"CAN YOU HEAR me?"
"Ms. Castillo, please—"
The fragments of conversation sound far away and dreamlike, as if we're at opposite ends of a long tunnel. My eyelids flutter reluctantly, before I force them to open all the way, and for a moment, I see nothing but white, like a bright flash. The voices around me seem to multiply, all speaking over each other at once, and I can't make out any of the words; I can only hear the thumping of my heart, loud in my chest.
"Back up, give her some space."
My eyes search around blindly, fingers grabbing hold of the thin fabric beneath me, as some of the whiteness melts away, making room for unfamiliar faces. Frigid panic creeps in before any rational thought is able to, and I scramble into a sitting position, a flare of pain rising up in my stomach.
A woman positioned on the chair to my right reaches out, her lips moving but making no sound. I recoil from her touch, words trying to climb out of my throat, but getting stuck there.
The room is filled with doctors and nurses alike, and it doesn't take rocket science to figure out that I'm in a hospital. But I don't know why.
I open my mouth to ask, though nothing comes out, and I can only manage wildly looking around the room, my chest rising and falling.
"Allie." The woman's voice finally registers in my brain, and my gaze jumps in her direction.
Her eyes are nearly as wide as mine as she places a tentative hand on my shoulder. "Everything is going to be alright," she says gently, trying to ease me back against the pillow. I stare back at her, noticing the way her hazel eyes are gleaming with held-back tears.
Allie?
I feel something on my face then, and my hand rushes upward to touch it, fingers encircling around a tube, before a nurse reaches out to stop me. An erratic beeping noise fills the air, and it takes a second to register that it's a heart monitor, putting my terror on full display.
"What's going on?" I finally ask, not recognizing the hoarse voice as my own. "Why am I here?"
I lock eyes with the woman sitting next to me, her brown hair spilling messily from the bun at the back of her head, clothed in a sleek, grey pantsuit.
My eyebrows pull together in a frown as she stares at me expectantly. "Who are you?" I ask, my voice soft, and trembling.
She blanches, her face losing all of its colour, and turns to the man in a lab coat standing next to me. I follow her gaze, as the man, who's name tag reads Dr. Meyer, regards her with a grim expression, eyes somber behind his thick-rimmed glasses, folding his hands in front of him. I look between the two of them in quick succession, wondering what unspoken words are flowing between them, and why neither are voicing them aloud.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Castillo," he says quietly, "but we warned you that she may experience some memory loss when she came to."
The woman lets out a breath of what seems to be outrage, shaking her head. "You said it would be minor," she huffs. "You never said she wouldn't remember her own mother!"
My heart collapses into my stomach, and the beeping of the monitor comes to an abrupt halt.
I stare at her in horror. This woman is supposedly my mother, and there's nothing about her—nothing about any of this—that feels even remotely familiar.
"What?" I choke out, but my feeble question doesn't reach their ears
Dr. Meyer holds his hands up in surrender, looking as apologetic as he seems able to manage, dark eyebrows tipping upward. "That guess was a shot in the dark. It was impossible to tell the extent of the amnesia until Alina was conscious."
"Amnesia?" I repeat dumbly, though it's become quite clear that's what I'm experiencing. Everything before this room and this moment is a black hole.
They hear me this time, both pairs of eyes darting in my direction. My so-called mother squeezes hers shut, pinching the bridge of her nose, appearing to be making an effort to get a handle on her emotions. Tears spring to my own eyes as the panic sets in again, uncontrollable.
I turn to Dr. Meyer. "Tell me what's going on," I demand, my fear of the unknown lending me the courage to speak up.
He gives me an apologetic smile that I don't return as I grit my teeth together, clenching my jaw. "Alina, I'm Dr. Meyer," he introduces himself needlessly, irritating me further. He gestures to the woman, who still hasn't looked up. "This is your mother, Sofia. You were brought to the Pender Falls General Hospital after you were in a car accident. Unfortunately, your head sustained most of the injuries, which is why you may be experiencing some gaps in your memory."
"Gaps?" I repeat incredulously, vision blurring. "I don't remember anything!"
I don't remember anything.
The gravity of the words sends a chill down my spine.
"Don't you worry," he assures me in a calm voice. "We're going to work on fixing that."
His reassurance does little to placate the alarm rising in my chest, and suddenly I feel as though I'm rapidly running out of breath. I make an attempt to communicate that I'm having trouble breathing, but my throat has closed up again, as if the few words I've spoken have made it reach its limit.
I begin gasping for air, clutching at the sheet beneath me, and Sofia looks up, noticing my struggle, her eyes widening.
"Help her!" she orders, and the medical staff springs into action.
I'm hyperventilating now, the sounds of my shallow breaths filling my ears. My chest starts to ache from the lack of oxygen, and black creeps into the edges of my vision. It threatens to consume me as, distantly, I feel an oxygen mask being placed over my head, but it's too late.
Subconsciousness calls to me, offering to shelter me from this waking nightmare, and I gratefully embrace it.
Before I drift off completely, a disembodied voice rings out in my head, and somehow I can tell it doesn't belong to anyone inside the room, instead coming from somewhere within the recesses of my brain.
Sleep tight, Allie, it whispers teasingly.
And then the rest of my thoughts are wiped away.