CHAPTER THREE– The Memory I Almost Forgot
1406 Words
Julian's Point of View
The problem with losing memories is that your heart remembers what your mind cannot.
That thought drags me out of sleep the same way it does every night,sweat dampening my spine, heart racing, lungs straining as if I’ve sprinted through fire. The dream always ends the same.
A woman’s scream. Shattering glass.My own voice calling a name I can’t fully grasp.
A shadow dragging her away.
I run my hand down my face to get more air into my chest. The doctors call it trauma-induced mental echoes. My doctor calls it “emotional displacement.” I call it what it is:
A warning.
A reminder.
A bill I cannot remember but somehow still owe.
I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge, my arms on my knees. The city glows through the floor-to-ceiling windows, cold lights against a colder world. I’ve built a life made of accuracy and order to keep the chaos in my head from coming out. But yesterday… Elise North cracked the barrier.
No matter how many times I repeat the moment, the truth stays the same: the second I looked at her, something inside me tightened, as if hearing a melody I used to know by heart. And then the name “Emilia” slipped out of my mouth before I could think.
Why her?
Why now?
What was my mind trying to tell me?
I move through my morning process with automatic discipline—exercise, shower, coffee, suit. But my thoughts circle the same place: her face, her trembling hands, the fear she tried to hide.
And that name: “Emilia”
When I reach my desk, I pull up my encrypted database and type slowly, deliberately: EMILIA.
The empty search result mocks me. I will try another: EMILIA + CRANE… Then EMILIA + ACCIDENT Then EMILIA + PERSONAL CONTACTS
Nothing conclusive. No picture. No file. No reason for the strange recognition in her eyes. A vein throbs in my skull. “Damn it.”
I’m used to power, information, control, certainty. But Elise brings fog where there should be answers, heat where there should be cold strategy.
The door to my office opens slightly. My helper, Daniel, pokes his head in. “Sir, your new hire arrived. She’s waiting for you outside.”
My heart lifts. “Send her in.” I command.
As Daniel leaves, I rise from my chair, trying to force my heart into something near professionalism. Her footsteps approach—soft, uncertain, each one landing deeper than I want it to.
Elise steps through the opening and the temperature in the room changes. She’s calm, but her face is pale. The tightness in her shoulders is obvious, like she’s braced for impact. I should greet her with routine politeness, but the words die in my mouth.
I simply look at her. And something under my ribs aches.
“Good morning,” she manages, voice quiet.
“Morning.” I try to sound calm, but my tone lands lower, rougher.
She hands me a small stack of papers. “These are the reports you requested.”
Our fingers brush. The world snaps.
A flash detonates behind my eyes, a woman crying into my chest, my hand running through her hair, my heartbeat breaking against hers. Pain, thick and choking. A promise I whispered. Her word in return. A name, her name—on my lips.
I hold the edge of my desk hard enough that my knuckles blanch. Elise stares at me, with fear in her eyes. “Are you alright?”
No. Not even close. But I force a nod. “A headache.” She doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her.
She steps back, putting space between us, distance that feels wrong in ways I cannot explain. I should let her leave, but her presence draws me like gravity.
Instead, I picked up her résumé. “You’ve worked in administrative roles before?”
“Yes,” she says. “Mostly smaller firms.”
“You’re overqualified for that.” My voice softens without permission. “Why settle?”
Her jaw tenses the way it did yesterday—an automatic response to questions she doesn’t want to answer.
“Settling isn’t always a choice,” she whispers.
I don’t know what that means, but it hits something empty inside me.
Before I can ask more, my phone buzzes.
Daniel’s voice comes through the speaker. “Sir, I just flagged something strange from last night.”
“Strange how?”
“A security breach. Someone hacked into the camera system.”
I look at Elise. She looks away quickly.
“Which floors?” I press.
A pause. “Your private level. And the hallway during Miss North’s exit.”
My spine locks.
Yesterday.
The lift.
The way she ran out was pale and shaking. A sick feeling pulls tight in my gut.
“Send me the footage,” I ask.
A moment later, a message shows on my screen. I open it, motioning for Elise to stay where she is.
The first clip loads, static, then the picture resolves into the deserted hallway outside my office. The lift opens. Elise steps in, her moves fragile and shaky.
My chest constricts. A person enters the frame, blurred, jacket drawn low, shoulders slightly hunched. They move fast, too fast for an everyday passerby. They stop beside Elise just as the doors begin to close. Then the figure slips something into her pocket.
The video stops. My stomach drops. Without taking my eyes off the screen, I ask, “Elise… did anything strange happen yesterday?”
She stiffens. Just barely. “Unusual how?”
I look at her then, really look, at the tightness in her jaw, the tremor she tries to hide, the fear flashing in the back of her eyes.
Something happened. “Did someone approach you?” I press.
“No,” she whispers too quickly. “I just… had a stressful day.” She’s wrong. But the fear isn’t of me. It's something else, someone else.
I turn back to the tape, heart hammering as I zoom in on the dark figure. The picture clears just enough for the shape of the face to emerge, a jawline, a cheekbone, a recognizable tilt of the head.
But it can’t be. I freeze the frame. Zoom again. Again. The fuzz resolves just enough for recognition to gut me.
Damian Locke.
My previous best friend.
The man who disappeared after the crash.
The man tied to the lost gaps in my memory.
The man I haven’t seen in over five years.
The man I no longer trust.
My blood runs cold. Why was he here? Why was he anywhere near Elise? I force my voice steady. “Do you know this man?”
Elise’s body goes rigid before she can hide it—fear hitting like lightning behind her eyes.
She knows him.
She’s afraid of him.
She is hiding something far bigger than I realized.
“Elise,” I say slowly, “who is he?”
Her throat works. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.
I take a step closer, dropping my voice. “I need you to be honest with me. This man, Damian Locke, why was he near you?”
Her breathing quickens. Her hands shake. Her look darts toward the door as if planning a flight. And that tells me everything.
She’s not lying out of stubbornness. She’s lying out of survival.
“Elise,” I say again, softer this time, “you’re not safe, are you?”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide, sparkling, full of a fear that pierces me deeper than any memory fragment ever has. Before she can answer, the speaker crackles to life.
Daniel’s panicked voice bursts through: “Sir, security just reported someone breached the garage level. The invader is demanding entry to the top floors.”
Elise’s face drains of color. I already know who it is.
Damian didn’t just return. He came here.
For her. The sirens begin to blare through the building.
I turn toward Elise, but she’s already backing away, muttering a single, broken word:
“No…”
And the look in her eyes is one I’ve seen before— In my dreams. In the images I can’t fully remember. Because I’ve watched her be taken once. And now, it might be happening again.
- Writer
