Chapter 3 – Ghost Memories
The days blurred together inside the hospital. White walls. White sheets. White lights that never dimmed enough for her to tell whether it was morning or night.
But the nights… those were the worst.
She dreamed in fragments.
Blood dripping across her vision like paint. The wheel of a car spinning underwater, bubbles rising to the surface. A woman’s scream echoing, muffled as though pressed behind glass. And then, the most haunting image of all—hands slipping from hers into darkness.
Each time she jolted awake, drenched in sweat, the beeping of the monitors dragging her back to reality. But reality was no comfort. Reality had holes.
One morning, she noticed the bruises.
Dark smudges bloomed along her arms, just below the IV tape. Not the kind that came from needles or clumsy movement, but the kind left by fingers gripping too hard.
She pulled the sleeve of her gown down quickly when the nurse came in. “How are we feeling today, Elara?”
The name stabbed her again. Elara. Elara. As if saying it often enough would make it hers.
Her mouth felt dry. “Did—did someone come in here last night?”
The nurse paused, clipboard in hand. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
She hesitated. The bruises throbbed under the fabric, like a secret begging to be revealed. But she didn’t dare. Not yet.
“No reason,” she lied.
The nurse smiled, but her eyes lingered too long before she turned away.
That afternoon, Nathan returned.
He brought chocolates this time, expensive ones in a gold box. He sat beside her, too close, his cologne sharp and suffocating.
“You’re getting stronger,” he said, reaching for her hand.
She let him hold it this time, but her skin prickled. “I had… dreams.”
He tilted his head. “Dreams?”
“About water. And someone screaming.” Her voice cracked. “It felt real.”
His grip tightened just slightly. “Dreams aren’t memories, Elara. Don’t confuse the two.”
The way he said it—so sharp, so practiced—made her stomach twist.
“How do you know?” she asked softly.
His smile faltered, but only for a heartbeat. Then it returned, smooth and confident. “Because I know you. And I know what you’ve been through.”
But she didn’t believe him. Not anymore.
That night, she couldn’t sleep again. She pushed herself out of bed, wobbling across the cold floor, determined to move, to think, to feel alive. The hall outside her door was dim, hushed. She peeked through the crack, holding her breath.
Voices floated down the corridor. Two nurses at the station, whispering.
“…she shouldn’t have survived.”
Her blood froze.
“…no, it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. They said she was gone.”
Her knees nearly buckled. She pressed herself against the wall, heart hammering.
“…keep your voice down. If she hears—”
The sound of footsteps drew closer. She scrambled back into bed just as the door creaked open. A nurse poked her head in, scanning the room.
Her eyes shut tight, feigning sleep. She kept her breathing steady, though terror thudded through her chest.
The nurse lingered a moment, then closed the door again.
Only then did she let herself exhale, silent tears sliding down her cheeks.
The next morning, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her bruised arms. The note she had hidden under her pillow weighed heavier than ever:
Don’t trust him.
And now the whispers. The bruises. The dreams.
They were pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit together, yet all pointed to the same truth.
She wasn’t Elara. And whatever had happened the night she lost her memory—it wasn’t an accident.
The thought sank its claws into her.
Someone had wanted her dead.
And if they knew she was alive now…
Her reflection in the mirror across the room caught her eye again. The hollow-cheeked stranger stared back, bruises blooming like warnings along her arms.
For the first time, she whispered to the glass—not a question, but a promise.
“I will find out who I am.”
The reflection didn’t answer. But deep in her chest, something shifted. Something dangerous. Something determined.
And for the first time since she woke, she wasn’t just afraid.
She was angry
