Hidden Reflection

FRAGMENTS

The steady hum of machinery filled the room, a rhythmic beep punctuating the silence like a heartbeat. Somewhere nearby, footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the distance, leaving only the low murmur of voices and the quiet clink of metal. It was a strange, hollow soundscape—both familiar and unnervingly foreign.

Lucas's eyes opened slowly, his gaze drifting across the dim room as if he were seeing it through water. Harsh fluorescent lights glared from above, casting long shadows across the white walls, and the faint smell of antiseptic stung his nose, sterile and sharp.

He tried to move, but his body felt weighted, every muscle heavy and slow, as if he'd been sleeping for days. A dull ache throbbed at the base of his skull, pulsing in time with the beeping machines. He took a shaky breath, the simple act unfamiliar and strangely exhausting.

Where...?

The question lingered in his mind, but the answer slipped away before he could grasp it, melting into the haze clouding his thoughts. His fingers twitched against the scratchy hospital sheets, searching for some kind of anchor, something real to hold onto.

There was a creak as the door opened, and a nurse stepped inside, her face kind but distant as she checked his vitals. She spoke to him—something soft and reassuring—but her words blurred together, lost in the fog that clung to his mind. She asked him questions, her voice gentle yet firm, but each one only deepened the emptiness inside him. He had no answers. Not even for himself.

As she left, her footsteps faded back into the hum of the hospital, leaving Lucas alone once more, drifting in and out of the sterile quiet. Minutes passed—or maybe hours. Time felt stretched, fluid, like he was suspended between waking and dreaming.

The door opened again, and this time a man stepped inside. Taller, with broad shoulders and sandy blonde hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in days. He lingered in the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, as if he wasn't sure he should be there.

"Lucas."

The name was soft, almost a whisper, but it landed heavily in the room. Lucas blinked, his gaze settling on the man's face. There was something familiar there—a flicker of recognition he couldn't quite place. there was something in his voice that pulled at Lucas, like a thread tied to a part of himself he'd lost.

"Do... I know you?" Lucas asked, his own voice rough and unfamiliar. The words felt foreign on his tongue, weighted with confusion and a faint, unnameable fear.

The man's jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his gaze both steady and uncertain. "Yeah. It's me. Max."

"Max," Lucas repeated, letting the name sit in his mouth, testing it, hoping it might stir something—a memory, a feeling. But all he felt was a strange emptiness, a hollow ache in his chest. He wanted to remember. He could sense it was all there, just out of reach, like faded shapes behind frosted glass.

Max shifted awkwardly, his gaze darting from Lucas to the machines around him. "They... told me you'd lost your memory. I didn't know it'd be this bad." His voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself. Then he looked back at Lucas, a soft smile breaking through the worry in his eyes. "But hey, I'm here. I'll help you get it all back."

Lucas tried to return the smile, but it felt like a half-hearted imitation of something he used to know. He studied Max's face, searching for clues—anything that might anchor him to this stranger who seemed so familiar. But the emptiness only deepened.

"Can you tell me... anything about me?" Lucas's voice wavered, the vulnerability slipping through despite himself. "Anything at all?"

Max's expression softened, and he pulled up a chair beside the bed, sitting down with a sigh. "You're Lucas Reed," he said gently, as if starting a story. "We've been best friends since we were kids. Grew up in the same town, went to the same school, did everything together. You're like family to me."

Lucas nodded slowly, trying to picture it—two boys, side by side, sharing a life he could no longer see. He wished he could feel it, the sense of kinship, the memories of laughter and friendship, but all he found was an emptiness that made him feel like he was floating outside himself.

Max glanced down, his fingers tapping absently on his knee. "You're an artist," he added, his voice soft. "Pretty damn talented, too. I've got a whole wall of your sketches in my apartment."

Something flickered in Lucas's mind at that—a brief flash of a pencil moving over paper, the sensation of something coming alive beneath his fingers. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving only the faint echo of longing.

"And..." Max hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor. "There's someone else. Someone you were close to."

Lucas felt a strange tightening in his chest. "Who?"

Max looked up, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, it seemed like he might not answer. But then he sighed, his gaze softening.

"Sam."

The name rippled through Lucas's mind, bringing with it a flash of warmth and the faint scent of something sweet—lavender, maybe, or some kind of perfume. A laugh echoed in his thoughts, soft and familiar, but when he tried to hold onto it, it faded into the haze.

"Who... was she to me?" he asked, feeling the ache in his voice, as if the question itself hurt.

Max hesitated again, his expression tightening. "She was... someone important," he said carefully, his voice carrying a weight Lucas couldn't quite understand. "You two had a connection. Something deep."

Lucas felt the pull of that connection, a ghostly echo of a bond he didn't fully understand. But even as he tried to piece together who Sam was, he sensed there was more—something unspoken that lingered in Max's gaze, something that felt heavy and unresolved.

But before he could ask, Max forced a smile, patting Lucas's shoulder. "Don't worry, man. We'll get you back on your feet. Just... take it slow, alright? One step at a time."

Lucas nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and frustration. He wanted to remember everything now, to shake off the fog that clouded his mind. But as he looked at Max's familiar face, he sensed that his past wasn't as simple as he wanted it to be—that whatever memories lay waiting might be more complicated than he was ready for.

And somewhere, in the back of his mind, that ghostly laugh lingered, a piece of himself he wasn't sure he'd ever fully understand.