The Midnight Train

0: A Letter

Her eyelids fluttered open to the sight of a bare, concrete ceiling. The room she found herself in was silent, save for the faint hum of distant city noise filtering in through cracks in the walls. This wasn't a hospital, despite the bed she was lying on and the blue hospital gown that hung loosely on her thin frame. She slowly sat up, feeling the cold, hard surface of the bed beneath her, her muscles aching as if she hadn't moved in days.

The room was almost barren-no machines, no doctors, no sense of safety. Just exposed bricks and half-finished walls that made her feel like she was trapped in some forgotten place. The only light came from a single flickering bulb, casting eerie shadows that danced along the cracked, unpainted walls.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to remember-anything. But her mind was a void, an empty canvas devoid of even the faintest brushstroke of memory. Who was she? Why was she here? The questions swirled in her head, but there were no answers. Only fear.

She looked down and noticed a piece of paper placed neatly on the small bedside table. The sight of it made her heart skip a beat. With trembling hands, she reached for it, unfolding it slowly, as if afraid of what she might find.

The handwriting was neat, the letters curved and precise:

*"Lydia,*

*You probably have many questions. Right now, I can't answer them all. But know this-you are not alone. When you wake up, call the number below. It's important.*

*(XXX-XXX-XXXX)*

*We'll explain everything when we meet.*

*Sincerely,*
*Someone who cares."*

"Lydia," she whispered, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. Was it hers? It had to be. But beyond that, she knew nothing. Not a single face, a name, or a place came to mind.

Her gaze flicked to a small, broken piece of mirror lying on the floor. She hesitated, then slowly made her way over to it, her bare feet cold against the rough concrete. The reflection was distorted and cracked, but she could see enough.

A woman stared back at her, a stranger with brown weary eyes that held no recognition, long dark hair that hung limp around her face, and pale skin that looked almost ghostly under the harsh light. Her lips were chapped and cracked, a faint pink that seemed out of place against the rest of her dull complexion.

She stared at her reflection, trying to summon some flicker of recognition, but nothing came. It was like looking at a photograph of someone she had never met before. Her chest tightened with fear and confusion. How could she not know herself?

The letter crinkled in her hand as she looked down at it again, the phone number at the bottom catching her eye. Whoever had written this knew her-knew something about her, at least. Should she trust it? Did she have any other choice?

With a surge of determination, she decided to act. She couldn't stay here, wherever "here" was. She needed answers. Clutching the letter, she moved toward the door, noticing it was slightly ajar.

Her steps were hesitant at first, but as she pushed the door open, revealing a dimly lit hallway, she felt a small spark of resolve ignite within her. She wasn't going to wait around for whatever-or whoever-might come next.

The hallway was long, with exposed wiring and unfinished walls that added to the unsettling atmosphere. Dust hung in the air, and the ground was littered with debris. Her bare feet brushed against it, but she hardly noticed. All she cared about was finding a way out.