Lost in the Unknown

Lost in the Unknown

Trapped in Amnesia After a Mysterious Accident

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The air smells of antiseptic, the walls are a dull off-white, and the rhythmic beeping of a monitor fills the silence. My head pounds, and when I try to move, a sharp pain shoots through my ribs. Panic grips me as I scan the room—there’s a window, but the blinds are closed. A TV is mounted on the wall, turned off. Beside me, an IV pole stands tall, its tubing connected to my arm.

Where am I?

I try to think back, but my mind is foggy. I remember leaving my apartment, getting into my car. I was on my way to work—or was I going somewhere else? My phone. I need my phone. I pat the mattress beside me, but there’s nothing there.

Just then, the door opens, and a woman in blue scrubs steps in. “You’re awake,” she says, offering a reassuring smile. “How are you feeling?”

“My head…” My voice is hoarse. “Where am I?”

“You’re in St. Luke’s Hospital,” she says, checking the IV. “You were brought in last night. Do you remember what happened?”

I shake my head, regretting it immediately as dizziness washes over me. “No. How did I get here?”

She hesitates. “You were in an accident.”

An accident. The word feels distant, unreal. My breath quickens. “What kind of accident?”

She pulls up a chair beside me. “You were in a car crash. A bystander called 911. You were unconscious when the paramedics arrived.”

A car crash. My fingers twitch as fragmented images flicker in my mind—headlights, the screech of tires, a deafening impact. My stomach clenches. “Was anyone else hurt?”

She hesitates again. “We don’t have all the details yet. But you were alone in the car when emergency responders arrived.”

Alone. That should be comforting, but something doesn’t feel right. I try again to piece together the moments before the crash. I left home. I got into my car. But where was I going? And why can’t I remember?

The nurse must see the distress on my face because she places a hand on my arm. “It’s okay. Memory loss after a concussion is common. It may come back in pieces.”

A concussion. That explains the headache, the confusion. “Did they say what caused the accident?”

She glances at the clipboard in her hands. “It appears your car swerved off the road and hit a barrier. No signs of another vehicle involved.”

That doesn’t make sense. I wouldn’t just swerve off the road. Would I?

“Can I see my phone?” I ask.

“The police have it,” she says. “They’ll be in soon to speak with you.”

The police. My pulse quickens. If they’re involved, does that mean there’s more to this than just an accident?

The nurse offers me a sip of water, then leaves me alone with my thoughts. I close my eyes, trying to force my brain to cooperate. But the more I try, the more my head throbs.

The door opens again, this time admitting a man in uniform. A police officer. He gives me a small nod and pulls a notepad from his pocket.

“Mr. Carter, I’m Officer Reynolds,” he says. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

I nod weakly. “Do you know what happened to me?”

He studies me for a moment. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”

A chill runs through me. “I don’t remember much.”

“That’s understandable,” he says. “But we have some concerns about your accident.”

“Concerns?” My mouth is dry.

He flips through his notepad. “Your car was found on a stretch of road outside the city, not on your usual commute. Your wallet and phone were in the car, but the passenger-side door was open when first responders arrived.”

My blood runs cold. “Passenger-side door?”

“There were no signs of another person at the scene,” he continues. “No footprints, no blood, nothing. But witnesses reported seeing someone running away from the crash before the ambulance arrived.”

A strange unease settles over me. “Someone ran from my car?”

Officer Reynolds nods. “We’re trying to determine who that was—and why they left you behind.”

The room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. I try to remember—anything, any clue about who might have been with me. But my mind is blank.

“Mr. Carter,” the officer says gently. “Do you remember who was with you last night?”

I swallow hard. “No.”

He watches me carefully. “Do you remember where you were going?”

I shake my head.

He exhales. “Okay. We’ll give you some time. But if anything comes back to you, please let us know.”

I nod numbly as he stands. “One more thing,” he says before leaving. “Your car wasn’t reported stolen, and there’s no sign of forced entry. But when we ran the plates, we found something odd.”

I brace myself. “What?”

“The car was registered to you,” he says. “But the last toll booth camera that caught it shows you in the driver’s seat—and someone else in the passenger seat. Someone we haven’t identified yet.”

He lets that sink in before adding, “We need to know who that was.”

As the door closes behind him, my mind races. Someone was with me. Someone ran. But who? And why did they leave me behind?

I close my eyes, searching my memory, but all I find is darkness.

More Clues, More Questions

The next few hours pass in a haze of medical checks, painkillers, and half-formed memories teasing at the edges of my mind. A nurse brings me food, but I barely touch it. My thoughts are spinning.

Then, in the evening, another officer visits. Detective Harper, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes. She places a file on the table beside me.

“We pulled traffic camera footage,” she says. “This is you and your passenger before the accident.”

I hesitate before looking at the blurry image. A dark car, my car. A shadowy figure in the passenger seat. But the face is unclear.

I feel a jolt in my gut.

“Does this jog your memory?” she asks.

I shake my head slowly. “No, but… something feels familiar.”

“We also recovered a phone from the crash,” she continues. “Not yours.”

A cold sensation spreads through me. “Then whose?”

“We don’t know yet,” she says. “It’s locked. But we’ll find out.”

I stare at the photo again. The figure beside me is a mystery. A stranger? A friend? Someone I trusted?

I rub my temples, frustration bubbling up. Why can’t I remember?

Detective Harper watches me carefully. “Try to rest,” she says. “But if anything comes back, let us know immediately.”

I nod, but I know I won’t sleep. Not until I get answers.

I close my eyes, and suddenly, a sound echoes in my mind—a voice. A whisper.

"Drive faster. We don’t have much time."

My heart pounds.

Someone was with me. Someone who didn’t want to be found.