The Memory Protocol

Naomi blinked, trying to bring the darkness into focus, it lingered. Her limbs were heavy as lead, she couldn't even get her fingers to twitch. Her mind was blank, so she let her eyes slowly close again. For a moment, she wondered if she was still asleep. There was no dream to hold on to, no image or voice she could reach for. Only the weight of her body and the strange feeling that she had been dropped into the middle of something she should have remembered. A sound emerged, the darkness no longer as thick, getting louder; a steady rhythm. She peeled her eyes open. The sound came again. It was regular, almost patient. She tried to turn her head toward it, but even that small movement seemed to require more strength than she could muster. She focused on the rhythm instead, counting each beat until the numbers slipped away from her. Bright light stabbed her vision,a stark contrast to the darkness that once loomed. Her head throbbing and her body still wouldn't respond to command when she tried to move. She swallowed. Her throat felt dry, and the movement scraped painfully. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. Panic stirred beneath her confusion. She wanted to sit up, to call for someone, to ask questions,to demand an explanation—but her body remained stubbornly still. Now mentally preparing herself, she peered through her lashes , letting her eyes adjust. White walls came into view, the continuous beep came from a monitor beside her bed,a ceiling bulb cast the harsh light, her left arm attached to an IV line. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant. There were no windows, only the blank walls and a narrow strip of light beneath the door. She studied the monitor, watching the almost unfamiliar numbers. They meant nothing to her. She looked down at the IV line running into her arm and tried to remember how it had gotten there. Then there was someone standing nearby, a silhouette against the light. She stiffened. Either the figure had been so still, or she just hadn’t noticed him at first. Now she watched the outline carefully, trying to decide whether he had been there all along or had entered while her eyes were closed. "Naomi, you're awake!" The voice was a deep baritone that suited the man standing before her, a stethoscope hung around his neck. One hand against the bedrail, and the other tucked in his pocket. He looked at her as though he had been waiting for this moment. His expression was calm, but she noticed the way his eyes moved over her face, searching for something. She tried to find a familiar feature in his face. Nothing came. The name meant nothing to her. "Who are you?" She whispered. The question left her with a faint sting of embarrassment. Surely she should know who he was. Surely she should know something. The man stepped beside the bed , adjusting the IV line before speaking again. "My name is Dr Edward Scott." He paused, watching her reaction closely. "I'm a neurologist, and this....." He gestured around the room ".....Is the Meridian Institute ." Naomi looked at him,her face expressionless. The name.... It doesn't ring a bell. She searched her mind for a place, a building, a face—anything that might connect to the name. There was only an empty stretch where the answer should have been. The blankness frightened her more than the room did. Seeing as she didn't react ,Dr Scott spoke again, his voice softening. "You've been here for a while." "Why?" Naomi asked the first question that formed in her mind, her voice almost imperceptible. "You are recovering from a neurological injury" She tried to hold on to the words. Neurological injury. The phrase sounded important, but it gave her no picture of what had happened. Had there been an accident? She searched for the memory of pain, of a hospital, of someone calling her name. Nothing surfaced. "How long?" Naomi's next question slipped past her lips. Dr Scott sighed heavily as though his next words were a weight pressing against his chest. "It's been a while, Naomi. Eleven years. You consented to getting treated here." Eleven years...... The number seemed too large to belong to her. She tried to imagine eleven years passing, but her mind offered no beginning and no end. She looked at Dr Scott, waiting for him to correct himself, to explain that he had misspoken. He did not. Naomi's eyes closed of their own accord ,she was mentally frustrated at how her brain seemed to be taking its time before interpreting words. Eleven years meant there should have been memories. A home. People who knew her. A life that had continued while she was here. She searched for even the smallest fragment—a birthday, a familiar voice, the last place she remembered being—but found nothing she could trust. Dr Scott took that as his cue to leave. He cast one look at the monitor,then at her face. "I'll let you be for now." She wanted to stop him. Questions crowded her mind, but she could not decide which one mattered most. Before she could speak, he had already turned toward the door. The soft click of the door had Naomi opening her eyes,she gazed at the now empty space the man occupied, replaying the conversation that had ensued . The information wouldn't fit anywhere. Heck! She had no idea who Naomi is. She repeated the name silently. Naomi. It sounded like a name that belonged to someone else, someone she might have passed in a corridor. She tried saying it aloud, but the word felt unfamiliar on her tongue. Slowly, she sat up,her elbows supported her weight as she did. Her eyes swept across the entire room, the walls , curtains, to the door that seemed impossible to open from the inside, because she couldn't see a knob, it landed on a cabinet tucked in a corner. The movement made her head swim. She waited for the room to steady, then looked toward the door again. There was no handle on her side. She wondered whether that was normal for a medical facility. The thought did little to comfort her. With slow , deliberate motion,she tentatively lift her legs to the floor, the cool effect of the marble sharpening her awareness. She paused. The cold helped anchor her. She focused on that sensation, then on the steady beep behind her. One thing at a time, she told herself. Stand. Breathe. Find out where you are. Using the drip stand as support, she took slow wobbly steps to the cabinet. Her fingers gripped the top edge of the cabinet, trying to catch her breath,her eyes momentarily closed. Her legs trembled beneath her. She could feel her pulse beating in her temples. The cabinet was close, but the short distance had left her exhausted. She drew a careful breath and listened. The room had gone quiet except for the monitor. A voice crackled from behind the cabinet and Naomi's eyes flew open instantly. "If you wake up in this room, do not trust the person who tells you that you volunteered" Her eyes widened. She froze, her fingers tightening around the cabinet’s edge. The voice sounded thin and distorted, as though it were coming through a small speaker. She searched the room, but the door remained closed and the bed was empty. Her breath caught, heart hammering behind her ribs. "He's already here....."