Return to the Meadow

Chapter Three: Unconscious

As the veil of unconsciousness slowly lifted, Liza found herself blinking against the dim light that filtered through heavy curtains. Disoriented and unsure of her surroundings, she struggled to piece things together. The faint echo of her panicked heartbeat still resounded in her ears like a distant memory. Bringing her hand to her face, Liza discovered the left side of her face to be swollen. Her cheekbone especially sensitive to the touch. Blinking rapidly, Liza’s eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. A strange scent teased her senses. Moldy wallpaper adorned the walls, bearing the marks on stories long forgotten. It was a room that seemed to belong to another time, a place out of sync with reality.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door, followed by it slowly being opened. Startled, Liza turned towards the source of the noise and found herself met with the gaze of a stranger. The man standing in the doorway was tall and lean, his brown hair in unruly waves reaching to his shoulders. His deep, penetrating eyes held an odd mixture of curiosity and concern.

“You’re awake,” the man spoke with an undertone of surprise, his voice low and raspy. “I… uh… came to check on you.”

Liza’s mind whirred as she tried to grasp the situation. Who was this man and how did she come to find herself in this room? Struggling to gather her thoughts, she managed a barely audible response, her voice tainted with confusion. “Who are you?”

Placing the cup he was holding in his hand on a nearby side table, Liza's heart pounded in her chest as the man steadily closed the distance between them. Her mind signaled for her to move back, to create some space. Feeling trapped in her position she tried to inch back on the bed as much as possible. Ouch! It was too painful for her to move. She desperately wanted him to stop coming closer but he was already standing at her side. His scent, a mixture of earthy notes and a hint of something intoxicating wafted towards her, filling up the air that separated them. The unfamiliar fragrance stimulated her nostrils, tickling her senses with a subtle allure she had never experienced before.

As the man drew nearer, Liza's focus narrowed, a sense of foreboding welling up within her. Her intuition whispered a warning, urging her to guard herself against whatever this encounter might bring. She studied his handsome face, trying to discern his intentions, but found herself captivated by his piercing black eyes.

Their eyes still locked in a mesmerizing gaze, Liza called on all her willpower to divert her face from his. A movement in the corner of her eye warned Liza of his hands moving towards her, reaching for her face. Was he going to strangle her? Liza could feel her heart racing as her mind continued to spiral through a storm of thoughts and worries. It seemed like the world around her was unraveling, slipping away from her grasp. But amid her seemingly never-ending cascade of thoughts, Liza caught herself. She realized she was jumping to conclusions. She could, however, not suppress a sinister thought that had entered her mind: he could’ve done all kinds of things to her while she was unconscious. This horrible realization sent a shiver down her spine: what had he done to her?

To her surprise, his hands moved past her face and grabbed the pillow instead. Gentle but firmly, he shook it up and down. Realizing he was fluffing the pillow, a sigh of relief escaped her mouth and Liza smiled internally. Just a few seconds ago, she thought he was about to end her life.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for days,” he whispered under his breath. The man took a step back to look at the result of his minor effort. Days? Did he say days? Liza thought to herself, frowning her eyebrows in confusion. Determined to dismiss the notion that she had been unconscious for an extended period, Liza reasoned that the man must have misspoken. Perhaps she had misheard him, her mind playing tricks on her in her weakened state. She had likely only been unconscious for a few hours, not days.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” The man stood up and took the cup he left at the side table, offering it to her.

Raising her eyebrows at his bold assumption, Liza had to admit she’d been uncharacteristically quiet. Her mouth was dry, her throat was sore and she was incredibly thirsty. Liza took the cup from him, eager to still her thirst. As her eyes fell upon its contents, disappointment washed over her like an unwelcome wave. The cup was filled to the brink with coffee. Liza hated coffee. She had never understood how anyone could enjoy such a bitter beverage. Suppressing her true feelings, Liza forced a polite smile, her disappointment hidden behind it. She didn't want to appear ungrateful or offend the man. After all, there’s no way he could have known about her aversion to coffee. Rather than voicing her distaste, she decided it was best to accept it gracefully. Taking a deep breath, Liza lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. As expected, the bitterness coated her tongue, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste. #vote#

"Who are you?" she asked again, her voice tinged with a mixture of feigned confidence and genuine curiosity. Liza had to admit she found this stranger incredibly intriguing. His presence was unlike anything she had ever encountered before, leaving her with an undeniable desire to unravel the enigma that seemed to surround him.

The man regarded her with calm eyes that held a world of secrets behind them. A gentle smile played at the corners of his lips, almost as if he had anticipated her question. “My name is Damian.”

Damian. It didn’t ring a bell. Slightly frustrated with the lack of progress in putting the pieces together, and still pained by the dull ache in her head, Liza proceeded with questioning the man. “Where am I?”

Liza's heart pounded in her chest as she cautiously observed the mysterious figure leaning against the side table in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on him, searching for any clues to unravel the mystery surrounding him. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for an answer to the question that lingered in the air. Slowly, Damian straightened himself. “You are in Weymoore, at Nickson Street 44. This is my house and has been for the past 14 years."

The name Weymoore resonated within Liza, although she couldn't remember why. Nevertheless, she felt a glimmer of recognition, buried deep within her subconscious. Her fingers instinctively reached for the delicate necklace hanging around her neck.

“You’ve been out for days. Three, to be precise,” Damian proceeded without her asking, “I found you out in the cold the other evening, a fine-looking thing lying in the middle of the street. Doesn’t happen every day, you know.” He gave her a creepy wink. “No jacket, no ID, and no phone. You were unresponsive, so I carried you inside and placed you on the bed. You’ve slept ever since.”

Three days? Shocked by this turn of events, her mind struggled to piece together what had happened over the past three days. Her memory remained hazy. In a desperate attempt to make sense of it all, Liza absentmindedly rubbed her forehead, hoping to somehow jog her recollection. She must’ve hit her head real hard if it knocked her out for three days.

The fog in Liza's mind began to lift, and a sharp pang of guilt hit her as she remembered Nate, her husband. A surge of worry washed over her as she envisioned his face, seemingly frozen in a state of anxiety. Liza knew he must have spent those three days consumed by concern for her well-being, never knowing what had happened to her. In his experience, she disappeared in thin air.

Dragging herself out of bed, Liza steadied herself and pushed aside any lingering dizziness. “I need to make a call. Nate, my husband… Can I borrow your phone?”