Enigma

The First Step

364 days.

That was how long it had been since the last accident within the factory. 364 days before that, the suspended sign read over 1000 days, something that the Manager had taken such pride in.

On that day, 364 days ago, the floors were stained crimson, the loud, echoing clang of steel pipes falling to the concrete floors still resonating within the walls, always followed so closely by the pitched scream and crunch of bones snapping in tandem with each other.

There was only one witness that day, and as she recounted the details to those who questioned, she would always remember the exact shade of crimson that stained her clothes. Always remembered just what pitch her scream was at. And of course, the echoing snapping sound of each and every bone.

No one blamed her for leaving her job there. Anyone in her shoes would've done the exact same thing, unable to even so much as look at the factory building without collapsing in a vomiting panic as she broke out in a cold sweat at the memory.

How she wished she could forget it all...

In a hospital bed, not even ten blocks from the factory, a man lay in bed, his mind in a haze.

For 364 days, he has laid there, unable to remember a thing of his own past, completely forgetting the first twenty five years of his life. Nurses and doctors, friends and family alike did everything they could to jog his memory, but nothing ever could. As he watched his own parents break down into tears, he could only pity them for not being the child they remembered.

That is, until, that announcement on the news:

"Today marks 364 days since the horrible accident at J.C. Factory when Caroline Martin was brutally crushed when a bundle of steel pipes fell after the wires suspending them snapped. The J.C. Factory is so excited to be celebrating almost a year without any further accidents..."

"Caro...line?"

It was only a small rasp, but the recognition in the man's voice was ever present. Grimacing, he reaches over the side of his bed, buzzing for the nurse. He wasn't quite sure why, but the name sounded so familiar to him. Perhaps he needed more medicine-

"In memory of Caroline Martin, the CEO of J.C. Factories would like to hold a memorial service tomorrow in Madison Park at noon. All are invited to come..."

Just for a moment, a picture was displayed on the tv, and a sharp gasp fills the room.

At last, at long, long last, he could remember. It was coming back, albeit slowly, but it was returning to him. Every single detail of the past twenty five years of his life came back to him, almost like a dam had been broken to release a tidal wave of memories.

"Caroline... My... Caroline."

His voice was growing stronger now, his confidence returning alongside his memories like a torrent. By the time the nurse came barging into the room, concern filling her features, the man was sitting up, legs swung out of bed and muttering incoherently under his breath.

Face stoic, he turns to her, speaking only one line: "Bring me my phone."

The last thing that Holmes was expecting was a call from one of his clients from almost a year ago, albeit, said client was never in contact with him as he was hospitalized during the case's course. It had shaken the man to the core, just glancing at the photos taken of the scene for evidence had made the detective hurl chunks into the nearest toilet, something he'd never been weak enough to end up doing before until that day.