Rain was just beginning to fall—so weak it was barely there—when Nina walked into the dimly lit room where she would be spending the night. Off white walls looked nearly yellow beneath the dull lighting while the few pieces of furniture looked worn even from the doorway. Nina didn't mind it so much. She wouldn't be staying for long, not if she could help it, and the place was desolate enough that it would not be easy to find.
No one would be looking for her there. At least, that was what Nina was counting on.
She sighed as she closed the door behind her, making sure to lock it before walking to the bed and dropping her bag on top of the tacky, multi-colored bedding. Even with the bed looking like a far cry from the one in her apartment, it looked incredibly enticing to Nina at the moment. She was exhausted, her eyes burning while a headache built up and everything that had happened filled her mind to the brim until Nina could no longer process it all. Simply put, Nina didn't know what to do.
For someone who'd always been so self assured, so certain of her role and her purpose, that was a frightening feeling. It was something Nina had been battling with, perhaps from the moment she awoke in a hospital bed with no memory of how she got there, something she'd managed to push back as she worked to get back to her normal life. And then, just as she managed to get a grip on who she was, it slipped away and she fell into a world that kept shifting beneath her feet—throwing her off balance.
Nina didn't know what to do, hadn't known for longer than she cared to consider, but she knew that simply sitting around—giving up—wasn't an option.
She took a deep breath, exhaled, and felt her head clear just a bit. Enough that she thought she could function well enough to do something. Even so, she dug around her bag for the emergency meds she carried and downed a couple of pills for the headache that was slowly becoming a real nuisance. Once that was done, she reached for the files she'd hurriedly packed away, pulling them out and making her way over to the desk across the small room.
The sole chair she was provided with was dragged back over the grey carpet that had seen better days. It creaked as Nina took a seat, the wood feeling flimsy enough that Nina was concerned about it giving away for a minute, but she settled down soon enough and opened up the files once more.
Perhaps there wasn't much more for Nina to find in there. Still, there was a certain comfort to be gained from doing something. Nina needed a purpose at that moment, something to guide her and show her what she should do when all the walls were closing in on her and the world felt like a stifling place. Something to drown out the voice telling her that she was going mad.
Nina found some of that in going through Fearnley's records, even if it was the second time.
The clock, an antiquated thing that reminded her of her school days, when she'd sat at an uncomfortable desk with a test in front of her and the ticking of the clock a steady warning that her time was slipping away. That very feeling returned to her in full at that moment. Behind her, the clock was ticking away, echoing in her mind as she tried to put all of her attention into the words on the pages before her. All the while, the conversation she'd had with Ben played over and over in her head.
I was so stupid, Nina couldn't help but think. I shouldn't have gone back to that place.
Her return to the SEIN building had felt like a mistake from the start, but Nina had credited that to purely personal reasons. After all, there was much reason for her to feel apprehensive about entering the building. The time she spent there after the accident was not something she wanted to be reminded of.
The clock on the wall kept ticking away and the words began to blur into a dark, inky mess. More than ever before, Nina wished she had someone she could talk to. Even if she hadn't gotten rid of her phone at some random point between her apartment and the distant motel she'd stumbled across after driving without a set course, Nina knew that there was no one she could confide in. Her friends, her family, couldn't be involved in the mess she'd trapped herself in. Ben had already done more than he should have by warning her.
Nina thought of Iris and Nat, and what they would think when they found out she'd left town—that the police were looking for her. She thought of her father, who'd already been through more than enough. The last time she'd seen him they'd walked out into the warm sunlight and cool wind, both feeling like a blessing after she'd been stuck indoors while recovering. He'd been worried then, and rightly so, but Nina had done her best to be strong. Now, she found it harder to do when she had no one to be strong for.
At that moment, a memory surfaced in her mind, one that Nina was no longer certain was her own. A warm presence, the laughter of a child bubbling up, and the feeling of a familiar presence that could only be described as comforting.
Mom, Nina thought, the word appearing in her mind unbidden. She thought of the smiling image of her mother that had once hung on the wall of her home. More than anything, Nina thought of all the times she'd sought out her mother for reassurance and the ease with which she'd been given it. Now, Nina wondered once more if maybe Alice hadn't done the same thing at a time when—for reasons still unknown to Nina—she had needed someone to be there for her.
She knew something was wrong, that's why she left Fearnley's treatment to someone else, Nina thought, searching amongst the mess of notes she'd hastily gathered for the rough timeline she'd worked out. So she went home. Went to her family. But what did she know and why did she leave? Was it really just to ease her mind?
It was her best guess, but it still seemed wrong. Alice seemed like a pragmatic person. She was, from what Nina could gather, direct and independent. It was difficult to think of her going home for something as simple as some familiar comfort in a time of need, not when something was bothering her so deeply about the work she was doing. Especially not while she worked with a patient like Fearnley, someone in whose progress she was so invested.
Unless that was why she left. Maybe something happened, something that made her distance herself from her work for a short while. Nina recalled Alice not being as involved in her own case. When she thought about it, that seemed peculiar. It would have been a good opportunity to see the effects of her work.
Nina leaned back in her seat, the chair creaking once again though this time the sound went ignored. Her brow was furrowed, a slight frown on her face and a far off look in her eyes as she lost herself in her thoughts.
Something drove her home, something related to her work. Nina decided that was the best trail of thought to follow at the moment. There was a chance that if she found out what it was that made Alice leave her work behind the whole puzzle would come together.
"Pull the right thread and the whole thing will unravel." Once again, the old piece of advice came back to Nina. I just hope this is the right thread.
What little of the weak sunlight that made it through the thick storm clouds and filtered in through the narrow space between the curtains was quickly fading. Night was still a ways off, but Nina didn't feel comfortable driving around just yet. Besides that, she didn't know where she would go next, her mind not being made up about what her next step would be, not with all of the uncertainties she was surrounded with at the time.
With that, Nina turned back to the records in front of her and the neatly written notes Alice had jotted down. Outside, the rain strengthened gradually until it became a downpour. The sound of the rain beating against the ground was a steady, almost soothing sound. It cut through the bleak silence Nina found herself in.
She eyed the small television set in her room, and finally decided to turn it on. The sounds of one of the many procedural shows flooded the room and made Nina feel a little less tense. As had become a habit, she left it on, despite not caring for the show.
Nina let out a yawn as she read on, getting to the end of Alice's notes and to the part written in unfamiliar handwriting. Fearnley's last visit had been short, according to the records. It had been a simple check up, he'd been doing well, the headaches that had plagued Nina as well being the only things that Fearnley had complained about. As Nina had been, Fearnley was reassured, told it was a normal side effect. He was sent home. Just days later, Fearnley turned himself in.
And then his memories changed. That was what Fearnley had said when they'd last spoken. His memories had changed, slowly at first—like they were eroded with time, the pieces fracturing until the truth broke free from the lies that were built around it. But then, at what point had those lies been placed in the man's head. When, and why, had someone made him think he had a daughter?
Was it while Alice was away? Nina thought, then recalled the first thing Alice had noted when she returned and saw her patient once again. No, she was looking for anything that could be off. She would have noticed, and Fearnley would have mentioned his daughter.
Nina dug out the notepad where she'd written down everything she'd found out while asking around about Fearnley. Notes on their conversations were also there, and it took Nina only a minute to find what she was looking for—the point where Fearnley had told her about the Night Alice was killed.
He said the memories came to him slowly, and the old ones—the ones that were implanted—were still there. What if those memories appeared gradually too? If he turned himself in days after Alice was killed, then the implanted memories probably didn't appear until later. Fearnley had, after all, said his memories of the incident were foggy when he'd first spoken to Nina. Now, Nina knew that it was entirely possible that was due to the memories slowly taking hold in Fearnley's mind.
They'd gone from fragments of sounds and images Fearnley could hardly put together to memories so vivid he was convinced of his own guilt. It was that guilt that drove Fearnley to confess, not being able to live with the thought of what he'd done. What he'd been framed for.
Now, Nina was back to needing to find out what it was that had driven Alice to leave her work and what connection that had to her murder.
What did she know? Nina asked herself, staring at the pages in front of her as if they held all the answer. And maybe they did, maybe Nina just wasn't looking in the right place.
She flipped through the pages, brow furrowed and energy all but gone. The sun was gone, the last rays of light having faded behind the horizon while the rain had slowed if only for a while. Nina glanced up at the closed door and considered heading out, if only for a moment. She did, after all, need food.
Since she'd left home, Nina hadn't felt so hungry. She'd been too preoccupied with all the things that had happened, things she hadn't fully processed. Between Ben's warning, the news that she was suspected of working with Fearnley, and the stress of her mind trying to hold itself together Nina hadn't felt anything but anxiety. Even at that moment, she wasn't particularly hungry, but she figured she should get something while she had the chance. After all, she couldn't be sure of what the next day would bring. It felt like she hadn't been sure of that for a long time.
A minute later, Nina cautiously opened the door to her room. The hall was empty, yellow lights illuminating the length of it and the air feeling cold and still with the scent of rain hanging heavily. Nina could see her breath, a white puff that dispersed in a second while her face began to prickle with the cold.
It was always colder outside the city, especially closer to the mountains. Nina wasn't so far from them, perhaps having sought out the most remote place instinctually. In a way, she was glad for that. The silence and peace helped keep her calm and, for the first time, she realized she'd yet to be caught in any of Alice's memories.
She tried not to think about that, maybe out of fear that those memories would emerge, as if summoned from the darkest corner of her mind. Instead, Nina focused on heading down the hall, towards the vending machines she'd seen when she'd arrived.
It was a short walk, the machines visible from just outside her room. Her shoes clicked against the ground in a way that nearly took her back to the hall with the pictures on the wall and the scent of earth and spices. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and thought about the theories she'd come up with regarding Fearnley and Alice. Nina thought about her conversation with Ben and whether the police would give up on her.
Probably not, she thought, wondering how serious the accusations against her were. Nina wished Ben had been able to tell her more. Still, he'd risked enough already, now she just hoped he was okay.
Before she knew it, Nina found herself standing before the vending machines. A bright selection of junk food was displayed in front of her in bright packaging. She nearly cringed at the thought sight of all the sweets and was only too glad there was a single vending machine selling soup. Nina would freely admit to having survived of of cup noodles for most of her college years. It was, after all, a stable of the college diet. She figured it was better than nothing.
"At least it's hot," she muttered, waiting for the hot water to fill the cup.
The warmth was pleasant as she picked it up and headed back to her room. She hadn't realized just how cold she was until her stiff fingers wrapped around the styrofoam cup. The familiar smell of the cheap condiments and the scent of rain still lingering in the air was soothing in a way. It reminded her of nights curled up on a lumpy bed, studying for some test and wondering when she'd have time to call her parents. The nostalgia was enough to keep Nina's mind from going to places she'd rather not visit. She was thankful for that much.
Nina was glad the moment she walked back into her room, not only because of the warmth the room provided. She sat at her desk with the meager meal she'd gathered and looked back to the notes and documents she'd been going over for what felt like the hundredth time. The clock on the wall was still ticking away and it reminded her of how skewed her sense of time had become as of late. Already her trip to retrieve Fearnley's files seemed like a distant memory.
She flipped the pages of Fearnley;s records, scanning the parts she'd not looked at as closely the first time around while her soup cooled at her side. The television was now showing an infomercial for some new piece of cookware, the type Nina's mother would have rushed out to buy as soon as she laid eyes on it.
Mom. The word resonated in some part of her mind along with a child's laughter and the name of a dead woman spoken in a warm tone. Nina raised a hand to her head, willing away the memories.
On the television, a woman prattled on about the product with a wide smile on painted lips while pain shot through Nina's skull and crimson smile flashed in her mind's eye. She closed her eyes, wondered if the shock was wearing off. If her mind would once again start to crumble.
"Stop it," she said in a harsh whisper, and asked herself who she was speaking to. Alice was gone, after all. There was nothing more she could do about the memories in Nina's mind.
The memories subsided, slowly slipping away until they were nothing but a distant presence inside of Nina's mind. With shaking hands, she picked up the files she'd been going over, intent on keeping busy.
Nina read carefully through a list of medications Fearnley was taking, the scheduled therapy sessions, the many check ups he'd received. It was all painfully mundane. At least, it was to Nina, who'd gone through much of the same after receiving a neuroprosthesis of her own. Her soup was consumed, the woman on the television had been replaced by a far less enthusiastic anchorwoman talking about some protests.
The serious, matter of fact way the news were delivered made it harder and harder for Nina to keep her eyes open. Exhaustion was catching up to her and Nina was struggling to keep going. She was starting to wish she had some coffee around.
Nina sat back, staring at the files she'd scanned more than once already, knowing she'd found as many answers as she was likely to find. There was still much Nina needed to know, but for that, she had to look at the big picture, she had to look at who was behind the treatment both her and Fearnley understood. Someone was pulling the strings, and now that Nina had a better idea of what was going on, she needed to find out who and why.
She closed the records, setting them aside for the time being, and pulled her laptop closer. SEIN had a public site, one that spoke about how much good they were doing in the medical community. One that Nina's father had looked at with hope. It was a sentiment that Nina might have shared at one time.
Nina felt a sense of bitterness towards it now, as she looked at images of smiling people on the front page. The usual welcoming homepage that greeted her was almost laughable, but she ignored it in favor of searching for information on the people working for the research institute. There was a long list, several with pictures of smiling doctors, researchers and nurses. Each had a short bit of information, mostly about their credentials and past achievements, but what Nina was really interested in was what projects they were currently working on.
Trials for neuroprosthetics—particularly hippocampal implants of the same sort both Nina and Fearnley had received—were still being conducted. But then, there was a more controversial project. One that Nina had disregarded for a long time, too preoccupied with everything that had been going on as of late. Memory implants.
Ben had mentioned it to Nina once, while they sat in a cafe with hot drinks. It had been a rare moment of peace that Nina now missed dearly. Now, Nina wished she'd asked more questions. It was too late for regrets.
One by one, Nina looked over each name listed in alphabetical order, jotting down the names of those connected to either the memory implants or the neuroprosthetics. Her list grew longer and longer with each passing minute, the ticking of the clock on the wall a steady marker of the flow of time, something Nina had lost track of since nightfall. Outside, the rain had picked up once more, and by the time Nina had gotten to the names under the letter R, the rain had become a full on downpour.
Even inside, there was a chill in the air that had Nina wishing once again for a hot drink. She debated going outside to get more soup, but decided against it. The short walk down the hall had been difficult enough the first time around. Instead, Nina draped her jacket over her shoulders and continued to stare at the screen with tired eyes.
As the moved farther and farther away past midnight, it became increasingly more difficult for Nina to keep her eyes open, her eyelids feeling heavy and her thoughts becoming muddled as sleep fought to overtake her.
Not yet, she thought, willing herself to stay awake.
It was becoming more and more difficult to focus on what it was that she was reading, the words blurred and refusing to register. Several times, she found herself being forced to stop just to go over something once again.
That all changed with a single image of a smiling woman.
The moment Nina saw it, she felt more awake than she had since she'd spoken to Ben that morning—something that still felt like it had happened years earlier. Her eyes widened, the pen she'd somehow managed to keep a grip on finally slipping from her hand to hit the desk with a weak clattering sound. For that moment, the world seemed to still, the ticking of the clock, the rain beating against the pavement outside and the voices streaming through the television all fading as Nina focused on the picture she couldn't tear her eyes away from.
Nat. The name stuck out in her mind as she looked at the woman who, without a doubt Nina had called her childhood friend. A woman who worked at a law firm and was supposed to know nothing of the medical field.
And yet, there she was, her eyes sharp as always amidst pale skin and a crimson smile stretching across her face. It was a smile that had once seemed warm to Nina—comforting. Now, as she looked upon it with a sinking feeling in her stomach, it seemed like a smug, mocking gesture. Those mismatched eyes, that sharpness she'd taken for cleverness taking on a dangerous glint, stared straight at her.
Nina suddenly found herself standing, her chair toppling over with a sound that felt too loud. She stared at that smiling face and felt a sharp pain shoot through her head. Even as she closed her eyes, gripping her head with a shaking hand, that crimson smile flashed through her head. And then, perhaps not so strangely, she thought of Fearnley.
"I'd get these headaches when I thought about that day. . ." he'd said, when he spoke about memories that weren't really his. Right before he'd asked Nina to pass on a message to a daughter he had never even had.
No, I know who I am, Nina told herself, even as her memories crumbled around her, the lies that had been stuck inside her head falling to pieces as the truth emerged. The pain in her head grew with every passing second as did the pain in her heart as she thought of the things she'd lost and the things that were still being stolen from her.
Warm summer days spent playing with a friend. Shared laughter and the feel of a hand as small as her own in her grasp. Mismatched eyes that smiled at her from a friend's face. It was all a lie that Nina had held close to her heart.
A broken past that had never existed.
The world spun around her as the rain roared outside and the ticking of the clock seemed like a deafening sound that stook out from the chatter on the television. Nina's head pounded and her eyes stung even as she pressed them tightly closed, the cold wetness of tears running down her face.
The world fell away and Nina's consciousness went with it.
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Hey everyone! Hope you've liked this chapter, and thank you all for reading. As always, please vote and/or comment if you can and have a great weekend!