up. You must have sensed that something was wrong and no one bothered to tell you the details; or someone told you and you didn't believe it. If it's the first case, Well, no, you didn't go crazy, you didn't have a nervous breakdown. You didn't take a major hit either. You did have a serious traumatic brain injury, but it wasn't your current body, so don't worry, your body Everything is functional. Also, you don't have amnesia. You don't remember these things because you haven't experienced them. I think it's pretty straightforward. "If you've been told all this and you don't believe it, I hope this convinces you. If not, well, I don't really know how to explain it to you. Believe what you want to believe. But also Let me save face and listen to what I have to say." In the video, Hearst, who looks like you but is not you, is scratching his head with his fingers, then looking around, as if trying to think about what to say next. "Well, here's what I'm going to say. I guess I exist because you exist. Although, I really can't explain it logically, I think, the day you asked your father if you could try acting,命运的车轮就开始转动了。在我生活的世界中，事件被扭曲、改变，行使着它们的使命，于是我出生了，过着我的人生，而你在你的世界中扮演并支配着我的一切。我不知道这一切是怎么做到的，为什么会这样，但它就发生了，事实就是这样。 “我们的命运交缠在一起，因为在某种意义上我们就是一个人，只是隔着漫长而广袤的时空。正因为如此，我想我可以问你一个问题。 “老实说，马修，我们活着到底为了什么？ “我和你的家人谈论过关于你的事，你已经知道了。他们很爱你。大家都很爱你。所以当你发生车祸的时候，他们觉得仿佛被人猛地刺穿了心脏。真的，他们如此珍爱你，这真令人感动。但是，既然你就是我，我得重申，他们觉得你应该好好规划你的人生了。他们说过你是怎样的兴趣广泛，你是怎样坐等着出现一件事能让你发掘自己的潜能，虽然他们没有直白地说出来，但我想告诉你，你得快点儿长大。 “我知道这一点，因为我自己也一样。显然的，毕竟我就是你。我一直漫无目的地过了好几年，马修。我并不是有什么动机才加入宇联舰队的，而是我自己都不知道要做什么。然后我觉得，就算我没有目标，我也可以看看宇宙，对吧？不过即使我做出了这个决定，我也不过是最低限度地完成自己的任务而已。我找不到竭尽全力的理由。 “这样并不坏。说实话我甚至觉得自己非常睿智。我回避开了这样那样的事。但当我来到这里，看见你处于脑死亡的状态，全身插着各式各样的管子维持生命时，我意识到我并没有回避开所有的事情，就像你没能回避掉这场事故一样。你就只是出生，四处游逛了一番，被一辆车撞了，然后死亡，这就是你完整的人生故事。就算你什么都不做，也没能回避掉这样的人生。 “马修，你现在能看到这一切，是因为我们中的一个终于用他的生命做了些有用的事情。那是我。我决定救你的命。我和你交换了身体，因为我觉得，如果这么做有用，我就能用你那残破不堪的身体在我的世界中生活下去，而你也能在我的身体中活下来。如果我错了，那么我们就一起死，或者你活下去而我死去，那样的话我就是为了拯救你而死去的。是的，这对我来说糟透了，不过在你父亲的剧本里，我的性命可从没有被赋予过这么高尚的使命。考虑这一切的话，即使我死了，那也会是最好的死亡方式。 “不过我决定透露给你一个秘密。我觉得这么做一定会有用。别问我为什么——拜托，别问我关于这个状况的任何问题——我就是觉得它会奏效。如果我们成功了，我只想从你那里获得一个回报。那就是你踏实地去做点事情。不要再无所事事了。不要不停地尝试，厌烦了就放弃。不要等待事情的降临。这太愚蠢了。你只是在浪费时间。你几乎把你的时间都挥霍得一干二净。你很幸运，我来到了你的世界，但我觉得这样的事情不会再发生第二次。 “我也会做一样的事情。我不会再放任自己了，马修。我们的生命都不可理喻得荒唐，但如果我努力地去生活的话——如果我和无畏号上所有的伙伴们都一起努力地生活的话——我们就能做到我们的世界中别人做不到的事情，有机会掌控自己的命运。我决定接受这个挑战。我还不知道具体该怎么做，但是我一定不会再回避它了。 “你也不会了对吧，马修。我也不指望你立刻就知道该做什么。但我希望你能够找出答案。综合考虑一下，我觉得这是一个合情合理的请求。 “欢迎来到你的新生命，马修。这一次别浪费了。” 赫斯特伸手关掉了相机。 你关闭了视频窗口，合上笔记本电脑，转身看见你的父亲，正站在房间门口。 “你没有失忆。”他说，脸上还有泪痕。 “我知道。”你回答。
Notes:
"You have amnesia," your father replied when you asked about everything. "It's not uncommon to lose memory after an accident. I was in a traffic accident when I was seven. I don't remember anything. One second I was in the car, going to see my great-grandmother, and I got off In a second I woke up in a hospital bed with my whole body in a cast and my mother standing next to me with a big stick of ice cream in her hand." "But you woke up the next day," you said to your father. "I was in a car accident a few weeks ago, and I was lying in bed until a few days ago." "It's not like that," your father said, "you woke up earlier. And you can talk and talk. You just don't remember that." "That's what I'm trying to say, too," you say, "that it's not like a memory disruption at the time of the accident. It's a loss of memory weeks after it happened." "You hit your head," your father said. "You flew out at forty-five miles an hour and you hit your head. Even the best of luck, like yours, must leave some aftereffects, Ma. Xiu. So I'm not surprised that you lost some of your memory." "Not part of it, Dad," you say. "It's all of it. From the moment the accident happened until I woke up to see you and Mom and Candace and Renee standing by my side." "As I said, you fainted," your father said, "and we were all worried." "So, I passed out and woke up and couldn't remember anything from the previous few weeks," you say, "You know why I'm so obsessed with this." "Do you want me to make an MRI appointment for you?" your father asked. "I'll do it for you. I'll have the doctor come in and see if there's any other possibility of traumatic brain injury." "I think it's a smart thing to do, don't you?" you say, "Dad, I don't want to be a fancier, but I'm kind of bothered by missing a few weeks for no reason. I want to make sure it doesn't happen again in the future." It’s not a good feeling to wake up and find a hole in your memory.” "Okay, Matthew, I see," your father said. "I'll get Brenda to arrange it as soon as possible. Satisfied?" "Ok." "But correspondingly, I hope you don't worry too much." Your father said, "The doctor told us before that you may have this or that. So it's normal." "I don't think this is a 'normal' thing," you say. "It's not uncommon for motorcycle accidents to happen," your father said, "as it is now." "I don't like 'normal' in this sense," you retort. "It's not the worst," your father finished, looking haggard and tearful, as he had been for days.
While you wait for your MRI, you flip through the script for The Intrepid Chronicles that was handed you.The good news is that your character will play a central role in the event.The bad news is that you don't have a single line, and you spend the entire episode lying in a medical bed, pretending to be unconscious. “That’s not how it works,” Nick Weinstein replies when you mention this to him.The lead writer of the script brings the revised script to your home, which is a special privilege that other actors can't enjoy. "Look here—" he said, flicking the last page of the play, "—you wake up here." "The Hearst crew opened their eyes and looked around." You read the script prompt. "Isn't this regaining consciousness?" Weinstein asked. "You say yes." You said. "I know you don't have a lot to do," Weinstein said, "but you're just recovering, and I don't want to burden you too much." The goal has been achieved anyway, you say to yourself as you continue to flip through the script in the MRI waiting room, rereading the episode where you just lay back and do nothing.There's a lot of action in this episode—in particular, Captain Kerensky gets plenty of face time, both piloting a shuttle and running through an exploding walkway, where scene props clatter down and take out other red Team Shirts—albeit more disorganized than the meaningful action scenes in the original film.Weinstein does a good job of designing dialogue and emoting emotions, but he and the other writers seem to have little talent for plot.You have a strong thought that if you know more about sci-fi TV, maybe you can find scenes from other shows that Weinstein and his colleagues stole. Hey, college is not in vain, you can't help but think, not to mention that I am still the one who needs to do MRI. But it's also true, you think.Although it is not unreasonable to want the family business to do something meaningful instead of making fast food entertainment products that are exactly like other fast food products.But if you were to do it, your family might as well be in the plastic hanger business. "Mr. Matthew Paulson?" asked the technician in the nuclear magnetic room.You look up. "We're ready," he said. You walked into the examination room, stored your clothes and belongings as instructed by the technician, and then put on the hospital gown.No metal objects of any kind are allowed in the MRI room.After you change your clothes, you walk into the room, and the technician is going through your medical records. "Okay, you've been here before, so I assume you've got experience, right?" the technician asked. "Actually, I don't remember being here before," you say, "that's why I'm here again." The man looked at the medical records again, and a slight blush appeared on his face. "Sorry," he said, "I wasn't always so ignorant." "When was the last time I was here?" you ask. "Just a few weeks ago," the technician said, frowning, reviewing the medical records again. "Well, maybe," he said after a moment, "I think your medical records may have been mixed up with someone else's." "Why do you say that?" you ask. The technician looks up at you and says, "I can't answer your question just yet." He says, "If there's a mix-up—and I'm pretty sure—then I can't easily reveal the privacy of other patients." "Okay," you say, "but if this is really my medical record, please do let me know." "Of course," said the technician. "You have the right to know. But for now, let's focus on this examination." He instructs you to lie on the examination table, sending your entire body into a suffocating chamber. in the pipes.
"So what do you think the technician was looking at?" Sandra asked while you and Sandra were having lunch together at PF Zhang.You don't like the store, but she does for no reason, and you still like her.You meet in front of a restaurant, the first time you've seen her since the accident.She hugged you, cried on your shoulder, then pulled away and playfully slapped you for not telling her sooner.Then you walk into this upscale fusion restaurant chain. "I don't know." You said, "I wanted to take a look too, but after I checked, he just asked me to put on my clothes and said that I would be notified when I got the results. Before I could put on my pants, he left already." "Whatever he's looking at, it's not a good thing," Sandra said. “Whatever it is, it definitely doesn’t fit with who I am. It’s weird that I’m walking around and talking like a normal person now,” you say, “especially since I was alive and kicking a week ago.” “Medical filings are always wrong,” said Sandra, a first-year UCLA law student at a medical class-action lawsuit firm. Company internship. "Maybe." You say. "What the hell is going on?" Sandra said, staring at your face for a moment, "You don't think your parents are lying, do you?" "Do you remember anything?" you ask, "everything after my car accident." "Your parents won't let any of us see you," Sandra said, looking tense, looking like she was trying not to accidentally say something she shouldn't say. "They didn't even tell us." She said. After a moment of hesitation, he said, "I didn't know this happened until Kehama forwarded the story from the Los Angeles Times to me on Facebook." "Another story?" you asked in surprise. "Yeah," Sandra said, "it's not really about you, it's about the bastard who ran the red light. He's a partner at Wellcome Larson Jenkins and Binying, most of the production companies outside lawyers." "I'll have to find that article," you say. "I'll send it to you." "thanks." "You almost died in the accident, and I only got information through the Los Angeles Times. I am very dissatisfied," Sandra said. "I should not be treated like this." "My mother hasn't liked you since you broke my heart," you tell her. “We were sophomores at the time,” Sandra said, “and you pulled yourself out of the slump and picked yourself up very quickly, because a week later you were stalking Jenna.” "Maybe." The so-called Jenner affair, in retrospect, was a troublesome time. "Anyway," Sandra said, "whether it's your father or your mother, if they don't want to tell me, they should tell Nellen, he's your best friend. Or tell Keel, Or Gwen. So we immediately realized that they didn't want us to see you. They said they didn't want us to see you like that." "That's what they told you?" you ask. Sandra was silent for a while, then said: "They didn't say it clearly, but we all knew what they said. They didn't want their son to be seen like that. They didn't want us to be like that. Memories. Nairen was the most determined to see you, you know. He even planned to come back from Princeton and camp out on your doorstep until your parents relented. Then you recovered." You smiled, remembering the crying and fussy conversation you had with Naylen when you called to tell him you were safe.Then you hold back your smile and say, "That doesn't make sense at all." "What do you mean?" Sandra asked. "My dad said I woke up and recovered before I lost my memory," you say. "He said I was acting normal for a while." "Okay," Sandra said. "So, why didn't I tell you?" You say, "When I lived here, we saw each other a lot every week. Why didn't I tell Nellen? We talked on the phone every day. Why wasn't I on Facebook Post a new status or diary? Why didn't I tell everyone I'm fine? If I really woke up, I would definitely do these things first." Sandra opened her mouth to say something, but then fell silent, lost in thought. "You're right. It doesn't make any sense," she said. "Normally you'd call us or text us or something. If for no other reason, you'd do it, otherwise we would have kill you." "Indeed." You said. "So you do think your parents are lying to you." "Maybe." "And you feel that the strange condition of your medical records is also involved." "Maybe." You repeated. "Do you think there is any connection between this?" "I don't know either." You admitted honestly. "You should know that legally speaking, you have a right to know about your own medical records." Sandra said, "If you think this matter is related to treatment, you should obviously start from here." "How long will it take?" you ask. "If you go to the hospital to check? They will make you write an application, throw it in the corner of the back room for a few days, and then give you a summary of the medical records." Sandra said, "maybe It will be useful, or it may not be." "I see you laughing, so I guess you have another plan," you say. Grinning, Sandra picked up her phone and called someone, and she sounded bright and enthusiastic, mentioned your name, then paused, waiting for you to tell her the name of the hospital.After a while she hung up the phone. "Who is it?" you ask. "My company sometimes needs to get information faster than the formal legal process," Sandra said. , he has his own informant at every hospital. You'll have your medical report by dinner time." "How do you know this guy?" you ask. "Huh? Do you think a partner at a law firm would let this guy's number appear on their contact list?" Sandra said. If you get caught, there is a way to get out cleverly. Just blame those stupid and self-willed law students. This is a genius idea." "Except for you, if your informant is caught." You said bluntly. Sandra shrugged. "I'll be fine," she said.You recall that her father sold his software company to Microsoft in the late 1990s for $3.6 billion, before the dot-com bubble burst.In a sense, law school and the like were a ridiculous existence to her. Sandra sensed the subtle expression on your face. "What's wrong?" she asked with a smile. "It's nothing." You said, "I just thought about the extravagant lifestyle of a speculative nouveau riche." "Then you'd better count yourself, you—this—a—big—learned—changed—eight—times—major—professional—yet—not— Poor bastard who knows what he's going to do," Sandra said, "I'm so sorry to see you alive and well. Woolen cloth." "I'll find something I want to do," you promise. "You're the worst of us," Sandra said curtly. "I've only changed majors four times." "And then spent years doing nothing before finally starting law school." "I started a new company," Sandra said, "and my dad is proud of it." You smile without saying a word. "Well, let's say I started this company with my dad and his friend's, and then I was announced as the spokesperson for the company, and someone else was in charge of the actual stuff," Sandra said, "So you Are you satisfied?" "Satisfied." You said. "But that's kind of a thing," Sandra said, "and I'm working on something real right now. Going from institute to institute isn't doing you any good. Your life doesn't need Just because you worry about it doesn't mean you can live without worrying about it. We all know people who get away with it. It's not a good life." "Indeed." You agree. "So have you found your purpose in life now?" Sandra asked. "My priority right now is to figure out what's going on with me," you say. "Only when I figure it out will I feel like I've got my life back. Otherwise, I don't feel like I've found my purpose." of."
You're standing naked in front of a mirror not because you're a naturalist, but because you're broken.Your iPad shows the medical records that Sandra's informants have investigated for you, including information about your car accident.There is also a picture of you in the hospital as you prepare for surgery; they also took a picture of your brain after the anesthesia. You scroll through the list of ruptured, punctured, and torn organs in your body like an anatomy paper in school.These photos look like the mannequins that the crew put all over the place in the low-budget horror movie your dad made when you were a kid.It looks like you are not far from death in the photo, and after all the treatment they did to rescue you, it stands to reason that at this moment, your best condition is nothing more than lying on your back with all kinds of bruises all over your body. She couldn't move on the bed, and all the places on her body that could be intubated were filled with tubes. But you are standing in front of the mirror, naked, without a single scrape on your body. Oh, still a little bit.You have a small gash on the back of your left hand, the prize of your thirteen-year-old tricks on the handlebars.And a very small, inconspicuous burn on your lower lip, from when you were sixteen and you leaned over to kiss Jenna Feichman and she ended up holding a lit cigarette to her mouth.There is also a small laparoscopy wound from eighteen months ago, which you have to peel off the pubic hair to see.Before a car accident, even the slightest injury leaves marks on your body that you will notice. And those scars have nothing to do with the car accident. Gone was the violent scrape that nearly scraped the skin off your right arm; There are shredded muscles and blood vessels in the body, and there is no evidence that it ever existed. You have been tossing and turning in front of the mirror for almost an hour, looking through all the injury records in your medical records, and then looking in the mirror for possible traces left on your body.Nothing at all.You have the impeccable fitness of a man in his early twenties, and it doesn't look like a car accident happened at all, or, at least, it didn't happen to you. You grab your iPad, turn it off, and force yourself not to look at your most recent MRI and the "what the hell?" the technician wrote on it because of the previous MRI and the latest results It's as different as the coast of Spain from the east coast of the United States.The previous MRI report showed that your best bet was to be an organ donor, but the latest report showed a healthy body with a brain healthy enough to be a specimen. There is only one word to describe this situation. "Impossible." You said to yourself while looking at yourself in the mirror.I am afraid that seeing this situation, anyone will say to you: "How is this possible." You look around your room, trying to see it from a stranger's perspective.It’s bigger than most people can afford a first apartment, and it’s filled with memorabilia from your past few years, and proof that you’ve changed majors while trying to figure out your purpose in life.On the table is your laptop, originally bought for writing screenplays and turned into your primary tool for checking Facebook updates from your friends.On the bookshelf is a stack of anthropology lecture notes, proof of a postgraduate degree certificate that you now know is a scrap of paper; it's just a procrastination device to escape the reality that you don't know what to do. You have a Nikon SLR camera on your bedside table. When you said you were thinking about taking photography, your mother bought it for you; you fiddled with it for a few weeks and then put it away.On the side is the script for "The Chronicles of the Intrepid," which is evidence of something you've done recently to test the waters to see if you can make it in TV. Like screenwriting, anthropology, and photography, it's not a life goal you want, and you already have the answers.Of course, like everything else, it takes a while to see the truth and get out of it.You realize you don't like anthropology when you get your degree.For script writing, it's when an agent has a twenty-minute absent-minded meeting with you for your father's sake.As for acting, you chose to resign after you starred in this episode, and then you come back to this room, looking for the next field to try. You're back in the mirror, looking at yourself again, naked and healthy, and wondering: Is being an organ donor more valuable to the world than being the healthiest body you can be now and doing nothing?
You lie motionless on the stretcher. "The Chronicle of the Intrepid" is being filmed, and it's getting more and more uncomfortable waiting for the crew to move en masse for the next shot.On the one hand, because of the special effect makeup that makes you look pale, weak, cold, sweaty and bruised, you have to have people put a layer of glycerin on your face from time to time, which feels like body lubricant; , the other two actors are staring at you from beginning to end. One of them is a bitch like you, named Brian Abnett, you can basically ignore him because you know you're the son of a producer and you know that no-name guy like this Actors are very happy to get close to you to improve their status. This behavior is called taking shortcuts by relying on relationships.You know what kind of guy he is, so you don't want anything to do with him. But the other is Mark Corey, who is the star of the show.He's already close enough to your dad that he doesn't need to court you to advance his career, and you can infer from Pake.com, Celebrity.com, and your dad's occasional comments that he doesn't Wasting his priceless precious time with you.So it's kind of weird that he keeps staring at you. For hours on end, you play the role of a patient in a deep coma, while Corey and another supporting character stay by your stretcher, engaging in a simulated space battle as they run around the aisle while carrying your stretcher. Then ran into the scene set up as an infirmary, and a group of cosplayers in uniforms of medical staff greeted you, poked you everywhere with space needles, and at the same time waved props that looked like high-end medical equipment, trying to diagnose you. The appearance of the condition.Every now and then you sneak your eyes open to see if Abnett or Corey is still staring at you.Usually one or the other of them is.The scene that really requires you to open your eyes is the moment you wake up from the coma.This time both eyes are on you.That's what it says in the script.But you can't help but wonder if one or both of them wanted to ask you out after today's shoot. It's finally the end of the day at work, you take off all that nasty makeup and say goodbye to your acting career officially.When you come out of the studio, Abnett and Corey are talking.You changed your course by some mysterious circumstance and stepped forward to the two of them. "Matthew." Mark greeted you when he saw you approaching. "What's going on?" you ask, the tone of your voice revealing that this is not a casual greeting, but a real question. "What do you mean?" Mark asked. "You two have been watching me all day," you say. "Uh, yeah," said Brian Abnett, "you're playing someone who's unconscious. We've been escorting your stretcher all day. So we've got to keep an eye on you." "Excuse me," you said to Abnett, "tell me what happened." Mark hesitated to speak, then turned to Abnet and said, "I will continue to work here in the future." Abnett smiled wryly: "Well, in this case, you can just push the red shirt to me." "That's not true," Mark said, "but he has a right to know." "I agree." Abnet said, patting Mark on the shoulder. "Leave it to me, Mark." "Thank you," Mark said, turning to you and saying, "Nice to meet you, Matthew. Really nice." Then he walked away quickly. After Mark walks away, you say to Abnett, "I don't know what you're talking about. I thought he didn't care about me at all." "How are you feeling, Matthew?" Abnet didn't answer your question directly. "What do you mean?" you ask. "I think you know what I mean," Abnett said. "Do you feel in good shape? Healthy? Rejuvenated?" You suddenly shiver. "You know." You say. "Yes," said Abnett, "and I see you do too. At least you know something." "But I don't know as much as you do," you said. Abnett said: "Well, maybe. Anyway, I think we should get out of here and have a drink somewhere. Probably a few drinks."
In the middle of the night, you go back to your room and stand in the middle of the room, searching for something.Search for information left for you. "Hearst left you a letter," Abnett told you in detail of what happened, everything that seemed so ridiculous, he said at last. "I don't know where because he didn't tell me. He told Kerensky, Kerensky told Mark, and Mark told me. Mark said it was in your room and only you could find it, Others don't even look at it. You don't usually pay attention to this place, unless you deliberately look for it." "Why would he do that?" you ask Abnett. "I don't know," said Abnett. "Maybe he thinks you might not find anything. And if you don't, why tell you? Maybe you'll find it hard to believe. I I couldn’t believe it myself, and then I met the character I was playing. I can tell you, it’s so weird. You’ve never seen the person you play, let alone believe it.” You have no doubts.You've found solid evidence.The proof is yourself. You turn on your computer, go through the folders one by one, looking for file names you have never seen in the piles of documents.Finding nothing, you sort the files by creation time and start looking at new documents added since the crash.still none.Then you open your e-mail to see if there is any e-mail you sent to yourself.No.Your Facebook page is filled with messages from high school, college, and grad school classmates who heard about your recovery and discharge from the hospital.There are none sent to yourself by you, and no new photos appear in the album.No hint of any information. You stand up from the table and turn around to look around the room.Then you go to the bookshelf and grab a stack of blank pages that you bought when you were thinking about being a playwright, thinking about jotting down ideas on paper that you might use in your next big book.You clatter over and they are still as empty as when you bought them new.You put the pages back on the shelf and your eyes land on the high school yearbook.You pull out those yearbooks, dust off the covers, turn the pages, and search for the newly added handwriting between the lines.still none.You put the yearbook back on the bookshelf, at this moment you notice another shape of falling dust on the bookshelf, which has traces of being passive, but it is not the shape of letting go of the book. You stare at the mark, then turn around and grab your camera from the nightstand.You slide open the memory card slot cover, pull the card out, plug it into your computer and open the photos folder, sorting the files by date modified. Since your accident, there are three new documents, a photo and two videos. The image file is someone's legs and shoes.You smiled.Then there's a video of a very shaky camera of a person walking around a room, shaking the camera back and forth as if trying to figure out how the thing works. Another video is about you.Your face appears on the screen, and there's a crackling sound as you position the camera so your face doesn't jump out of the frame.You sit in front of the camera.The autofocus lens hums for a while, and your image finally comes into focus. "Hi Matthew," you say, "I'm Jasper Hearst. I'm you. Pretty much. I've been with your family for a few days now, and I've been talking to them about you , they told me you haven't touched this camera in a year, I think it's a perfect vehicle to leave a message for you. If you wake up from the coma and continue walking your life path intact, you will You won't notice it, so it won't affect you. But since you found it, it means that you are actively looking for it. "If you're actively looking, something's up. You must have sensed that something was wrong and no one bothered to tell you the details; or someone told you and you didn't believe it. If it's the first case, Well, no, you didn't go crazy, you didn't have a nervous breakdown. You didn't take a major hit either. You did have a serious traumatic brain injury, but it wasn't your current body, so don't worry, your body Everything is functional. Also, you don't have amnesia. You don't remember these things because you haven't experienced them. I think it's pretty straightforward. "If you've been told all this and you don't believe it, I hope this convinces you. If not, well, I don't really know how to explain it to you. Believe what you want to believe. But also Let me save face and listen to what I have to say." In the video, Hearst, who looks like you but is not you, is scratching his head with his fingers, then looking around, as if trying to think about what to say next. "Well, here's what I'm going to say. I guess I exist because you exist. Although, I really can't explain it logically, I think, the day you asked your father if you could try acting,命运的车轮就开始转动了。在我生活的世界中，事件被扭曲、改变，行使着它们的使命，于是我出生了，过着我的人生，而你在你的世界中扮演并支配着我的一切。我不知道这一切是怎么做到的，为什么会这样，但它就发生了，事实就是这样。 “我们的命运交缠在一起，因为在某种意义上我们就是一个人，只是隔着漫长而广袤的时空。正因为如此，我想我可以问你一个问题。 “老实说，马修，我们活着到底为了什么？ “我和你的家人谈论过关于你的事，你已经知道了。他们很爱你。大家都很爱你。所以当你发生车祸的时候，他们觉得仿佛被人猛地刺穿了心脏。真的，他们如此珍爱你，这真令人感动。但是，既然你就是我，我得重申，他们觉得你应该好好规划你的人生了。他们说过你是怎样的兴趣广泛，你是怎样坐等着出现一件事能让你发掘自己的潜能，虽然他们没有直白地说出来，但我想告诉你，你得快点儿长大。 “我知道这一点，因为我自己也一样。显然的，毕竟我就是你。我一直漫无目的地过了好几年，马修。我并不是有什么动机才加入宇联舰队的，而是我自己都不知道要做什么。然后我觉得，就算我没有目标，我也可以看看宇宙，对吧？不过即使我做出了这个决定，我也不过是最低限度地完成自己的任务而已。我找不到竭尽全力的理由。 “这样并不坏。说实话我甚至觉得自己非常睿智。我回避开了这样那样的事。但当我来到这里，看见你处于脑死亡的状态，全身插着各式各样的管子维持生命时，我意识到我并没有回避开所有的事情，就像你没能回避掉这场事故一样。你就只是出生，四处游逛了一番，被一辆车撞了，然后死亡，这就是你完整的人生故事。就算你什么都不做，也没能回避掉这样的人生。 “马修，你现在能看到这一切，是因为我们中的一个终于用他的生命做了些有用的事情。那是我。我决定救你的命。我和你交换了身体，因为我觉得，如果这么做有用，我就能用你那残破不堪的身体在我的世界中生活下去，而你也能在我的身体中活下来。如果我错了，那么我们就一起死，或者你活下去而我死去，那样的话我就是为了拯救你而死去的。是的，这对我来说糟透了，不过在你父亲的剧本里，我的性命可从没有被赋予过这么高尚的使命。考虑这一切的话，即使我死了，那也会是最好的死亡方式。 “不过我决定透露给你一个秘密。我觉得这么做一定会有用。别问我为什么——拜托，别问我关于这个状况的任何问题——我就是觉得它会奏效。如果我们成功了，我只想从你那里获得一个回报。那就是你踏实地去做点事情。不要再无所事事了。不要不停地尝试，厌烦了就放弃。不要等待事情的降临。这太愚蠢了。你只是在浪费时间。你几乎把你的时间都挥霍得一干二净。你很幸运，我来到了你的世界，但我觉得这样的事情不会再发生第二次。 “我也会做一样的事情。我不会再放任自己了，马修。我们的生命都不可理喻得荒唐，但如果我努力地去生活的话——如果我和无畏号上所有的伙伴们都一起努力地生活的话——我们就能做到我们的世界中别人做不到的事情，有机会掌控自己的命运。我决定接受这个挑战。我还不知道具体该怎么做，但是我一定不会再回避它了。 “你也不会了对吧，马修。我也不指望你立刻就知道该做什么。但我希望你能够找出答案。综合考虑一下，我觉得这是一个合情合理的请求。 “欢迎来到你的新生命，马修。这一次别浪费了。” 赫斯特伸手关掉了相机。 你关闭了视频窗口，合上笔记本电脑，转身看见你的父亲，正站在房间门口。 “你没有失忆。”他说，脸上还有泪痕。 “我知道。”你回答。
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