LOST MEMORIES

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.

The air smells of dust and something metallic, like old pennies left too long in the rain. A single lightbulb flickers overhead, casting jittery shadows on the peeling wallpaper. I push myself upright, my head throbbing. The bed beneath me is stiff, the sheets course against my skin.

Where am I?

I scan the room. A wooden dresser, its drawers slightly ajar. A cracked mirror leaning against the wall. A chair, overturned near the door. Nothing feels like mine. I reach for my pocket, but my fingers meet empty fabric. No phone. No wallet.

My pulse quickens.

Then I see it—scratched into the nightstand’s surface, deep enough to splinter the wood.

"Don’t trust them."

A chill runs down my spine.

And that’s when I hear the footsteps in the hall.

The slow, deliberate steps echo through the silence. I hold my breath, my muscles tense. Someone is out there. Are they coming for me? My heart pounds as I scan the room again, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon. My hands close around a jagged piece of the cracked mirror. It’s small, but sharp. It will have to do.

The doorknob rattles. A shadow blocks the dim light seeping in from beneath the door.

“Hello?” a voice calls. It’s deep, unfamiliar.

I don’t respond.

A moment of silence. Then, a second voice—softer, urgent. “We know you’re in there. We just want to talk.”

My grip tightens around the glass shard. If they meant no harm, why did they lock me in here? Why was there a warning carved into the furniture? The door creaks as whoever is outside leans against it. I take slow, measured steps backward, pressing myself against the far wall.

The lock clicks. The door swings open. Two figures step inside, their features shadowed against the dim light. A man and a woman. The man is tall, muscular, dressed in dark clothing. The woman is slighter, but her eyes—sharp, calculating—are the first thing I notice.

“Stay back,” I warn, holding up the shard. My voice wavers, betraying the fear bubbling in my chest.

The woman lifts her hands in a placating gesture. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Then why am I here?” I demand. “Who are you?”

The man glances at the woman before answering. “You don’t remember anything, do you?”

His question sends a fresh wave of unease through me. No—I don’t remember anything beyond waking up in this strange, suffocating room. The woman steps forward cautiously, her eyes scanning me like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “You need to trust us.”

I laugh bitterly. “The last thing I’m going to do is trust people I don’t know.”

She hesitates, then pulls something from her pocket—a photograph. She holds it out, and despite every instinct screaming at me not to, I take it.

The image is faded, worn at the edges, but I recognize myself. I’m standing between the man and the woman, smiling. Happy. Familiar.

My fingers tighten around the photo. My stomach churns.

“What is this?” I whisper.

The man takes a careful step forward. “Your name is Evelyn Carter. You’ve been missing for three months.”

The words hit me like a blow. Missing? For three months?

I shake my head. “No. That’s not possible.”

The woman sighs. “You were taken. We’ve been looking for you.”

A sharp pain flares in my head. Flashes of something—dark hallways, voices whispering, a syringe plunging into my arm—stab through my mind. My knees buckle, and I clutch the dresser for support.

“Evelyn,” the man’s voice is softer now. “You have to come with us. We don’t have much time.”

I want to believe them. I want to believe I’m not alone in this nightmare. But the warning on the nightstand lingers in my mind.

Don’t trust them.

“Why should I believe you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

The woman glances at the door. Urgency flickers in her eyes. “Because if you don’t, they’ll come back for you.”

A distant sound—footsteps, more of them this time—echoes from the hallway. Heavy. Rushed.

The man curses under his breath. “We need to go. Now.”

A decision presses down on me. Trust these strangers who claim to know me or stay and risk whoever else is coming. My pulse races.

Then the lights flicker, and the footsteps grow louder.

I make my choice.

The hallway is darker than the room, stretching out into an unknown abyss. The man leads the way, the woman closes behind me. My bare feet are silent against the cold floor. I don’t know where we’re going, I only know we need to move fast.

“We have a car waiting,” the woman whispers. “If we can make it outside—”

A door slams open somewhere behind us. A voice shouts. My chest tightens with panic.

“Run!” the man orders.

I don’t hesitate. We sprint down the corridor, my lungs burning with every breath. The walls blur past me. An exit sign glows faintly in the distance—so close, yet impossibly far.

A sharp sound—a gunshot? —rings through the air. My heart stops.

The woman grabs my hand and pulls me forward. “Keep going!”

We burst through the exit door into the night. Rain lashes against my skin. A black SUV idles nearby, its engine rumbling. The man yanks open the door, ushering me inside. The woman follows, slamming the door shut just as more figures spill out of the building behind us.

The driver peels away, tires screeching against the wet pavement. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I press myself against the seat, my mind reeling.

“Who were they?” I manage to ask.

The woman exchanges a look with the man. “People who don’t want you to remember.”

I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself. I still don’t know who to trust. I still don’t know who I really am.

But one thing is certain—I can’t go back. I couldn't really go back since I was even out of my senses.