The Recording
1031 Words
I unfolded the sticky note again. The words hadn't changed: Don't trust Ethan. Beneath them sat a single initial: —E
My pulse quickened. I studied the handwriting, searching for some sign that it wasn't mine. There wasn't one. The same slanted letters, the same uneven spacing, the same habit of pressing harder whenever I wrote capital letters. I had written it. The realization sent a chill through me. Why would I warn myself about Ethan?
The note trembled slightly between my fingers. I read it again, then again. The words felt impossible to ignore.
A knock sounded on my bedroom door. I jumped so hard the note nearly slipped from my hand.
"Eva?" Elle's voice came from the hallway.
Without thinking, I shoved the note inside the notebook and snapped it shut.
"Yeah?"
The door opened, and Elle stepped inside carrying a plate of sandwiches. Her gaze moved over the mess scattered across my room before settling on me.
"You've been up here all afternoon."
I forced a smile.
"I got distracted."
"So I see." She set the plate on my desk. For a second, I thought she had noticed my nervousness. If she had, she didn't say anything. Instead, she looked around the room and sighed. "You've always done this."
"Done what?"
"Thrown yourself into a mystery and forgotten the rest of the world."
I blinked.
"A mystery?" The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Elle's expression shifted—only slightly, but enough.
"Forget I said that."
My stomach clenched.
"No." I sat up straighter. "What did you mean?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"Nothing important."
It definitely sounded important. Before I could press further, she walked toward the door. Her hand paused on the frame.
"Eva?"
"Yeah?"
A strange look crossed her face.
"Just be careful what you're looking for."
Then she left.
The moment the door closed, I pulled the note back out. Don't trust Ethan. The warning seemed heavier now because it wasn't the only clue anymore. There was the notebook, the missing journal pages, the strange things Elle wasn't saying, and Noah. Always Noah.
I opened the notebook again. This time I examined every page carefully. The notes were organized, detailed, methodical. The person who had written them had known exactly what she was doing. That person had been me. The thought still felt odd.
I kept flipping through pages until something caught my attention. The back cover appeared thicker than the front. Frowning, I ran my fingers along the inside edge, and a small section lifted. My breath caught. There was something hidden inside.
Carefully, I reached in and slid it out.
A flash drive.
My eyes locked on it for several seconds. A hidden flash drive inside a secret notebook. Whatever I had been investigating, I clearly hadn't wanted anyone to find it.
My pulse pounded as I hurried to my desk. A few moments later, the flash drive was plugged into my laptop. Only one file appeared: an audio recording. No title, no explanation—just a date. Two weeks before my accident.
I swallowed, then pressed play.
Static crackled through the speakers. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a voice spoke.
My voice.
I froze. Hearing myself shouldn't have felt so strange, yet it did. Because this wasn't me—not the version sitting at the desk. This was the version trapped somewhere inside the missing two years.
"If you're listening to this," the recording said, "something went wrong."
Every muscle in my body tensed. The voice sounded calm, too calm, as though it had expected this.
"Maybe I didn't get the chance to tell anyone." A pause followed. "Maybe I didn't get the chance to tell myself."
I leaned closer. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Listen carefully."
The next words sent ice through my veins.
"Don't trust Ethan."
The same warning, the same words—only this time I could hear the fear behind them. A crackle interrupted the recording. For one horrifying second, I thought it had ended. Then my voice returned.
"If you're hearing this, it means I was right."
Right about what? I gripped the edge of my desk.
"Please," I whispered.
The recording continued.
"If anything happens to me..." Another pause, longer this time—the kind that made it feel like the entire room was holding its breath. "If anything happens to me, Noah knows the truth."
I stopped breathing.
Not Elle, not Sarah, not Ethan—Noah.
The recording ended. Silence filled the room. I watched the laptop screen, then replayed the file. The message didn't change. The words remained exactly the same.
Noah knows the truth.
The same Noah who refused to answer my questions. The same Noah who looked at me like I had broken his heart. The same Noah who said maybe it was better if I didn't remember.
I shoved back from the desk so quickly my chair rolled backward. I had to find him tonight.
I grabbed my jacket and went downstairs.
"Eva?" Elle called from the kitchen.
"I'm going out."
"Where?"
"I just need some air."
Before she could ask anything else, I slipped out the front door. The evening air was cool against my skin. I started down the street—toward answers, toward Noah.
I had barely reached the end of the driveway when my phone rang.
Unknown Number.
I almost ignored it. Something made me answer.
"Hello?"
Static filled the line. I frowned.
"Hello?"
Then a voice spoke. The voice was distorted, cold, and impossible to identify.
"Stop looking for answers, Eva."
I froze. Every sound around me appeared to vanish. My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What?"
Silence. Then the voice spoke again, slower this time, more deliberate.
"You were never supposed to wake up."
The call ended.
I stood motionless in the middle of the driveway. My heart pounded. The notebook, the recording, the warning, the accident—in that moment, they no longer seemed like separate pieces of a puzzle. They seemed linked.
Because if someone had called to tell me I was never supposed to wake up, then my accident hadn't been an accident at all.
- Writer
