Through The Ash

Floating in Fog

Winter · January

I was a stranger to my own skin.

Quite literally I wasn't sure if I was even alive, because I could see myself lying there in the hospital bed. The cords were tangled all across my chest, though I seemed to move out of my body like a ghost.

I was like a whisper to the wind and no one knew. Maybe even me, because even though I recognized my face, I couldn't tell you about my life, and I wonder if all these people that pass by if they really know, but I can't help but hold onto the thought 'what if one of them are the reason that I'm here.'

The detective — Figaro they all called him sat in the corner, tapping his leg.

He looked nervous—like the whole case pressed down on him alone. And really, it was as if I wasn't there at all. The sheets pressed against my legs, the weight of the cords tethered me down, but my soul drifted loose, wandering the room.

I watched him. Thought maybe I could reach out, maybe brush his sleeve. But my fingers slipped through the rim of his cap, dissolving into air.

He'd been interviewing people all day. Some of them cried. Some of them stared like they were seeing me for the first time. A few even took pictures—like I was laid out for display, a body marked down for Black Friday.

Most of them knew more about me than I knew about myself, and if I had any chance of reclaiming my life... I first had to figure out who I was to all of these... people.

The detective sat down with his notebook open, his next victim sitting across from him, and I didn't just listen. I hovered, in ways that shouldn't have been possible if this was still a coma. I hoped it was, because if it wasn't... then I was dead, and the monitors, the people, everything, was just an illusion. Either way, it didn't sound good. But I couldn't die. Not yet.

Though the detective seemed to ask the same questions over and over, I clung to every word, scanning for the cracks and connections no one else seemed to notice.

"How did you know Rain?" "What issues did you have with her?" "Do you know who could have done this?" Faces drifted, blurred at the edges, while their answers carried tones and hesitation unique to each speaker—tiny clues buried in rhythm and inflection.

I had too many missing pieces, threads of a life I couldn't quite hold onto, but I traced them anyway, mapping patterns no one else could see.

INTERVIEW 001
SUBJECT: LIAM
Location: Faethorne Hospital – Room 003
Interviewer: Detective Figaro
Case Reference: Arson / Assault – Apartment Incident

"Please, have a seat, Liam. I'll need your cooperation."

"Sure thing." He slid into the chair like it belonged to him, like the air around him obeyed a different law. I blinked, trying to remember anything about him, anything at all but couldn't.

"How do you know the victim? Rain Ashford," Figaro asked.

"I met Rain when I was fourteen," he said, leaning back, the casualness sharp, like a knife hidden in a smile. "We dated for a while. It was good... until it wasn't."

Good? Was it good? I couldn't remember, it was like piece by piece these people had to glue my life together. Did I want it to be his? I tried to summon faces, voices, warmth, anger—my mind returned only a hollow echo. Him leaning back, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the detective... some kind of apology? Or was it superiority? I couldn't tell, couldn't trust what my own eyes told me.

"When I met Bianca, and it was like Rain just... cut everyone off. I was there for her, you know? When her mom was always going crazy. Told her we could be friends and she didn't like that. Maybe that's why Rain held on so tight, but sometimes I felt like she just wanted a rescue, and at some point I just needed to breathe. She like loved her depression man."