Fractured Remembrance: "A Tale Of What Came Before"

Chapter 7: The Doctor Of Karma

George POV:

As I made my way toward a radiant light in the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the brightness - it was Matilda. With a surge of emotion, I quickened my pace and ran towards her, the distance between us closing rapidly.

Just as I was about to reach out to her, Matilda turned her head slowly and uttered in a soft yet firm voice, "Not yet, George. You are not ready."

In an instant, I felt a force pulling me away, and as if awakening from a dream, I found myself in a dimly lit room. Waves of pain pulsed through my head as I gingerly raised my hands, only to discover them swathed in bandages.

After managing to stand up, I immediately felt a wave of weakness wash over me, causing me to stumble forward. I steadied myself by holding onto a nearby table to avoid collapsing to the ground.

Taking a moment to survey my appearance, I noticed that I was dressed in a worn, dirty uniform and wrapped in bandages expertly applied by Louisa. Instead of a shirt, I had on a jacket, its sleeves rolled up to accommodate the bandages on my forearms.

Despite my condition, I decided to stick with the scruffy grey uniform and dark leather trench boots. I wore a grey jacket buttoned all the way up, cinched at the waist with a standard belt. The jacket's short collar stood upright against my neck, embellished with numbers on each lapel. My lower half was clad in black breeches that covered my thighs and knees, with leg-wraps securing my calves.

Upon discovering a letter left behind, addressed to me from Louisa, my heart sank as I read her words: "Gone to find Henry. If not back anytime soon, I'm sorry."

Realization set in that both Henry and Louisa were now missing, leaving me to navigate the current circumstances alone. Surveying the room, my eyes fell upon a vent cover nestled by the wall. However, my path was obstructed as it was firmly jammed shut. Determined to find a way forward, I turned my attention to the door, unlatching it cautiously before slowly swinging it open.

A strange odour lingered in the air, heightening my senses to the unsettling atmosphere surrounding me. Lost in contemplation of the passage of time during my unconsciousness, I reached for the only weapon at my disposal - a mere silver-bladed Dagger. Though I knew its limitations, my gaze fell upon intricate inscriptions adorning the handle, hinting at a deeper significance to its presence.

As the hallway lights flickered and dimmed, casting eerie shadows around me, a sense of unease crept in. Uncertainty clouded my mind - was this a mere hallucination or a descent into madness? Despite the foreboding atmosphere, I steeled myself and pressed forward, determined to locate my missing friend amidst the unsettling circumstances.

Suddenly, a rush of memories flooded my mind, vivid and unrelenting. I found myself recalling a harrowing experience in an electric chair, enduring unspeakable torment. In the depths of my recollection, a figure emerged - Dr. Malcolm, the ominous head doctor overseeing the cruel experiments inflicted upon me.

In the memory, Dr. Malcolm stood before me, a clipboard in hand, his penetrating gaze fixed upon me. With a calculated air, he tapped his fountain pen against his teeth as he remarked, "Mr. Milton has proven to be a welcome addition to my flock. His resilience in the face of memory manipulation is remarkable, but I am resolute in unlocking the secrets that lie within him."

Surveying the surroundings, I noticed several patients lying on beds in the dimly lit room. Among them was Carl, a familiar face who I believed had sacrificed himself in the mine to ensure my safety. Astonishment gripped me as I observed a nasty scar on his abdomen and a wound on his head, contradicting my previous understanding of his fate.

Drawing closer, Dr. Malcolm approached Carl's bedside, his presence ominous and unsettling. With a clinical detachment, he began to speak, detailing Carl's background and the injuries he had sustained. "Carl Lambert, of French origin, migrated to America. Found in the mines' radio shack with severe wounds, including a slash and blunt force trauma indicative of a suicide attempt," Dr. Malcolm intoned, his words etched on the clipboard he held.