When I woke up, I didn't know where I was. The world seemed distant, like a thick fog, and the vague images in my head didn't add up to a complete picture. All I knew was that I was alive - and that was the main miracle.
"You're in the hospital," the nurse said.
Her voice was calm, but I barely registered it, as I was still in some kind of half-asleep state. I looked up and saw her. At first it seemed to me that I was getting something mixed up, that my memory had finally played a cruel joke on me.
In front of me stood a girl whose features were almost an exact copy of my dead wife's face when she was 22 years old. Black hair, the exact shape of her lips, even those same eyes... I froze in confusion, unable to utter a word.
The nurse noticed my silence and continued softly but confidently:
"Everything is fine. We saved you. You are in the Vancouver City Hospital. A few weeks after you were found on the lake, you managed to regain consciousness."
I found it hard to breathe. A lot of thoughts raced through my head. The lake. The water. Robert. I tried to focus, but the memories were crumbling like old buildings. It was as if my brain didn't want to cooperate.
"Don't worry," she continued, noticing my concern. "The sappers who were sailing around the northern shore of the lake in motorboats found you two days after the disaster. Half-naked, unconscious. They pulled you out of the water.
Disaster... Robert... I froze. Where is he? Why couldn't they find him? Where was he? I tried to ask, but my voice wouldn't come out. My throat was like a dry rag, and I was too weak to speak.
"Everything will be fine," the nurse said, understanding my look. "We did everything possible to bring you to your senses. But your wounds and injuries were serious. That whole situation... The disaster... We found no trace of the other person.
Robert. Where is he? I tried to speak again, but the words wouldn't come. That girl's eyes... she was so much like my wife, so much like her that I felt a lump in my throat.
"Was there anyone else with you?" the nurse asked calmly, but with a hint of worry in her voice. "Maybe the one who was there when they found you? We didn't find any traces of anyone else, just you."
I fell silent. The answer was simple: Robert was gone. He was lost in this catastrophe, just like the monstrous events that had brought me here. I didn't know what had happened to him. It was as if he had dissolved into this terrible reality.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything that had come before - the moment when I was with him, when we ran, when we fought those unimaginable forces. But it was all gone. He was gone.
How could I have been alone? Why hadn't he survived? Why was I the only one in this place, with this face of a nurse who looked like my wife, who was no longer even there? How much more could I have survived? And most importantly, why did all this seem unreal?
Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and bitter, like the memories they brought. Robert... my Juliet... It was all like a crazy dream that didn't want to end. I sat on the bed, rooted to the spot, lost, alone, and didn't know what to do with myself. The doctor's lamps on the ceiling pulsed slightly with their cold light, as if this world was trying to squeeze me out, throw me out.
I didn't understand what was happening. Where was Robert? Where was he? Why was I in this hospital and he was gone? He was there, in our world, in those strange events, but now... now he was gone.
And then she came. The nurse whose eyes were so much like my wife's, the one I had lost so many years ago. She sat down next to me, and I felt her gaze full of compassion - but something was wrong. Maybe I was wrong, but there seemed to be a strange wariness in her movements. She was still looking at me intently, with a slight surprise on her face, as if she were studying me, trying to understand what was going on inside.
I wiped my eyes and tried to pull myself together, but I couldn't. The pain was too strong, and all the memories seemed to flash and disappear in a minute.
"You don't have to worry," she said quietly, her voice soft but unsure. "You've been through a lot. Just relax."
I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath. But her words sounded in my head like a strange echo: "We've been through a lot..." Yes, but why do I feel so empty? Why can't I find Robert yet?
I opened my eyes again and looked at her face. It was her look. It was that same indescribable mixture of pain and tenderness that I had once seen in my wife's eyes. She was so much like her... and something about her presence made me feel like I was losing something else, something important.
"You… you seem very lonely," the nurse said, as if she had sensed my thoughts. "I can help you. I… I'm here to help people like you…"
I immediately felt a new stream of pain brewing in my chest. I couldn't help but notice her attention. This woman, this nurse, who was so similar to my wife... Suddenly, in a moment of weakness, in a moment of unbearable melancholy, I felt that she might actually want to help me. But something in me resisted it.
"Maybe I'm wrong, maybe she really just wants to be kind, to help me," I thought, "but I can't accept it. I can't…"
At that moment, her gaze became more wary. She clasped her hands on her chest, and a strange, vague anxiety flashed in her eyes. Something in her behavior changed, and I realized: she noticed how I was looking at her. And now, perhaps, she felt it.
"Are you in love with me, silly bitch?" the darkness of the lump in my chest suddenly spilled out into my voice.
I didn't even realize what I said, but as soon as the words left my lips, I felt like I wanted to shut up.
She seemed to freeze. Silent. Only her eyes became deeper, and for a moment it seemed that there was some kind of shadow in them.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I looked at her, feeling the darkness swallow me up again. Yes, I was alone. But did it matter? After all, how could she understand me? How could anyone understand someone who had lost everything they held dear?
The silence around us became even thicker. It was as if the air itself was thickening, as if I was surrounded by some indescribable weight.
"What's your name?!" I shouted when the orderly approached me, but she was already leaving without even turning around.
My words echoed around the empty hospital room, but she didn't seem to hear. She moved so quickly, like there was no time to stop, even though I knew I needed to ask that question. It was the only question I could ask to understand what was happening. The only one that would make any sense.
I looked at her back, at her hair that was swaying in the air, and it was as if I felt my soul trying to escape from my body. I was in a panic, unable to believe what had happened. Fear was squeezing me, and a vague feeling of anxiety would not leave me.
"Asia... Her name was Asia, I'm in another world... I'm dead..."
This thought was taking root in my head more and more. I tried to remember her face, her features, how she moved, how she spoke... All the memories merged into one continuous blur. All I remembered was her face, minor details, and that she was the same as my wife at the age of 22, when I hadn't even met her yet (after all, I saw her in real life only at 42).
Now that I thought about it, a chill ran through me. If her name was really Asia, if it was her, then I wasn't alive. I was in another world, in some kind of transitional state where there was no future anymore. And if that was true, then why should I even fight for life? What should I do if it was already over?
I looked at the orderly again. He stood there and said nothing. His face was impassive, and I realized that he wasn't even trying to understand what was going on in my head.
"Do you want something?" he finally asked, as if I wasn't interesting to him.
But I didn't care. I couldn't think about him when these crazy thoughts kept beating in my head.
"If her name is Asia, I'm in another world, and all I can do is just accept it. If not, then maybe there's a chance that I'm really alive, that I've come back... from that world..."
I didn't know what to think. Each of these options was scary in its own way. Suddenly I wanted to scream, to say something, but I didn't know what. It was a helpless feeling, as if I was trapped somewhere, locked in an empty world with no way out.
And so, when I looked again at the door through which the nurse had disappeared, my gaze slowed. I saw the figure of a man I had not expected to see appear in the doorway. It was Professor Godshill, a renowned Canadian psychologist whose work had long been considered classics in his field. His reputation was impeccable, and now he was sitting right in front of me.
He pulled an antique cane chair up to my bed, sat down and looked at me without further ado. His eyes were cold and attentive, and I couldn't find the slightest warmth in them, only the sternness of a professional.
"You want my opinion?" he finally said, with a slight grin, as if this situation was completely ordinary for him. "Then, before I start talking, you should tell me what you think about it yourself. So, what do you think about everything that happened to you?"
I remained silent for a few seconds. We both knew that this question was not just a formality. Professor Godshill wanted to hear not just my reaction, but to understand where I was in my mind, what was happening to me, how I perceived this madness.
I sighed heavily. The question was not an easy one. It concerned not only what had happened, but also how I perceived reality in this strange place. I thought about it, and then, as if speaking out loud, I said:
"I... I don't know. I feel like I'm in some kind of nightmare, some parallel world. I thought it might be a dream, but it's all too real, too vivid. What if... what if I'm really dead? What if this is all that's left of me?"
Professor Godshill listened to me in silence, but his eyes did not change expression. He made a note in his notebook and looked at me again, as if evaluating my words.
"It's a classic case of cognitive dissonance," he finally said, shaking his head. "You're trying to reconcile what's happening with what you've come to perceive as reality. You don't even realize that you've taken a step toward a different perception. You've experienced something extremely traumatic, and your mind is trying to find an explanation for it."
I fell silent, trying to understand his words. He continued, not giving me time to think.
"This is your defense," Godshill continued, "your attempt to come to terms with what you've experienced. You're looking for an explanation because you can't accept what happened. You want to go back to the way things were, to a world where everything was clear and simple. But you're in a different place now, and now your job is to learn to live with it.
"What if I can't?" I asked quietly.
The professor sighed and finally answered:
"It's unlikely that anyone can do it right away. But that doesn't mean you can't learn. Everything you're going through is a normal reaction to stress. You need time to figure out what's happening to you and accept it. Yes, it will be hard for you. Yes, it can be unbearable. But you're here, you're alive, and that's something."
I looked at him, trying to figure out if his calm confidence was helping or if it was just another reminder that I was losing my grip on reality.
"What should I do now?" I asked.
Professor Godshill glanced at me and casually put down his notebook.
"Everything will depend on you. Your mind, your emotions are your tools, and you decide how to use them. You have already taken the first step - you admitted that not everything is clear. But if you want to move forward, you must accept this chaos. And in this chaos you will begin to find answers."
He stood up, getting ready to leave, and turned to me again:
"Remember, you are not alone in your perception. Everyone faces such moments, even if they are not so obvious. Don't try to run from what you don't understand. Sometimes the best way is to simply accept and move on."
The professor paused, as if giving his words time to sink in before continuing. I sat in the hospital bed, his words echoing from another world, not in line with what was happening around me. As if he wasn't talking about what was happening in my life, but about something much more important than simple reality. I had to understand that I wasn't alone in this situation, that the very fact that I didn't understand was part of something much larger.
The professor sitting by my bed in the hospital smiled very slyly when the conversation turned to Robert. There was a look in his eyes that I had never seen in people before, and I didn't expect to see myself. He seemed almost happy that I couldn't understand what was happening around me. His look was mixed with some strange relief, as if he knew that I wasn't ready for all the answers yet, but was already walking down that path.
"Robert..." I whispered, trying to find some clue in his expression. "What's wrong with him?"
The professor didn't answer right away. His smile didn't disappear, and this only increased the anxiety inside me. It was as if he was playing with my thoughts, knowing that I still couldn't unfold the whole picture.
"You can't understand everything at once, Anton," he said, as if it were obvious. "It's impossible. You're too preoccupied with what you see, and not with what's hidden."
I continued to look at him, unable to express everything that was happening inside me. I was on the edge between what I knew and what I could learn if I allowed myself to take the next step. Everything I heard, every word he said, was not enough for me to understand the whole picture. But that smile of the professor, his strange silence, seemed like a key that could open the answer, but I was afraid of its turn.
"Why are you laughing like that?" I asked, unable to understand his behavior.
The professor only shook his head slightly, his lips still holding that smile that did not promise anything good. His gaze was full of some secret that he was in no hurry to reveal. I felt that this whole situation, this whole game with his words was only the beginning of something much more terrible than I could have imagined.
"I understand your concern, Anton," he said, pronouncing my name slowly, as if each syllable were a riddle. "But understand, you're not the only one in this situation. It's a kind of... sign of the times, if you will. But with each new question, you're getting closer to the truth, even though you don't realize it.
I tried to focus on his words, but my thoughts were like tangled wires. I was sure something was wrong. Robert, my memories, this whole situation-all these pieces of the puzzle didn't fit, and the more I thought about it, the more they seemed to fall apart.
"Where is Robert?" I asked sharply. "Where is he, Professor?"
His smile disappeared and his gaze became more serious. It was as if he had not expected my question.
"Robert... do you really want to know?" he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"
I nodded, even though everything inside me was screaming at me to stop, to not ask that question, but it was too late.
The professor sighed, his face twisted slightly, and he continued:
"Robert was the one who brought you into this world. He was always your guide, and no matter how much you tried to deny it, he was with you even when you couldn't see him. Everything that happened to you was part of his plans. And now you're beginning to realize that Robert wasn't just a person, not just a friend. He was... part of something you couldn't understand, and now, as you search for answers, you'll be forced to confront what lurks in his shadow."
I felt a chill run down my spine. It all seemed absurd, impossible. This was not reality, not the world I had lived in before. I thought I had lost my mind, that I was going crazy, but now, sitting in front of this strange man in the hospital room, I suddenly realized that everything could be much worse.
"But where is Robert?" I repeated, gritting my teeth.
The professor smiled again, but his smile was now full of some kind of misty sadness. Already standing in the doorway, he turned to me and whispered with his lips alone:
"Covered in a semi-liquid swamp, there, in the depths of the waters, in the thickness of the silt, under layers of rotting plants, rests the new Dorian Gray..."