My five-year-old daughter Zoey Perez has autism. She refuses to speak and spends her days drawing with crayons on paper. When a classmate had a birthday party, she gave that child a portrait she’d drawn. But after taking one look at the drawing, that little boy jumped from the building. The child’s parents insisted that Zoey’s drawing killed their son, forcing me to transfer Zoey to another school. But when Zoey gave out her second portrait, another child jumped from a building. Zoey attracted massive attention online. Even the police listed Zoey as a prime suspect. However, whether examining the portrait itself or reviewing Zoey’s kindergarten surveillance footage, they couldn’t find anything wrong. I didn’t dare let Zoey draw anymore and hurriedly moved with her to another city. Two years later, I gave birth to my second child. But at her baby shower, Zoey drew another portrait… ***** Ever since Zoey developed autism, she’s been obsessed with drawing. She doesn’t like to talk, refuses to communicate, and won’t even speak to her former friends—she just immerses herself completely in the world of art. But when Zoey’s best friend Ayla Clark was celebrating her birthday at kindergarten, Zoey suddenly took the initiative to draw Ayla an adorable portrait as a gift. “Thank you, Zoey,” Ayla said. She froze the moment she finished speaking because she saw herself in the drawing. There was nothing wrong with the portrait itself, but Ayla’s expression turned to one of terror. Under everyone’s puzzled gazes, Ayla clutched the drawing and rushed out of the classroom. Five minutes later, a loud crash came from outside the window. When the teacher reached the scene, she found that Ayla had jumped from the building. The portrait she was still gripping tightly instantly became the focus of this tragedy. Even Ayla’s parents were convinced that Zoey had killed their daughter. But how could that be possible? My daughter was only five years old—she didn’t even understand what “death” meant, so how could she have encouraged someone to commit suicide? More importantly, Ayla was her best friend at kindergarten. Both the school and police classified the incident as suicide. But Ayla’s mother, Iris Clark, firmly believed her daughter couldn’t have killed herself. She came to the kindergarten and caused a huge scene. She shouted, “You say your daughter doesn’t understand anything—well, did mine understand then? “It was her birthday! We had just promised to take her to Disneyland that weekend. Her wish hadn’t even come true yet—how could she have jumped?” The homeroom teacher quickly tried to calm her down: “Mrs. Clark, I understand how you feel, but we’ve checked the surveillance footage. When Ayla fell, there really wasn’t anyone else around her.” Finally, at Iris’s insistence, the school pulled up the surveillance footage again. When Iris noticed the terrified expression on Ayla’s face after seeing the portrait, she angrily confronted me. She raged, “You still say this has nothing to do with you? Ayla only showed that kind of expression when she was extremely frightened. You must have done something to that drawing! You’re a monster!” But Zoey’s face remained expressionless. She didn’t even glance at Iris, just focused on drawing her favorite little animals with her crayons on the paper. Iris eventually made this incident public. The other children’s parents in the class gradually began to have opinions too. Fearing that Zoey would face discrimination, my husband Josh Perez and I transferred Zoey to another school.
But just one month after Zoey arrived at the new kindergarten, another little girl jumped from a building. This little girl, like Ayla, received Zoey’s portrait on her birthday, took the drawing, and jumped. The entire process took less than five minutes. Two similar kindergarten suicide cases occurring within three months drew serious attention not only from the school but from society as a whole. The only common factor in both suicide cases was Zoey and the portraits she had given out. Zoey became completely notorious. Countless people came to our house, some even bringing photos and offering high prices for Zoey to draw their portraits, but I turned them all away. I still firmly believed these were all accidents. Zoey was only five years old—how could she possibly have such strange abilities? But under social pressure, the police still treated Zoey as a prime suspect. They pulled all the surveillance footage of Zoey at the kindergarten and discovered she had never spoken to either victim, so they focused their attention on those two portraits. Art experts and psychologists conducted detailed studies and unanimously concluded there was nothing wrong with the drawings. However, Zoey’s teacher raised a concern: “Because Zoey has autism, I pay special attention to her every move since she enrolled. Although she draws from morning to night, her pictures are always of small animals and flowers—never people. The portraits she gave out are the only human figures I’ve ever seen her draw. That’s very strange.” Her words immediately caught the police’s attention. But when questioned by police officers and psychologists, Zoey chose silence, simply focusing on her drawing. The psychologist said helplessly, “She has severe autism. Until her condition improves, she won’t speak.” After the police and doctors left, Josh and I tried to communicate with her: “Zoey, if you don’t want to talk, can you draw it? Why did you give them portraits?” Zoey drew a cake on the paper. “Zoey probably means it was their birthday, so she wanted to give them gifts,” Josh said. I continued asking her: “But why portraits? Don’t you love drawing little animals? Why didn’t you give them animal drawings instead?” Instead of answering my question on the white paper, Zoey drew a rainbow-colored pony and handed it to me. After staring at that rainbow horse drawing for a long time, I asked: “Zoey, today is my birthday. Would you like to give me a portrait as a birthday gift?” Zoey looked up and flashed an eerie smile.
But her smile vanished immediately, as if Christian’s smile had been just my imagination. I rubbed my eyes and realized Zoey hadn’t even looked up. Josh snatched the crayon from Zoey’s hand and angrily blamed me: “Are you insane? Have you forgotten how those two children died?” What was the cause of death? Was it related to Zoey? I couldn’t believe it. I pushed him away and said, “Zoey, don’t be afraid. I believe in you.” Zoey showed no reaction. She simply took out a new crayon from the box and began drawing on the white paper. Five minutes later, she handed me the drawing. It wasn’t a portrait of me, but a golden crown. Then she drew another picture and handed it to Josh. She had actually drawn Josh’s angry expression on the paper. The moment Josh saw that drawing, his anger exploded again. He grabbed Zoey’s collar tightly: “Why did you draw me! Why!” “Josh, are you crazy? She’s just a child!” I rescued Zoey from his grasp. After living together for so long, Josh had never lost his temper with her like this. I was certain Zoey must be terrified. But when I tried to comfort her, she walked expressionlessly back to her previous spot and sat down to continue drawing. Josh angrily threw all the crayons and paper from the table into the trash: “I’m throwing all of this away. Let’s see how you draw now!” No crying, no fussing. Zoey slowly stood up like an emotionless puppet and walked into her room. I hurried over to Josh and took his hand to calm him: “Josh, those were all coincidences. Don’t even you believe in our daughter? “Besides, you’re fine right now, aren’t you? If Zoey’s drawings really had the power to make people commit suicide, then why are you still standing here perfectly fine?” My reasoning seemed to work, and Josh gradually calmed down: “I’m sorry, I got scared just now. I’ll go apologize to Zoey right away. She must be terrified. Children with autism have very fragile hearts.” I nodded and watched him leave. The series of accidents had everyone’s nerves on edge, so I could understand Josh’s outburst today. But less than five minutes after Josh entered Zoey’s room, I suddenly heard Zoey’s scream. My heart immediately jumped to my throat. I rushed toward Zoey’s room. Zoey sat at her little desk, holding a watercolor pen, quietly drawing something, but Josh was nowhere to be seen. I saw that the window, which had been tightly closed, was suddenly open, and a terrible feeling washed over me. I walked to the window’s edge, trembling. With just one glance, I nearly fainted. Josh lay in a pool of blood with a look of terror on his face. He had jumped to his death. What on earth was happening! I ran crying to Zoey’s side: “Zoey!” But when I saw the “portrait of Josh” that Zoey had just finished drawing, I completely broke down. Josh was still clutching the portrait showing his angry expression in his hand. Since there were no surveillance cameras in the room, I had no way of knowing what exactly happened between him and Zoey. The police investigated for a long time but couldn’t find any useful clues. But I went crazy and grabbed Zoey’s shoulders. “Why did you hurt your father! He’s your biological father! Why would you do this!” This time Zoey didn’t bury her head in drawing. Instead, she looked at me with innocent wide eyes, saying nothing. She showed no sadness, no confusion. Her calmness was terrifying. “Why is it that everyone who sees your drawings jumps off buildings!” I cried out in anguish. In that moment, I forgot I was a mother. As a wife, I couldn’t accept that my beloved husband had died so inexplicably. I even begged my five-year-old daughter desperately. “Your drawings can make people commit suicide, right? Draw me a portrait too, let me die as well!” The police quickly helped me up, trying to comfort me. “Mrs. Hurst, please accept our condolences. We’ve examined the scene. Your husband did indeed commit suicide, and it has nothing to do with your daughter.” Yes. A five-year-old child, no matter how strong, couldn’t possibly push a grown man out of a window. But why would he commit suicide? Because I was so desperate to know the truth behind Josh’s suicide, I developed a mental illness. Zoey had to be sent to live with her grandparents. Due to the previous bizarre jumping incidents, the police arranged for a psychologist to regularly treat Zoey’s autism and placed her under twenty-four-hour surveillance. When Josh’s parents came to pick up Zoey, I made only one request. “You absolutely cannot let Zoey draw.” After treatment at the psychiatric hospital for some time, my mental condition improved. After emerging from the shadow of losing my husband, I married my psychologist, Martin Gray. The second year, I gave birth to our child. She was a lovely girl, and we named her Elsie Gray. I thought of my Zoey. Seeing the sadness in my eyes, Martin smiled and said, “My friend who works at the police station told me that Zoey is doing well now. “Through a year of surveillance tracking, the police found no similar suicide cases around Zoey. “And after being forbidden to draw, Zoey fell in love with playing piano.” “Really?” I could hardly believe it. Martin suggested, “Zoey lost her father and must be suffering too. We can’t let her lose her mother as well. “On Elsie’s full-month celebration, let’s bring Zoey over. I’m confident I can help her recover.” I nodded in agreement. Thinking about how I blamed Josh’s suicide on Zoey, I felt terrible. “I’m afraid Zoey will hate me.” “She won’t,” Martin said. With Martin’s encouragement, I brought Zoey back to live with us. “Zoey, I’m sorry. Mommy was wrong before. Can you forgive me?” I said. She didn’t answer, just gave a faint smile and walked over to the cradle. I patiently introduced her: “Zoey, this is your little sister. Her name is Elsie, and just like you, she’s Mommy’s precious baby.” She didn’t speak, just quietly watched the baby, seemingly full of curiosity about her. Many people came to Elsie’s full-month celebration, and Martin went to greet the guests. Just then, my phone rang. It was Officer Caleb O’Neal calling. He had been in charge of those three bizarre “jumping suicide” cases, and I had saved his number. But he hadn’t contacted me for over a year. Why was he calling now? I couldn’t help but feel nervous and quickly walked to a quiet corner to answer. “Is this Jane Hurst, Zoey Perez’s mother?” Caleb asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Is Zoey with you right now?” I glanced at Zoey, who was gently rocking the cradle, and said, “Yes, is there anything I can help you with?” “Listen to me, Zoey is very dangerous right now.” Caleb’s voice was urgent. “I just received word that Zoey’s grandparents jumped off a building and committed suicide shortly after Zoey was picked up by you. They were both holding portraits that Zoey had drawn of them.” “What!” A chill ran down my spine. I ran to Zoey in terror, only to witness a scene I would never forget.
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