Chapter 2: Not the life I choose
1121 Words
Lena, or the woman the world insisted was Dr. Rayna Vale, stepped inside slowly. Her shoes echoed on the polished wooden floor, sharp and clinical, like everything else about this place. Too clean. Too staged. As if someone had scrubbed every trace of the real Rayna out of existence or worse, never left a trace at all.
The nurse had driven her here after discharge, offering the kind of strained smile people give to strangers they’re told they should know. “Let us know if you experience any side effects,” she’d said, fumbling to unlock the door with the keycard in her glove. “Neurological trauma can do strange things to memory.”
“Right,” Lena muttered. Although she can't recall giving permission to anything.
Silence returned as the door shut behind the woman. Not the cozy kind, but the kind that throbbed in her ears.
She dropped the bag they had given her scrubs, hospital discharge papers, a pill bottle with her new name on the label. Rayna Vale, MD. It looked like a lie typed in small font.
It seemed like someone was trying to make her feel she belongs here. Lena knows she actually doesn't belong to this new world of hers.
She walked into the parlor. White furniture. Chrome kitchen. Everything had the personality of a showroom. Cold, expensive, unlived.
There was a framed group photo sitting on the bookshelf. Standing next to the group was Rayna dressed in a white coat. Among them was an aged woman with soft red lips.
Behind the photo, as Lena turned it was a sticker: Neurology Department Holiday Gala, December 18 was written on it.
She turned toward the hallway.
The bedroom was spotless. The bed was made with military corners. And the perfumes? They were arranged according to height. No clutter, no unfinished laundry, no scattered heels in the room except for a neatly folded white coat on the bed. Everything was just perfect and spotless.
She touched the coat, her fingers cruising the embroidered name tag on it. Dr. R. Vale was written on it.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock that startled her. Her heartbeat rose as she flinched. Lena stood silently for a minute before moving, her brain still reacting like a prey trying to escape.
She walked towards the door and opened it. A young man appeared before her eyes. He held a paper bag with a smooth kind smile that makes you want to hug anyway.
"Rayna? You left your dinner order again. Should I start assuming you want tofu by default?"
She blinked.
The man laughed. "You seriously don’t remember me, do you?"
"I'm sorry, it's… been a rough few days."
He handed over the bag. "Cyrus. Downstairs neighbor. Chronic insomniac, amateur photographer, and unofficial dinner savior. You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
Lena managed a weak smile. "Feels more like I am one."
He tilted his head, watching her too closely. "You sure you should be out of the hospital?"
"I’m managing. Thanks for the food."
"Anytime you ever need someone to talk to or scream into the pillow. Maybe punch the damn walls, I am always here.”
The young man gave her a concerned look. It was brief yet genuine. He turned and headed back down the hallway. Lena shut the door immediately he left.
Back inside, she unwrapped the dinner without tasting it. Her hands moved mechanically as her mind churned.
A laptop sat on the kitchen counter, lid closed, waiting. Her name, Rayna, was engraved on a metal tag beside it.
She opened it. It greeted her with a retina scan. She flinched when the light swept across her eyes. The screen blinked.
Welcome, Dr. Vale.
The desktop was filled with patient files. Data logs. Brain scans.
She clicked open one folder. Inside were dozens of documents labeled in technical shorthand. Her eyes scanned rapidly.
One folder was tagged: Experimental Study - Alpha Neurological Decay.
Her stomach turned. She clicked it.
Inside were four PDF files. The first was titled: Subject 01: D. Blackwood
Lena froze, air leaving her lungs without a warning. Her trembling fingers were on the mouse, still.
Damon Blackwood.
Her hand began to shake. She clicked. Before the file could load, a soft chime echoed through the apartment. The door unlocked with a low beep.
She turned.
A tall woman in a sharp red coat stepped inside without knocking, “Well, it’s about time,” she said, eyes sweeping over Lena with cool calculation. “You look like hell."
Lena straightened instinctively. "I'm sorry, who—"
"Cut the crap, Rayna."
The woman dropped her bag on the table. "You miss one day at the facility without warning and the board starts calling me. Again."
Lena swallowed. "I'm… recovering."
"Then recover faster. Damon’s already asking questions."
The name slammed into her again.
"He what?"
The woman was a bit confused, she looked at Lena and raised an eyebrow, “You definitely really hit your head harder than I could imagine, did you not?”
Lena didn’t answer.
The woman shook her head and sighed, as if giving up. She pulled off her gloves. “Look here, I really don't care what happened to you or what the hell you are going through right now. You are the only person who can stabilize him right now. You signed on for this."
Lena blinked. "Stabilize... Damon?"
The woman looked at her like she had grown a second head. "Are you aware you’re his lead neurologist? Or do we need to get your scans re-checked too?"
Lena’s heartbeat screamed in her head.
The woman grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, unfazed. "I told them you weren't ready. But you insisted. Said you had a breakthrough."
Lena's vision blurred.
"Do you know where the reports are? The last batch you ran, the ones on his regression window?"
Lena didn’t speak.
The woman stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Rayna, if you’re losing it, tell me now. Because if Damon senses weakness in you, we’re all screwed."
She left without waiting for a reply. The door clicked shut again.
Lena turned back to the laptop. The file was open now. A full scan of Damon’s neural map glowed on the screen. Below it, clinical notes.
> Subject exhibiting symptoms of memory collapse. Lucidity windows narrowing. Instinctive aggression rising. Subject growing resistant to treatment.
> Note: Rayna to adjust serum dosage or terminate program.
Lena covered her mouth. The file had her new name on it. Her signature. Her initials. Her authorization to end him.
The cursor blinked beside one final update:
Subject responded violently to Rayna’s absence.
“Requested her by name.”
- Writer
