Strange Detective

EPISODE 2: “Keeping The Mystery and Confusion”

EPISODE 2: “Keeping The Mystery and Confusion”

Santina’s POV

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

If I die, I swear the last thing I’ll hear is this stupid machine.

“…stable for now…”

“…extensive burns"

“…possible cognitive—”

God, they don’t shut up, do they?

I don’t open my eyes yet.

Not because I can’t.

Because I don’t feel like it.

“…memory loss is highly probable,” a man says. Calm. Clinical. Definitely a doctor. The kind who talks like people are just… reports.

Another voice cuts in.

Not familiar.

Sharp.

Impatient.

“…will she be able to return to duty?”

Ah. That one.

Authority. Ego. No warmth.

Probably a superior, supervisor or whatever.

Straight to work?

Wew! I like that.

“Physically, yes,” the doctor replies. “But psychologically, we may observe personality changes—”

Personality changes?

I almost laugh.

You don’t survive fire and come out 'normal'.

That would be disappointing.

“…she may not be the same person,” the doctor continues.

Good.

Not the same person.

Something about that feels... True.

Too true.

I open my eyes.

Mistake.

The light stabs straight into my skull like it has a personal grudge.

“Seriously?” I mutter, voice dry and cracked. “Do hospitals allergic to dim lighting or what?”

Silence.

Oh.

They heard that.

I blink until the blur settles into shapes.

Faces.

Four of them.

All staring at me like I just crawled out of hell.

Very fair.

“Detective Vicente,” the doctor steps closer. “Can you hear me?”

I look at him.

Really look.

Late 40s. Tired eyes. Pretending to be calm. Used to patients not waking up.

“Unfortunately,” I answer.

Someone behind him exhales... half relief, half disbelief.

“Do you know where you are?” he asks.

I glance around.

White walls. Machines. That annoying beeping.

“Let me guess,” I say flatly. “Five-star hotel?”

No one laughs.

Tough crowd.

“…hospital,” I add.

“Good,” he nods. “Do you remember what happened?”

That question again.

Something flickers.

Heat.

Smoke.

A hand—

A voice—

Gone.

I blink thrice.

Nothing.

I stare at him in confusion.

Then shrug slightly, ignoring how much it hurts.

“S--should I?” I asked innocently.

The doctor hesitates.

Ah. So that’s a no.

“I… don’t,” I say.

Not entirely a lie.

Not entirely the truth either.

I shift my gaze past him.

To the audience.

Let’s see who we have here.

First one.

Male. Late 40s. Maybe early 50s?

Posture straight. Not military but close enough. Used to authority. Doesn’t waste movement. Doesn’t waste words.

Eyes sharp. Evaluating.

He’s not here out of concern.

He’s here to assess damage.

High-ranking. Ah the supervisor I guess.

I meet his gaze.

“Let me guess,” I say calmly, “you’re the one who decides if I’m useful or not.”

His expression tightens just slightly.

Correct.

Second.

Female. Early twenties. Younger than me I guess.

Short hair uneven edges. Not careless, just practical. Probably cuts it herself.

Eyes constantly moving. Observing everything. Fast thinker.

She steps forward a little.

“You’re awake,” she says.

Voice soft but controlled.

She’s trying not to show too much.

I tilt my head.

“You say that like it was optional.”

She pauses.

Not offended.

Processing.

Smart.

“I’m Mandi,” she adds.

I nod once.

Not because I know her.

Because it’s enough.

Third.

Male. Big. Broad. Built.

Not just gym-built but functional strength. The kind that comes from actual fights, not mirrors.

Arms crossed. Defensive stance, but relaxed. He’s confident in his ability to handle a threat.

Which means—

He’s used to being the threat.

I look at him up and down.

“You break things for a living?” I ask.

A pause.

Then—

A smirk.

“Sometimes,” he says.

Of course he does.

“Juls.”

Fits.

Fourth.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t step forward.

Doesn't rush to introduce herself. Just looking straight ahead while leaning against the wall.

Good.

Mid-twenties, probably my age. Controlled posture. Every movement intentional.

Face neutral but her eyes..

Her eyes are reading me. Carefully.

She’s not reacting like the others.

She’s analyzing.

That makes her dangerous.

“I’m guessing you don’t talk unless it matters,” I say.

A small smile.

Subtle.

Measured.

“Rustume,” she replies.

Short.

Clean.

No extra information.

Exactly what I expected.

Silence settles.

They’re waiting.

For what?

Emotion?

Recognition?

Gratitude?

Wrong person.

I lean back slightly, ignoring the pain.

“Alright,” I say. “So none of you look familiar, which means either I hit my head harder than expected… or you weren’t that important to begin with.”

Mandi stiffens slightly.

Juls lets out a quiet breath... almost a laugh.

Rustume?

Still watching.

The older man, steps forward.

“You don’t remember your team?” he asks.

My team?

That makes sense.

I look at them again.

Slower this time.

The smart one.

The fighter.

The observer.

Efficient combination.

Then I look back at him.

“Uhm, they're my team?” I asked.

No hesitation.

No apology.

Just truth.

The doctor said I might not be the same person as I was, and I may even experience memory loss. So, why do I bother acting in front of them?

The doctor clears his throat. “Memory loss is expected. We’ll run further tests—”

“Don’t bother,” I cut in.

Awh. Sorry. My mouth slipped. I just hate hospitals.

They all look at me.

I shrug slightly.

I cleared my throat

“I—uhm..” hesitated

“I don’t… need memories to figure things out,” I said while frowning.

“People are easy.” I continued with a faked smile.

Silence again.

Heavier this time.

Because I’m not confused.

Not scared.

Not even trying.

I’m adapting.

Fast.

Too fast.

Their superior watches me closely now.

Like he’s seeing a problem instead of a patient.

What now?

Duuh

“Rest,” the doctor insists. “No stress. No work—”

-

“Alright.” I reply.

Just enough to keep them guessing.

They start to leave.

One by one.

Mandi glances back.

Juls studies me like I just became interesting.

Rustume lingers half a second longer.

Our eyes meet.

And for the first time—

I feel it.

Not recognition.

But tension.

Like she knows something is wrong…

and hasn’t decided if she should say it.

Then she turns.

And leaves.

The door closes.

Silence returns.

I stare at the ceiling.

No memories.

No attachments.

No past pulling me back.

Just instinct.

Sharp.

Clear.

And a feeling I can’t explain—

I didn’t lose anything in that fire.

I got rid of something.

And whatever’s left…

is better.

But did I make the right choice?

--

I woke up to the faint squeak of a doorknob turning.

Where am I again?

…Right. Hospital.

How annoying.

Now, who’s coming this time?

I didn’t open my eyes.

I stayed still—breathing slow, controlled.

Pretending to be asleep.

Observing.

You never really know.

It could be the murderer.

Or someone worse.

“SAN-SAAANN!”

Indeed someone worse.

The voice nearly made me flinch. I almost opened my eyes.

What the fvck—

Who is this girl?

I kept them shut.

If she’s someone close to me, maybe a friend -- then she’s definitely about to say something cringe.

And I hate that.

I’d rather stay blind than deal with emotional nonsense.

“How did this happen?” she cried, her voice cracking like a child who lost her favorite toy.

“We were just talking the other day…”

Uhm, I'm not dead yet, am I?

“You said—you said—”

“You were going to help me find that person…” Person who?

“What about your promise San-San? What if you end up bedridden? Answer me! Answer me!”

Sh*t.

“San-San, wake up! Wake up! WAAAAH!”

She started shaking me, while crying like a kid.

Hard.

Like I wasn’t already broken.

Pain shot through my body.

Sharp. Immediate.

…Yeah.

I might actually kill her first, before the killer finds me.

I was about to open my eyes just to curse her out when—

*BANG*

The door slammed open.

Who is it now?

Another problem?

“ROWI!” a male voice called out.

“You left me again.”

Firm. Controlled. Possessive tone.

Interesting.

His voice sounds familiar…

But I don’t remember where I heard it.

Or when.

Or why it matters.

“Lemon, look at San-San. She must be in pain—she’s frowning,” the girl said, like a child reporting something important.

…Lemon?

I almost broke character right there.

That voice--deep, authoritative,

Belongs to someone named Lemon?

I thought he’d be some kind of gangster.

Turns out…

I was wrong.

Ridiculous name.

Pfft—

This is getting entertaining.

But who are these people?

Not professionals.

Too emotional.

Too loud.

Too careless.

Personal connections.

Definitely.

“I’ve made inquiries,” the man – Lemon--pfft - said.

“The doctor said she doesn’t remember anything. She’s traumatized and has temporarily lost her memory. It depends on her ability if she can retrieve it. But for now, she’s exhausted and in pain. Even if she wakes up…”

Quack Doctor.

He stopped.

Hesitation.

Careful choice of words.

I see. He cares about the girl.

How… considerate.

Girlfriend-Boyfriend maybe?

“She doesn’t remember you…” he finished, quieter this time.

There it is.

“Wh—what?” Shocked, she asked...

Right on cue.

“San-San doesn’t remember me…?”

Ah.

Here we go.

1…

2…

3…

“WAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Called it. Damn it. My eardrum.

God.

So predictable.

“Shhh…” he comforted her.

“It’s okay. She’ll be fine. She’ll remember you.”

“Really?”

Stupid.

“Yes. You’ve been friends for a very long time. It’s impossible for Santina to forget you completely. And the doctor said it depends on her abilities. Don’t you believe in her?”

Smart.

Reassurance mixed with logic.

He knows how to calm her down.

“I do…” she said in a sad tone, quieter now.

Good.

Less noise.

“Let’s not disturb her anymore. She needs rest. Let’s go.”

Finally.

Footsteps.

The door opens.

Seconds later, I heard the door close.

Silence.

I open my eyes.

Slowly.

Carefully.

The ceiling greets me again.

Plain. Empty. Meaningless.

I exhale.

Who are they?

Not part of any team.

They feel… personal.

Which makes them dangerous.

Because personal connections?

They make people weak.

I stare at the ceiling, unmoving.

Thinking.

If they’re close to me—

Then they’re valuable.

And if they’re valuable—

Then they’re useful.

A slow smile forms on my lips.

Whoever I was before…

She probably cared about them.

Too bad.

Because the person who woke up today?

Doesn’t care.

Not yet.

This story is an original work of fiction created by the author. All elements are fictional and not copied from any source. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.