Adrian Vale

The first thing you hear is the steady, mechanical beeping of a heart monitor.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Your eyes open slowly.

White ceiling.

Fluorescent lights.

The faint smell of antiseptic.

For several seconds, you simply stare upward, trying to understand where you are.

A hospital.

Your body feels heavy, but otherwise strangely intact. Your head aches with a dull pressure behind your eyes. You try to remember what happened.

Nothing.

You close your eyes.

You remember your name.

Your home.

Your job.

The police academy.

Years of cases.

Your colleagues.

Your entire life seems to be sitting neatly inside your head.

Then you try to remember the case.

Nothing.

Not a face.

Not a crime scene.

Not a single photograph.

Just an enormous, silent blank.

The door opens.

A doctor walks in, followed by two police officers.

The moment they see your eyes open, both officers stop.

One of them exhales sharply.

“You're awake.”

You look at him.

“How long have I been here?”

The officer hesitates.

“Three days.”

Three days.

You stare at him, confused.

“What happened?”

Neither officer answers immediately.

The doctor checks the monitor.

*“You were found unconscious outside the city. You've suffered a significant head injury. Your physical recovery is progressing well, but...”

He pauses.

“There appears to be a gap in your memory.”

Your stomach tightens.

“How much?”

The doctor looks toward the officers.

“Several months.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

“Months?”

The older officer finally approaches the bed.

His expression isn't one of relief.

It's something much closer to fear.

“Detective...”

He places a thin evidence folder on the table beside you.

Your name is written across the front.

Underneath it is a case number you don't recognize.

“You spent the last few months investigating this case.”

You look at the folder.

“What case?”

The officer doesn't answer.

Instead, he opens the folder.

The first page contains a photograph.

A photograph of a young man with dark hair and deep hazel-brown eyes.

You stare at his face.

Something inside you twists.

Not recognition.

Something worse.

Your hand begins to tremble.

The officer notices.

“You know him?”

You swallow.

“No.”

The officer slowly turns the photograph over.

There is handwriting on the back.

Your handwriting.

IF I WAKE UP AND DON'T REMEMBER...

The officer reads the rest silently.

His expression changes.

Then he looks directly at you.

“Detective...”

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Who is Adrian Vale?”

Rain.

That is the first thing you remember.

Not your name.

Not your badge.

Not the case.

Just rain.

Cold water runs down your face as consciousness slowly crawls back.

You try to move.

Your arms feel heavy.

Your vision is blurred.

Someone is kneeling beside you.

A young man.

Dark hair soaked by the rain. A pale face. Deep hazel eyes fixed on you with an expression you cannot understand.

Relief.

Fear.

And something that looks dangerously close to grief.

“Don't move.”

His voice is quiet.

“You're hurt.”

You stare at him.

“Who are you?”

The question makes him freeze.

For several seconds, he says nothing.

Then, almost reluctantly:

“Adrian.”

You try to remember.

Nothing.

“Do I know you?”

His eyes remain on yours.

“You did.”

A distant siren cuts through the rain.

Adrian looks over his shoulder.

His expression changes instantly.

“They're coming.”

“Who?”

He looks back at you.

“The police.”

You almost laugh.

“I'm a police officer.”

Adrian's face goes completely still.

“I know.”

You try to sit up.

“What happened?”

He catches your shoulder before you fall.

“You don't remember?”

“Remember what?”

He stares at you for a long moment.

Then he slowly reaches into his coat and pulls out your police badge.

There is blood across it.

Your blood.

Adrian places it in your hand.

“You spent three months looking for the truth.”

A pause.

“Then you found it.”

The sirens are getting closer.

“What truth?”

Adrian's eyes flick toward the approaching lights.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely audible.

“That's the part you're going to hate.”

He leans closer.

“You were the one who asked me to make sure you never remembered.”

The room smells like dust, old paper, and something faintly metallic.

You stand in the doorway, staring at a desk you have apparently spent months sitting behind.

Your name is engraved on the small brass plate.

Detective.

You don't remember this room.

The police department told you it was your temporary investigation office.

They told you everything inside belonged to you.

So why does it feel like you're trespassing?

Folders cover the desk.

Photographs cover the walls.

Maps.

Names.

Dates.

Red string connecting photographs you don't recognize.

Dozens of them.

Someone had turned this room into an obsession.

Apparently, that someone was you.

You step closer to the desk.

A notebook lies open.

The handwriting is unmistakably yours.

Page after page is filled with names, addresses, times, fragments of conversations.

Then you notice something strange.

Every single page has been torn out after a certain date.

Except the final one.

You read it.

DAY 91

Your eyes move lower.

“He knows I'm investigating.”

A line beneath it.

“He knows before I do.”

Another.

“I've stopped trusting everyone.”

Then, at the very bottom of the page:

“Adrian says I'm wrong.”

You stare at the name.

You have never heard it before.

At least... you don't think you have.

Something catches your eye beneath the notebook.

A photograph.

You pick it up.

It's you.

Standing beside Adrian.

Both of you are smiling.

Not the polite smile of two strangers.

You look genuinely happy.

Your fingers tighten around the photograph.

You turn it over.

There is another message written in your handwriting.

“If you're looking at this, you've forgotten him.”

Your pulse quickens.

Below it, written in darker ink:

“That's exactly what he wanted.”

Behind you, the door clicks shut.

A voice speaks from the darkness.

“I was wondering when you'd find that.”

You turn.

Adrian Vale is standing in the doorway.

He looks at the photograph in your hand.

For the first time since you woke up, his composure cracks.

“You weren't supposed to find that yet.”

11:43 PM.

The city is almost silent.

You sit alone inside your unmarked police car, staring at a photograph illuminated by the dashboard light.

You've been looking at the same photograph for seventeen minutes.

A man.

A woman.

A restaurant.

Nothing remarkable.

Except you've already seen the man three times tonight.

Once in the photograph.

Once across the street.

And once in your rearview mirror.

You slowly look up.

The street behind you is empty.

You don't move.

Your phone vibrates.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

You stare at the screen.

A message appears.

You shouldn't be investigating this alone.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

Another message.

They know you're following them.

You type.

Who is this?

The reply arrives immediately.

Someone who knows what happens to detectives who get too close.

You stare at the words.

Then another message appears.

Look at the back seat.

Your breathing stops.

You don't turn around.

You slowly reach for the rearview mirror.

Nothing.

You check the back seat.

Empty.

Except for a small black notebook lying on the floor.

You are certain it wasn't there before.

You pick it up.

Your name is written on the cover.

Inside is a single page.

Your handwriting.

DAY 63

I finally found him.

Your eyes move downward.

His name is Adrian Vale.

Then the final sentence:

He knows what I did.

You freeze.

You read the sentence again.

And again.

You don't remember writing it.

Your phone vibrates once more.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Don't trust Adrian.

A second message follows.

You trusted him once.

You stare at the screen.

Then, from somewhere outside the car, someone knocks softly against the driver's window.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You slowly turn your head.

Adrian Vale is standing beneath the streetlight.

And he's smiling.

“Detective.”

He raises one hand.

In it is your missing police badge.

“We need to talk before you remember.”