CHAPTER FIVE
1286 Words
Adrian’s POV
When I wake up, the world smells like bleach and silence.
The first thing I notice is the light — too soft, too cold, too white to be morning sunlight.
The second is the faint hum of machines.
This isn’t the hospital room I remember. The ceiling is lower. The walls too clean. Too empty.
I push myself upright slowly. My head feels heavy. My throat burns — dry, like I’ve been asleep for days.
“Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”
A nurse stands at the foot of the bed. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Her nametag reads Clara.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“You’re safe,” she says, her voice gentle but rehearsed. “This is a private recovery facility your mother arranged. You had some confusion at the hospital, so she thought you’d be more comfortable here.”
My chest tightens. “Confusion?”
She nods. “You’ve been saying strange things lately. Mixing up memories, names. It’s completely normal after trauma.”
“And the other hospital? Why was I moved?”
She glances at her clipboard. “For privacy. The media was starting to get curious.”
Her words feel too smooth, too prepared.
I try to remember the last thing before I blacked out.
A garden. Victoria yelling. And a voice — warm, familiar.
> “Then let me help you find it.”
Noah.
The name hits like lightning. “There was someone with me,” I say. “A man.”
Clara looks up. “A man?”
“Yes. He was there when I woke up. Dark hair, brown eyes. He said his name was…”
I stop. My tongue feels heavy.
“I… I can’t remember.”
She nods sympathetically. “That’s okay. You need rest, not stress. I’ll let Dr. Hale know you’re awake.”
Before I can ask more, she’s gone.
The silence presses in. My head throbs. I press my fingers to my temples, trying to drag the name out of the fog.
Noah.
It feels right.
But the harder I hold onto it, the faster it slips away.
The door opens again.
My mother steps in — flawless as ever in a cream suit, her perfume sharp and expensive. “You’re awake. Good.”
“Where am I?” I ask again.
“A place where you’ll get better,” she says simply.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me we were moving?”
“You were sedated. It was necessary.”
“Why?” I demand.
She sighs, as if I’m being unreasonable. “Because you were confused. You were talking about things that never happened.”
“Like what?”
She sits on the edge of my bed, her movements elegant and suffocatingly controlled.
“You kept insisting you were married.”
My heart stutters. “I am.”
Her lips tighten. “Adrian, you’re not married. You’ve been through a trauma. You lost someone important, and your mind is trying to fill that emptiness with stories.”
Her words slice through me. “That’s not true.”
She takes my hand, her tone soft — too soft. “You’ve always been emotional. But this… this isn’t real.”
I pull away. “Don’t treat me like a child.”
“I’m not. I’m treating you like a man who nearly died and needs help.”
Every word is a trap — gentle poison wrapped in care.
“I remember him,” I say, my voice steady. “His face. His voice.”
Her gaze hardens. “Dreams can feel real. Grief does strange things to the brain.”
Grief.
The word twists in my stomach.
“Then why can’t I remember his name?” I whisper.
“Because he doesn’t exist,” she says simply.
I stare at her. “You’re lying.”
“Adrian…”
“No.” My voice cracks. “You’re lying.”
Her calm never wavers. “I’ll send Dr. Hale in. He can explain more.”
She stands and leaves before I can say another word.
I try to follow, but when I swing my legs off the bed, dizziness slams into me. My body feels weak, sluggish.
Something’s wrong.
They’re giving me something.
I sit there, fighting the fog, when I notice a framed photograph on the bedside table.
Me — and a woman I’ve never seen before.
She’s smiling, leaning into me like we belong together.
My blood runs cold.
I pick up the frame. “What the hell…”
The door opens. A man in a white coat steps in. Mid-forties, kind smile, the sort of face people trust.
“Mr. Wolfe. I’m Dr. Hale. How are you feeling today?”
I set the photo down. “Where did that picture come from?”
He glances at it. “Your mother brought it. She said it might help you reconnect with reality.”
“That’s not my wife.”
He gives me the patient look doctors use when they’ve already decided you’re broken.
“Your mind’s been through a trauma. False memories can feel real. Sometimes the brain merges real people with imagined ones.”
“She’s the one lying to me,” I snap. “There was someone else. Someone real.”
He sits across from me. “Then tell me about him.”
I hesitate. “He… made me feel human. Like I wasn’t just a name on paper. He laughed when I forgot to eat, argued when I worked too late. He…”
I stop, swallowing hard.
Dr. Hale tilts his head. “And what was his name?”
My throat burns. I can almost hear it. Noah.
But when I try to say it — nothing comes out.
“See?” he says gently. “It’s okay. The mind fills in blanks when it’s scared.”
“No,” I whisper. “He’s real.”
He smiles the way you smile at a child who’s imagining monsters. “You’ll see things clearly soon. For now, rest.”
When he leaves, I don’t move.
I just stare at the photo until my vision blurs.
I don’t trust my mother.
I don’t trust this place.
But I know one thing: someone’s missing.
Someone who feels like home.
---
That night, I can’t sleep.
The clock ticks too loudly. The IV in my arm itches. Around midnight, footsteps echo in the hall.
I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. The door creaks open.
Whispered voices.
“…the sedatives are working. He’s calmer now.”
“He asked about the man again.”
A pause.
Then my mother’s voice, low and sharp.
> “Increase the dosage. If he keeps remembering, we’ll lose him completely.”
My blood runs cold.
I wait until they’re gone. Then I pull the IV from my arm. The sting barely registers.
The corridor is dim, the air heavy with disinfectant. I move quietly, searching for an exit — but every door looks the same.
Finally, I reach a glass window at the end of the hall. Outside are trees. A fence. High. Barbed.
This isn’t a hospital.
It’s a prison with softer lighting.
I turn to go — and freeze.
A sound. Soft. Distant.
> “Adrian?”
I stop breathing.
It comes again.
Faint, but real.
> “Adrian…”
I spin toward the darkness. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
But I know I didn’t imagine it.
Because that voice — that voice belongs to the man I can’t forget.
Noah.
My heart races. I press my hand against the wall, whispering into the silence.
> “I’ll find you. Whatever they’re doing… I’ll find you.”
- Writer
