The voices calling out to me, their desperate pleas, they resonate within me, as if they are yearning for my presence, pleading for my return.
I answer their call with a resounding shout, "I'm here!" "Yes, I'm here!" "Please, help me escape from this place!"
Desperation etched across my face and trembling in my voice, I wish they could perceive my presence.
I drop to my knees, pressing my face against the ground, pounding it gently with my hand as a solitary tear trickles down my cheek to the earth. In my silent cries, I pray they can hear my plea.
Out of nowhere, this massive, blinding light burst forth, like a window flinging itself open beneath me, greedily swallowing up my entire existence. I found myself irresistibly pulled into its radiant core, descending into the very heart of its brilliance.
In an instant, a beam of light pierced one of my eyes, a figure looming over me as they did it. I lay on a bed, wrapped in covers, and the distinctive scent of antiseptic filled the air. Could this be a hospital? Had I not died after all?
I blinked my eyes open, a touch irritated, and mumbled, "You're blinding me here, can you take that thing away?"
The doctor's face contorted with surprise, and they whispered, "Oh my god..."
He dashed out of the room, shouting, "Hold on! Don't leave! He's awake! He's out of his coma!"
Coma? I couldn't wrap my head around it. It felt like I'd been trapped in hell. How long had this coma lasted?
Out of the blue, two figures burst into the room along with the doctor – an elderly woman and a young boy. Their faces registered shock as they rushed to my side, enveloping me in tight hugs. Tears streamed down the woman's face as she choked out, "I thought you'd never wake up... I was terrified, I thought I had lost you forever. I prayed day and night for you!"
I was taken aback, unable to form a coherent reply. My gaze shifted between their faces until it finally settled on the doctor, who somberly delivered the news, "You were in a coma for a full month. We had almost lost hope that you would ever wake up."
My confusion grew as I tried to make sense of the situation. A whole month? It felt like mere hours had passed. But something was amiss. These faces, so familiar yet shrouded in mystery, seemed to tug at the fringes of my memory.
I stammered, "But who are you? I'm sorry, but it appears my memory is a blur. I can't seem to grasp it. Every time I try to remember or imagine, I get fleeting glimpses that vanish into nothingness, leaving only emptiness behind."
The elderly woman's eyes locked onto mine, tears streaming down her face.
The doctor stepped in, explaining, "They're your family. She's your mother, and he's your younger brother. Don't stress about not remembering; it's perfectly normal, especially given what you've been through."
There was a brief silence before he regarded me with a reassuring expression.
He went on, "It's almost as if your brain is protecting you by keeping those memories locked away. It's not a physical issue with your body; it's more about safeguarding your mental well-being. Those memories, they could be really traumatic and wreak havoc on your sanity. Do you follow?"
I couldn't help but wonder why this was all happening. What had occurred to make my mind so stubborn in holding onto these memories?
"But I can still remember who I am," I protested, confusion knitting my brows. "What could have happened that made my mind want to hide these memories? What is it trying to shield me from?"
The doctor's response came across like a robotic script. "I can't reveal much," he said, his tone unemotional. "We don't have permission to disclose details in your case. As you can see," he continued, pointing to my chest,
"we performed surgery on you. You should be fully healed by now, as it's been a month. Your mind's defense mechanism seems to be safeguarding you from profound distress by locking away certain memories. While your connections with others may have temporarily faded, your core identity, beliefs, and personal traits are intact."
I gazed at him, my curiosity piqued. "I get how it works," I began, "but who's stopping you from telling me what really went down?"
I turned my gaze towards my mother and brother, disbelief etching across my face. "My family?" I stammered.
The doctor hesitated before responding, "No, it's not them. It's..."
The door swung open abruptly, and a man with jet-black hair and intense, sunlit brown eyes entered the room.
His presence carried an air of authority as he strode toward me, locking his gaze onto mine. Without wasting a second, he introduced himself with a stern tone.
"Hey there," he began, his words tinged with a sense of urgency.
"I'm Noah, a cop working this investigation. I've got to chat with you, and it might just turn out that you're a crucial witness. Or, who knows, you could even be tangled up in some criminal mess. Either way, I'm here to find out."
Noah's piercing gaze bore into me, his eyes seeming to accuse me of unspeakable acts.
Intense stare screamed "guilty" without a single word. Panic gripped me; I had just emerged from one torment only to be thrust into another living nightmare.
I silently pleaded for some semblance of compassion in this new, bewildering chapter of my life.
Noah glanced at my family and then back at me, his tone stern as he asserted, "I require a private conversation with him, without any interruptions."
What could he want from me, and how was I involved in whatever had transpired during my memory's absence?
My mother's anger was palpable as she fixed a fiery gaze on Noah, her words laden with frustration, "What more do you want from him now? He's just come back to us! Can't you give him a moment's peace? You've been here every single day for a month. Please, just leave us be!"
Noah's smile was mocking, his tone deadly serious as he retorted, "Don't be so sure. Even if he's your son, you might not understand the full extent of what's happening. You have no idea what's swirling around him. Your stance could obstruct the path of justice and the law, possibly landing you in jail!"
She seemed utterly shocked, a look of helplessness in her eyes. Lost for words.
My anger boiled over, I grew frustrated and shouted, "That's bloody enough! I'll talk to him. Just put an end to this! And Mom, I'm fine, I can handle it. Please, go home and get some rest."
The room fell into an eerie silence after they departed, leaving only me and him. He settled into a chair beside me, his gaze furious. "Ethan," he said, his voice cutting through the stillness, "does that name mean anything to you?"