Isabelle couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She stood by the window for a long time, staring at the figure in the distance. Every instinct told her something was wrong. Her hands clenched into fists, and her breath quickened. Who was that person? Why were they standing there, just out of reach, like a ghost at the edge of her mind?
She stepped back, her heart racing, and turned toward the door. The hospital room felt too small now, too suffocating. She needed to get out, to find out what was going on, but her legs felt weak and unsteady.
Her gaze flickered to the bed, then to the small, empty notebook on the table. Could the answers lie somewhere in her own memories? If only she could remember.
Just as she was about to sit back down, there was a knock at the door. She froze. The figure outside the window lingered in her mind, but she forced herself to focus on the present.
"Come in," she called, her voice barely above a whisper.
The door creaked open, and Richard, her brother, stepped inside. His face was tight with concern, and his eyes flicked to her slowly, as if he was unsure how to approach her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his tone soft but strained.
Isabelle smiled faintly, trying to reassure him, though she was far from okay. "I'm fine, Richard. Just… a little tired."
He studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her like he was searching for something in her expression, something he wasn't finding. Isabelle couldn't help but feel like she was under a microscope. Why did he look at her like that?
"I'm glad you're awake," he said, stepping closer and pulling a chair from the corner to sit beside her. "We've all been worried."
"We?" she echoed, her voice tight. "Who's been here, Richard?"
He hesitated, his jaw tensing. "Mom and Dad were here yesterday. They left early this morning. They'll be back soon."
Isabelle nodded slowly, but something felt off. Mom and Dad. Their faces eluded her, like a distant memory she couldn't quite grasp. "And… David?" she asked cautiously, her eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort.
Richard shifted uncomfortably. "David's been coming by, but he's been really busy with work. He said he'd stop by later today." He smiled faintly. "You know how he is—always too busy."
Isabelle's thoughts raced. She had no memory of David's visits, no sense of time passing when he was around. Why didn't she remember him being here?
Before she could ask more, Richard stood up and walked toward the door. "I'll let you rest. But if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
As he opened the door, Isabelle's eyes locked onto his. "Richard…" she started, her voice trembling. "I don't remember anything. I can't remember anything. What happened to me? Why can't I—" She cut herself off, her throat tightening. She was tired of the endless questions with no answers.
Richard's expression darkened for a moment, and then he forced a smile. "It's okay. You just need time. Everything will be fine, I promise."
He left before she could say anything else, and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone once again.
Isabelle slumped back in her bed, her thoughts racing. What was Richard hiding? Why was he so evasive?
The more she tried to piece things together, the more fragmented her mind became. The images, the names, the events—they all blurred together like a jigsaw puzzle missing half its pieces.
She stood up, a sense of urgency filling her chest. She couldn't stay here, locked away in a sterile room with nothing but her confusion. There had to be more she could do. She had to remember.
As she made her way to the door, her mind flashed back to the figure outside. The memory was fleeting but vivid—someone watching her from the shadows. The thought sent a chill down her spine. Who was it?
She opened the door quietly, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The nurses' station was just down the hall, and she moved quickly, hoping to slip by unnoticed. She was determined to find out more about what had happened to her, to uncover the truth behind her memory loss and the strange sense of being watched.
As she passed the nurse's station, she noticed a figure standing near the elevator. It was a man, dressed in a dark coat, his face partially obscured by the collar. He wasn't looking directly at her, but Isabelle could feel his gaze follow her movements.
A strange, unsettling feeling washed over her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him seemed… off. Who was he?
Isabelle quickened her pace, turning the corner just as the elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed the button for the ground floor, hoping to escape whatever had been lingering in the hall.
The elevator descended slowly, the quiet hum of the machinery the only sound. Isabelle's mind raced as she thought of everything she had seen and heard so far. Richard, David, the mysterious figure… it was all connected somehow, and she needed answers.
When the elevator finally reached the ground floor, Isabelle hesitated before stepping out. She needed to find a way to talk to David or figure out what was going on without anyone stopping her. As she stepped out of the elevator, she was greeted by a sudden, piercing sound—her phone ringing loudly in her pocket.
She froze.
It wasn't a number she recognized.
Her breath hitched as she glanced around, then quickly answered. "Hello?"
A voice, deep and distorted, crackled through the line. "You're getting too close, Isabelle. Be careful. The truth is closer than you think, but it's dangerous."
The line went dead.
Isabelle's blood ran cold. Who was that?