Weeks had passed since Mark had been brought to the secluded safe house. His memories had slowly begun to stabilize, but there were gaps—crucial gaps that Otim had carefully ensured remained. Mark's mind was like a puzzle, and Otim had made sure to remove the pieces that could lead him back to the truth.
Mark sat at the small wooden table in the kitchen, picking at the food on his plate. The room was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of cutlery. Otim sat across from him, his expression calm but watchful as he observed Mark.
"How are you feeling today?" Otim asked, his tone casual but probing.
Mark looked up, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the question. "Better, I think. My head doesn't hurt as much, and I… I remember more things now."
Otim nodded, his expression unreadable. "That's good. Your memory is stabilizing. That's a sign of progress."
Mark hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he tried to piece together the fragments of his thoughts. "You're Dr. Otim, right? My mother's doctor?"
Otim's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "That's right. I've been taking care of you since… since the accident."
Mark's expression softened, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you. I don't remember much about what happened, but I know you've been helping me."
Otim nodded, his tone gentle. "It's my job. And I'm glad to see you improving."
Otim reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stack of photos, sliding them across the table to Mark. "I thought these might help. They're pictures of your family. Do you recognize them?"
Mark picked up the photos, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped through them. The first was a picture of Dad, stern but kind, standing in front of the family home. The next was Monica, her calm demeanor captured perfectly in the image. Then came Jacqueline, Emily, Jerry, and finally, a photo of me, my bright smile lighting up the frame.
Mark's eyes softened as he looked at the photos, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I remember them. This is my family."
Otim watched him closely, his expression carefully neutral. "That's good. It's important to hold onto those memories."
Mark nodded, his gaze lingering on the photo of his mother. His smile faded, replaced by a look of sadness. "I… I think she was killed. My mom, I mean. I don't know why, but I just… I feel like it wasn't an accident."
Otim's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained calm. "What makes you say that?"
Mark shook his head, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall. "I don't know. It's just a feeling. Like there's something I'm supposed to remember, but I can't."
Otim leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, after a traumatic event, the mind creates stories to fill in the gaps. It's possible that's what's happening here."
Mark looked up at him, his eyes searching. "But what if it's not? What if someone really did kill her?"
Otim hesitated, his gaze steady. "Do you know who it might have been?"
Mark shook his head, his frustration evident. "No. I don't remember. I just… I feel like there's something I'm missing."
Otim nodded, his tone soothing. "It's natural to feel that way. But for now, the most important thing is your recovery. You need to focus on getting better."
Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I wish I could remember more. It's like there's a fog in my mind, and I can't see through it."
Otim studied him for a moment, then reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "This might help. It's a mild sedative. It can help calm your mind and make it easier to focus. But I'm afraid you have had enough."
Mark's eyes lit up with recognition. "The propofol. You've been giving it to me, haven't you?"
Otim nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes. It's been helping with your recovery."
Mark hesitated, his gaze flicking to the vial. "Can I have some now? I feel like it might help me remember."
Otim's jaw tightened slightly, but his tone remained calm. "I don't think that's a good idea. You've been making progress without it. Too much propofol can be dangerous."
Mark's expression fell, his frustration evident. "But it helps. I feel… clearer when I take it."
Otim shook his head, his tone firm but gentle. "I understand, but your body needs to heal naturally. You're strong enough now to do that without the sedative."
Mark looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumping. "I just… I want to remember. I want to know what happened."
Otim reached across the table, placing a hand on Mark's arm. "And you will. But it's going to take time. You need to be patient."
Mark looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and desperation. "When can I go home? When can I see my family?"
Otim hesitated, his expression softening. "Soon. You're almost ready. But we need to make sure you're strong enough first."
Mark nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Okay. I'll do whatever it takes. I just… I need to see them."
Otim gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I know. And you will. But for now, let's focus on your recovery. One step at a time."
Mark nodded again, his gaze drifting back to the photos on the table. He picked up the one of his mother, his fingers tracing the edges of the frame. "I miss her," he whispered, his voice breaking.
Otim's expression softened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something Mark didn't notice. "I know you do. And she would be proud of how far you've come."
Mark didn't respond, his mind already drifting back to the fragments of memories he couldn't quite grasp. But for now, he was content to sit there, surrounded by the faces of his family, and hold onto the hope that he would see them again soon.
As Mark sat lost in thought, Otim observed him, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't keep Mark there forever. Eventually, the family would come looking, and when they did, he needed to be ready. But for now, he would play the role of the caring doctor, guiding Mark's recovery while carefully controlling what he remembered.
Because the truth was too dangerous—for both of them.