The Lost Boy

Tears

"So you don't remember anything at all about what you did that night?"

I'd lost count of how many times I'd nodded since our faces met. A middle-aged woman with glasses and a serene face nodded along, writing something in a small notebook with a cat-patterned pencil.

She sat beside me, in the chair that Dakthes and Zwin had previously occupied.

"How about a drink first?" she offered again after glancing at her watch.

I nodded, accepting the half-full cup of mineral water. I gulped it down and was met with her smile.

"Alright, our session is finished for today. I'll likely come again, whether tomorrow or the day after. Thank you for answering all my questions so well and honestly. You're a good child."

The woman, whose name I never even learned, finally stood, closed her little notebook, and slipped it into the pocket of her white coat—exactly like the one Dakthes wore.

I smiled. "You're welcome, ma'am."

"Then I'll take my leave. See you later."

"Take care on the road, ma'am. It's overcast—it'll probably pour heavily soon."

I frowned when her smile suddenly vanished. She said nothing, just stared at me as if I'd just uttered something terribly taboo.

I was about to ask, but stopped when she pulled out the pencil she had already stowed in her pocket. She held the pencil up level with her glasses. "What color is this cat, El?"

"Gray?" I answered hesitantly.

The woman slipped the pencil back into her pocket and took out her cellphone. Her fingers moved swiftly, and then she excused herself, saying she needed to call someone.

I nodded, and she immediately left the room.

"Hello, Dakthes." That was the voice of the bespectacled lady.

Yes, she apparently didn't know that the hospital walls weren't that thick. And maybe because I was in a separate room, the noise didn't hinder my sense of hearing from operating, stealing sounds from outside. Not that clear, indeed, but enough.

"Ah, yes. What's up?" Loudspeaker. I had worried I wouldn't be able to hear the person on the other end. Turns out I'd forgotten one fact: the middle-aged forensic psychologist was quite old. She was exactly like Mom and Dad when they got a call—always putting it on loudspeaker.

"Have you thoroughly checked his physical condition?"

"Of course I have."

"What were the results?"

"Eh? Didn't I send you the file? The kid has temporary amnesia, a head injury from blunt force trauma, and a gunshot wound to the leg."

"Other than that?"

"Eh? Is there something else? Wait a moment, I'll check the file."

"Yes, that's all, really."

"What about his eyes? Did the blunt force trauma to the head affect his optic nerves? Or does he have an eye condition?"

"No, his eyes are healthy. Why do you ask?"

"He said the sky was overcast, and it's about to pour heavily."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he's colorblind."

I was just as shocked as Dakthes, who didn't immediately respond to the bespectacled lady's statement. I nearly jumped off the gurney to check out the window and verify what I'd just heard.

Good thing I remembered my leg; otherwise, I might have been sitting on the floor right now, biting my lip because the gunshot wound had reopened.

The last thing I heard before the bespectacled lady came back into the room was Dakthes saying he'd be at the hospital soon. He probably wanted to give me a colorblindness test.

And sure enough, about thirty minutes after the forensic psychologist left, Dakthes entered my room.

In short, I took the colorblindness test with strange results.

"Physically, your eyes are fine—very healthy." Dakthes handed me a sheet of HVS paper filled with strange sentences.

I took it, pretending to read it seriously even though the only words I could understand on that paper were "eye" and "healthy."

Raising my gaze, I handed the paper back to Dakthes.

"If my eyes are healthy, then why can I only see black, gray, and white? Ah, yes—and red!"

I was dead serious.

Earlier, when Dakthes kept showing me papers that I'm sure were full of colors, even though they all looked the same to my eyes, there was one color I could see clearly.

Red.

That color seemed to pierce my eyes while all other colors appeared black with different levels of saturation.

"I'm not sure yet. It seems like a psychological disorder, maybe a post-traumatic effect, or something else. It's not my field, so I can't just draw conclusions casually. But what's clear is, I can confirm one hundred percent that your eyes are healthy, and we'll conduct further research into your visual condition."

After that, Dakthes left my room. He told me to rest and not to think too much about today's events, because he said it could worsen my mental state.

I said okay and immediately devoured my meal. I'd lost my appetite earlier because the food I saw was only black and white like a photocopy, but it turned out the chef at this humble hospital was quite skilled.

At night, I propped myself up with both hands resting on the window frame. So I was on the third floor.

I let my black hair—I couldn't even remember when I'd last cut it—be blown by the night wind, tickling my neck. Closing my eyes, I murmured a prayer to the Creator to send the rain down.

I wanted to drive away the journalists in front of the hospital who were jostling to get a statement from Zwin. I also wanted to stop anyone from coming to me tonight.

I was tired, confused, and in pain.

I wanted to cry—not because I knew my family was gone. I wanted to cry—not because I was afraid of prison or a mental hospital. I wanted to cry—but also not because I knew I had lost the ability to see the colors of the world.

Thunder suddenly rumbled, startling me when I'd been quietly enjoying the chaos of horns and the strange questions the journalists were throwing out.

In an instant, I could see a drastic change on the streets.

Vehicles emitting a bright gray light suddenly sped up, twisting the throttle on motorcycles and stepping on the gas. They shot off incredibly fast; their drivers must have been forcing their eyes to work two hundred percent to avoid something unwanted.

My chest tightened as the wind grew colder, blowing my stray hairs higher. I looked up, searching for stars I knew were impossible to find.

Forgive me—I was only trying not to spill tears.

Afraid, in case that nurse from this morning, Dakthes, Zwin, or the forensic psychologist suddenly entered my room.

But it was hard.

I bowed my head deeply, just as the skin of my hands felt pierced by the cold raindrops.

I cried.

I didn't understand anything that was happening to me. Everything was too sudden.

I didn't understand, not even a single sentence.

Why did I wake up in this hospital?

And why did I have to undergo a sanity test just to decide between prison and a mental hospital?

I didn't remember even a second of the events Dakthes had recounted. What if he was just lying?

And then, what was this about temporary amnesia? Total colorblindness but only able to see red?

What was actually happening to me? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was still a seventeen-year-old boy being tutored by Mr. Noah until I went to my room and fell asleep from exhaustion?

Ah, yes. Mr. Noah.