I paused for a moment.
People around me were moving as if nothing was happening...
Laughter, phones, hurried footsteps.
I was the only one... observing.
"What do I do now?"
A simple question, yet heavy.
I think...
The police.
A place where facts—or something like them—are stored.
I looked around.
A middle-aged man carrying a grocery bag, seemingly with no time for strangers.
I approached.
"Excuse me..."
He stopped.
"Where... is the nearest police station?"
He glanced at me quickly, then pointed without asking:
"End of the street, turn left, you'll see it."
I nodded. Didn't say thank you.
I started walking in the direction he pointed.
My steps were slow at first, then grew more steady.
The streets here were busier.
Car sounds, footsteps, traffic lights—everything felt normal... too normal.
I didn't feel like I belonged here.
But I kept moving.
At the corner, I turned left.
I saw it.
A relatively old building, simple, with no visible guards.
A clear sign: "Police Station."
I walked up.
Opening the door was easy.
Inside, it was slightly colder, with the scent of paper and old sweat.
I sat for a moment on the wooden bench near the entrance.
An employee behind the desk noticed me.
"Need help?"
I shook my head, then spoke:
"I think... I need to speak with an officer."
His voice was neutral:
"Wait a moment."
After a short while, a tall man arrived and asked me to go into one of the rooms.
I entered and sat.
Moments later, an officer came in.
He carried a small notebook. His pen made a steady, yet irritating sound.
"Your name?"
I stayed silent.
"Your name?" he repeated in a calm tone.
"I don't know."
He raised his head, looked at me, then jotted something down.
"Where did you come from?"
I looked down.
I wanted to answer, but something inside held me back.
"I found myself in a room. I don't know how. I don't know when. The door was locked. I was alone."
He stopped writing for a moment, then continued.
"Do you remember anything?"
I nodded slowly.
"A sound. Footsteps. Gunshots... three of them. Repeating."
The silence between us grew heavier.
"How often?"
"I don't know. A lot. Maybe every... two weeks. I was counting the days on the wall. I got to twenty."
"Were you kidnapped?"
His question suddenly sounded absurd.
Was I? I didn't know.
"The room... was designed for it. Screws. Thick walls. As if it was built to trap someone."
I stopped.
Something stirred inside me.
Not fear.
Something else.
"I found someone who tried to escape before me. He didn't make it."
The officer slowly raised his eyes to me.
They held no doubt, no belief. Just... duty.
"How did you get out?"
"The lock broke. I don't know how. I didn't ask. I ran."
He wrote that down, then looked up again.
"Do you remember who you are? Your job? Any relatives?"
I shook my head.
"Nothing. Just..."
"Just?"
"The smell of disinfectant. Gloves. The sound of a heart monitor. As if I was... a doctor?"
His pen dropped for a moment, then he picked it up again.
"Alright..."
He wrote something longer than before, then closed the notebook.
"We'll take your fingerprints and start checking. Wait a bit, a doctor will examine you."
I nodded. Didn't speak.
I watched the room.
Everything in it was normal. But I felt like a stranger to it.
A stranger even to myself.
The doctor came in. He didn't care for small talk.
He sat, opened the file, looked directly at me.
"Your name?"
"I don't know."
He wrote that down.
"Do you have a headache?"
"No."
"Dizziness? Nausea? Confusion?"
"None of that."
"Do you remember what happened?"
"No."
"Nightmares?"
"No. I don't dream. Just... flashes."
"What kind of flashes?"
I was silent.
"Bright lights. Tools. Gloves. A hand holding a scalpel. A screen. A monitor beeping."
"Like... an operating room."
"Do these images repeat?"
"Sometimes. Not clearly. But... familiar."
He moved closer.
"May I examine you?"
I nodded.
He examined my head. Touched a certain spot. I didn't feel pain, but my head jerked back suddenly.
"Here, you were struck."
I nodded.
He said:
"The mark is old. A strong blow, or a fall. Could be the cause of your memory loss."
He closed the file.
"Your mind is protecting you. Sometimes it buries what it can't handle. But over time... it may return."
He left.
I sat alone for a moment, then the same officer returned. His footsteps steady, as usual.
"The doctor says you're okay to leave. You're stable."
I said nothing.
"You said you remember where you were held."
I nodded.
"Can you lead us there?"
In a soft voice, I replied:
"I think so."
---
The hallway felt longer than before.
Each step made a soft sound on the tiles, like I was hearing myself for the first time.
Outside, the sky was gray.
I sat in the back seat.
The car moved.
We didn't speak.
I watched the road.
Everything we passed felt vaguely familiar, like I had dreamed this city but never lived in it.
I kept directing the driver based on a feeling.
Not a map—just... something pulling me.
We got closer.
The car slowed, then stopped at the edge of a dirt path.
The quiet here was different.
Thicker. Heavier.
The officer got out first.
Then I followed.
The air was slightly cold, with the scent of soil and dry leaves.
"This way, I think."
I pointed to a barely visible path between the grass.
We entered the woods.
I led, the officer and two others behind me.
With each step, more memories surfaced.
The texture of the ground. The branches.
A faint sound of a bird... or something else.
I stopped at a point.
Looked to the left.
My heart started beating faster.
"There."
I pointed.
We moved forward.
The branches parted, revealing a low structure, half-buried underground.
A small rusted metal door, hidden behind thick plants.
I bent down, pushed some of them aside, looked at the officer.
"This is where I was."
One of his team examined the door, then carefully opened it.
A soft creak, followed by stale air.
I entered first.
The smell... old.
The worn mattress was still there.
The wall... the tally marks.
But in the other corner...
A metal table. Leftover food. Stale bread. Water bottles. Plastic utensils.
"Someone's been coming here recently..."
The officer approached a back wall, examined it, then called out:
"Come here, something's strange."
The left side of the wall was slightly slanted.
He pushed it—it opened to reveal a small hidden door, with a dark passage behind it.
We entered.
Concrete walls. Boxes.
Another bed.
Tape. Plastic restraints.
"This is another holding area..."
Then something else.
A dark stain on the ground.
"Blood... not old."
Silence followed.
I was just watching. Breathing.
"Was this also where you were?"
"No. I don't know this part."
But it felt familiar. In a terrifying way.
We exited.
The air felt heavier.
"Spread out. Search the area," the officer ordered.
We kept walking through the woods, until one of the team called out suddenly.
"Sir... you need to see this."
At the edge of a small ravine, overgrown with plants.
Among them... bodies.
Dumped without order.
Partially decomposed.
One of the investigators went down, counted:
"One... two... three..."
Until he said:
"Ten."
I got closer.
Each body... three shots to the chest.
Precise. Consistent.
"The same number of shots..."
I whispered.
"You
heard three shots... every two weeks?"
"Yes."
"And these... maybe one each time."
The officer contacted his superiors.
As for me... I was staring at the bodies.
One of them...
The face looked familiar.
Like I had seen it... in the shadows.
But memory failed me.
As always.