The barmaid.
I didn't even know her name.
Did she bring me here?
Or… did I follow her?
How did I end up in this place?
And why—
why can't I remember anything?
After what felt like an eternity of staring at nothing, I forced myself to breathe.
Slowly.
In.
Out.
Just like my therapist taught me.
Control the panic.
Anchor yourself.
But my hands were still shaking.
Once the noise in my head softened—just a little—I started looking around the room.
It was a cheap hotel room.
Blue walls, faded and uneven.
Old furniture that looked like it had survived too many people and too many secrets.
A bulky TV from the 90s sat in the corner, silent… watching.
Fingerprints covered the walls.
Smudged. Layered.
As if people had tried to hold onto something… and failed.
I swallowed.
My phone.
I needed my phone.
I searched everywhere.
The bed.
The floor.
Under the table.
Nothing.
It wasn't there.
A cold realization settled in.
I wasn't just lost.
I was… cut off.
The bathroom door was still open.
The smell drifted out again.
Rotten. Metallic.
Wrong.
I shut it quickly.
Too quickly.
As if closing the door could undo what was inside.
Then I checked the main door.
Locked.
That's when it started.
The thoughts.
They came all at once.
Fast. Loud. Relentless.
My therapist used to say this was the worst part of me.
Overthinking.
Look where it got me now.
I leaned against the wall, pressing my hand against my forehead.
Think.
Think.
Think.
I had to figure out what happened.
Something real.
Something solid.
Anything.
I searched the room again, slower this time.
More carefully.
Like I was afraid the truth might be hiding in plain sight.
But my memory—
was empty.
Completely empty.
"…Did I do this?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
But even as I asked it—
I didn't believe it.
Or maybe…
I didn't want to.
I walked back to the bathroom.
Stopped at the door.
For a moment—
I just stood there.
Then I opened it.
I didn't look at her face.
Not at first.
I closed the shower curtain halfway, as if that would make things easier.
It didn't.
I turned on the water.
The sound filled the room, drowning out the silence.
And then—
I did something I still don't understand.
I washed her.
Carefully.
Quietly.
Like she could still feel it.
You might think that was wrong.
Maybe it was.
But luck wasn't on my side anyway.
The blood on my shirt caught my attention.
Dark. Dry. Stubborn.
I tried washing it.
But it wouldn't come out.
Then I noticed—
Everything I was wearing was stained.
Every inch.
So I took it off.
Washed myself.
That's when I saw it.
My skin.
Clean.
No cuts.
No bruises.
No marks.
Nothing.
I froze.
If I did this…
Then how?
I looked at my hands again.
At the blood that had been there before.
There should have been something.
Anything.
But there was nothing.
I walked back into the room.
Slowly.
The bed.
The floor.
There were clear signs.
Dragging marks.
From the bed…
to the bathroom.
Someone had moved her.
But it didn't feel like me.
"How did I get here…?"
My voice sounded distant.
Like it didn't belong to me.
"Did someone bring me?"
"Why can't I remember anything?"
Silence.
Then—
a sound.
Sharp.
Sudden.
I flinched.
It came from the bathroom.
A phone.
Ringing.
Each vibration echoed through the room like a pulse.
Like a heartbeat that didn't belong to me.
I stepped closer.
Slowly.
Carefully.
I reached down…
and picked it up.
The screen was lit.
Caller ID:
"Dear."
My hand went numb.
The phone slipped—
and hit the floor.
I couldn't breathe.
She wasn't just—
a body.
She had someone.
Someone who called her that.
"Dear."
The phone kept ringing.
I didn't move.
Didn't pick it up.
Didn't think.
Until it stopped.
Silence again.
But not for long.
It rang again.
Louder this time.
Or maybe—
I was just more aware.
My chest tightened.
My fingers trembled.
I had never felt this nervous before.
Slowly…
I picked it up.
And answered.
I didn't say anything.
For a moment—
there was only breathing.
Then—
a voice.
Calm.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
"Hello…"
A pause.
"My old friend."
My blood ran cold.
Michael.