The Lost Days

Khaza trudged through the woods, the weight of Alessia slung over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a rag doll. The night was still, the only sound the steady crunch of his boots against the brittle undergrowth. Alessia's arms dangled lifelessly, swinging with each step, her long, dark hair swaying gently in the night breeze. 

The forest loomed around them, trees like twisted sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching up into a sky that seemed to grow darker with each passing moment. Shadows deepened, swallowing the two of them as they moved deeper into the wilderness.

Finally, Khaza stopped, the dim moonlight filtering through the trees casting a pale glow over his rough features. He lowered Alessia onto the ground with a thud, her back propped awkwardly against the trunk of an old tree. Her body sagged like a broken marionette. Khaza straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck and cracking his knuckles as though trying to shake off the strain of carrying her.

He began pacing, his boots leaving faint imprints in the dirt. Back and forth, back and forth—his mind raced with indecision. He had orders. Clear ones. Kill her or wipe her memory clean. The choice gnawed at him, the weight of it pulling at the edges of his mind. He wasn't one to hesitate, but something about the girl—her helplessness, maybe—made him pause.

The soft rustle of movement broke his thoughts. He spun around, eyes narrowing as he saw Alessia stirring. Her head lolled to one side, her eyelids fluttering as if battling to stay open. Her lips parted, a weak, breathless whisper escaping. "Where... am I?"

Khaza's footsteps halted. He took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his gaze darkening as he crouched down in front of her. Her eyes blinked open just enough to meet his, filled with confusion, fear, and the faintest glimmer of hope. Her voice was barely more than a tremble. "Where is Ethan? What... have you done?"

Khaza tilted her chin with the rough pad of his finger, his lips twisting into a cold smirk. "You'll be fine," he murmured, his voice low and edged with mockery. "I just need to wipe that pretty little memory of yours. Won't take long."

"No," she whimpered, her voice weak but desperate. "Please... let me go. I need to get back... to my family."

Her words, filled with frailty, did little to stir any sympathy in Khaza. He sighed, standing again and slipping a hand into the pocket of his coat. "This won't take long," he said with a devilish grin, drawing out a small syringe. The moonlight caught the glint of the needle as he prepared it, his expression calm, almost casual.

Alessia's breath quickened, her voice cracking as she tried to plead. "Please... please..."

Before she could finish, Khaza's hand shot forward, the needle piercing the tender skin of her arm. Her body tensed for a moment, her eyes widening in fear, and then, almost as quickly, the fight drained out of her. Her eyelids fluttered shut as if someone had flicked off a light. Her breathing slowed to a shallow rhythm, and once more, she was limp and unconscious.

Khaza sighed, pocketing the now-empty syringe. He bent down, scooping her up effortlessly, cradling her in his arms this time rather than slinging her over his shoulder. Her head lolled against his chest as he turned back toward the endless dark of the forest. Without a glance back, he stepped into the shadows, disappearing with her into the night.

Early the next morning, sunlight poured through the curtains, casting a warm golden hue over the city, but inside Alexander's apartment, the atmosphere was far from peaceful. The television, perched on the stand in his living room, echoed through the space, filling the quiet with the hum of the morning news.

A Nigerian reporter, her voice steady and professional, appeared on the screen. Her dark, polished features were framed by a serious expression as she introduced herself. The familiar news theme blared out, but Alexander, still groggy from sleep, paid it little attention at first. His mind was elsewhere, drifting in and out of thoughts, until her words jolted him into focus.

"We begin this morning with a breaking story," the reporter announced. "A body was discovered earlier today near the eastern lake of Eden City. After an identification process, the victim has been recognized as Alessia Blackwoods."

Alexander's breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat, and his hands instinctively flew to his mouth as a gasp of disbelief escaped his lips. Alessia? His mind raced. No, it couldn't be. But as the reporter continued, an image flashed on the screen—a familiar face that turned his shock into cold, sinking dread. It was her. It was Alessia.

The reporter continued, her tone grave. "Alessia Blackwoods was found in critical condition and has been rushed to Eden City Health Center for treatment. While her full condition remains unclear at this time, initial reports confirm that she sustained severe injuries. Scars were visible across her skin, and red marks on her wrists and ankles indicate that she had been restrained during what authorities believe to be a kidnapping."

Alexander sat frozen, his mind numb, barely able to process what he was hearing. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, but the words seemed to blur together. The reporter's voice droned on, but then something else hit him—like a punch to the gut.

"Before being transported to the hospital, medical examiners determined that Ms. Blackwoods had suffered repeated sexual assault by multiple perpetrators. Authorities are asking anyone with information to come forward."

Alexander couldn't hear anything else. His blood ran cold, his stomach twisted into knots as the image of Alessia—broken, violated—seared itself into his mind. The thought of her suffering, the cruelty she had endured, was too much to bear. His heart pounded against his chest, fury and despair battling inside him.

The reporter signed off, her voice fading as the TV screen switched to another segment. But the silence that filled the room felt suffocating. Alexander couldn't sit still anymore. He jumped to his feet, his body shaking with adrenaline, grabbing his coat as he bolted for the door. He had to get to the hospital. He had to see herâ€"had to make sure she was alive.

Without a second thought, Alexander dashed out of the room, his mind racing faster than his feet, desperate to reach Alessia before it was too late. 

Alexander stormed into Eden City Health Center with a forceful stride, his heart pounding in his chest, the air around him charged with a mix of fury and desperation. The soft hum of hospital machinery and the murmur of conversations in the lobby seemed to fade into the background as his singular focus locked onto the reception desk. His mind raced with thoughts of Alessia—where she was, what state she was in—and each unanswered question fueled the fire inside him.

Without hesitation, he approached the nurse at the front desk. Her uniform was crisp, her hair neatly pulled back into a bun, and her expression was one of calm professionalism. But Alexander had no time for pleasantries.

"I need to know where Alessia Blackwoods is. She was brought in this morning. I need to see her—now," he demanded, his voice a sharp edge cutting through the otherwise tranquil environment.

The nurse looked up from her computer, blinking slowly as she registered the urgency in his tone. But protocol was protocol. "Sir, I understand you're concerned," she began, her voice steady but firm. "But given the nature of Ms. Blackwoods' case, we have strict privacy regulations in place. Can you please verify your relationship to the patient?"

Alexander clenched his jaw, his patience already fraying. His hands fumbled inside his coat, and he quickly pulled out his ID, thrusting it toward her. "Here. Alexander Thompson."

The nurse took the ID, her eyes darting between the document and the screen in front of her. There was a beat of silence as she typed something into the system. Finally, she spoke, her gaze lifting to meet his again, this time with a raised brow. "Your ID says Alexander Thompson, but the patient is listed as Alessia Blackwoods. What is your relationship to her?"

The question hit him like a slap. Frustration surged in him like a tidal wave, and before he could contain it, his fist came down hard on the counter. "I am her brother!" he snapped, the force of his words reverberating through the room. The sudden outburst caused a few nearby patients to glance in his direction, and the nurse straightened her posture, though her calm demeanor didn't falter.

"Sir, please, lower your voice," she said, her tone still measured. "I understand you're upset, but I need to confirm your relationship for the safety of our patient. We cannot release information unless we're sure. It's for her protection."

Alexander stood there, breathing heavily, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He wanted to shout, to break through the maddening bureaucratic wall that stood between him and the truth. But he knew losing his temper wouldn't help him now. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to take a breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside.

With shaky hands, he reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out his phone. He swiped through photos, his mind spinning as he searched for proof—anything to get him past this barrier. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for: a series of pictures. Some showed him and Alessia together at family events—birthdays, holidays, vacations. Others included formal photos from their family company, with both of them standing side by side, clearly connected.

He held the phone out to the nurse, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "Look. These are pictures of me and Alessia. We're family. Please, just let me see her."

The nurse took the phone, her eyes scanning the images with a careful gaze. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic tapping of her nails against the phone screen as she swiped through the photos. Her expression softened as she glanced from the images back to Alexander, clearly seeing the undeniable connection between them.

After what felt like an eternity, she handed the phone back to him and gave a small nod. "I see. Thank you for sharing these with me." She paused, her voice taking on a more empathetic tone. "I'm sorry for the delay, but we have to be cautious. You can speak with Dr. Evans—he's overseeing her case. His office is down the hall, room 206. He'll be able to give you more information about her condition."

The tension in Alexander's shoulders remained, but there was a flicker of relief in his chest now that he had a direction. He grabbed his ID and phone, stuffing them back into his pocket with a curt nod. "Thanks," he muttered, not even bothering to hide the frustration still simmering beneath the surface.

As he turned to head toward the hallway the nurse had pointed out, the weight of what was coming next bore down on him. His footsteps echoed against the cold tile floor, but the sound barely registered in his mind. All he could think about was Alessia—the image of her face flashing through his mind, broken and bruised, lying somewhere in this hospital, waiting.

He didn't know what state he'd find her in. He didn't know if he'd even recognize her. But he had to see her. He had to know.

His heart raced as he reached the door to Dr. Evans' office, his hand hovering for a moment before he finally knocked. Whatever answers he was about to get, he wasn't sure he was ready for them. But he had no choice.

Alexander approached the doctor's office door, his heart pounding in his chest. With a light push, the door swung open, and he stepped inside, forcing a smile despite the tumult of emotions churning within him.

Dr. Evans, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a compassionate demeanor, looked up from his desk, his expression shifting to one of concern as he noted Alexander's tense posture. "Mr. Thompson," he greeted, extending a hand for a firm shake. "What can I do for you today?"

Alexander wasted no time with pleasantries. "I need to know about my sister, Alessia. What's her condition?"

Dr. Evans sighed, glancing at the medical chart resting on his desk. "Alessia was brought in with multiple injuries, which we are treating. However, the most concerning issue is the memory loss she's experiencing."

"What do you mean? Why is she having memory loss?" Alexander's voice was laced with anxiety, each word heavy with the fear of what might have happened to her.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, choosing his words carefully. "When she was found, we discovered she had been injected with a substance that can induce temporary amnesia. This is often used in cases of abduction or assault, where the victim's memories are suppressed or erased to prevent them from recalling events surrounding their trauma. It's particularly concerning because the effects can vary widely from person to person. In her case, she seems to have lost memories from the last few days leading up to her abduction."

Alexander felt a wave of despair wash over him. "So she may not remember me?" His voice cracked, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him.

"It's possible, but memory can be unpredictable. Sometimes, with the right support and time, memories can resurface," Dr. Evans replied, trying to instill some hope in Alexander's worried expression. "However, she's stable now, and we are closely monitoring her recovery."

Tears welled in Alexander's eyes, spilling over as he felt a mix of relief and sorrow. "Can I see her?" he asked, his voice breaking as he fought to regain his composure.

Dr. Evans nodded, his expression softening further. "Of course. Follow me; she's in the ward now."

Together, they left the office, walking down the sterile corridor lined with pale blue walls and the faint smell of antiseptic. Each step felt like an eternity for Alexander, anticipation and dread intertwining in his chest.

As they approached the ward, the sounds of beeping monitors and hushed conversations filled the air. Dr. Evans paused at the door, looking back at Alexander. "Are you ready?"

Alexander swallowed hard, nodding despite the lump in his throat. "I have to be."

Dr. Evans opened the door, and Alexander stepped inside. The sight of Alessia lying on the hospital bed sent a jolt through him. She was pale and still, the stark white sheets contrasting sharply with her dark hair. There were bandages on her arms, and a gentle hum of machinery surrounded her, a reminder of her fragile state.

"Alessia," he breathed, moving closer to the bed. Her eyes were closed, and for a moment, he was overcome with a profound sense of helplessness. He reached out, taking her hand gently in his, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own.

Dr. Evans stood at a respectful distance, observing the moment with a solemn expression. "I'll give you a few minutes alone," he said softly, stepping out of the room to allow Alexander some privacy.

As the door clicked shut, Alexander squeezed Alessia's hand, hoping his presence would reach her in her unconsciousness. "I'm here, Alessia. I'm right here," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat by her bedside, the weight of everything crashing down around him. He didn't know how long he would have to wait for her to wake up, but he would be there, ready to fight for her when she did.