Entry XIII

The first thing I saw was a crack in the ceiling.

It stretched from one corner of the room to the other, branching into smaller fractures before disappearing beneath a rusted pipe. Water gathered along its underside, swelling into a droplet that eventually fell somewhere beyond my sight.

I waited for another.

When it came, I followed its descent as far as I could before it vanished beneath the table.

My eyes were open. I could move my fingers, turn my head, feel the cold surface against my back. These things seemed ordinary enough. What troubled me was the absence of any understanding of where I was.

I sat up slowly.

The room was enormous, or perhaps only appeared so because of the darkness beyond the nearest lamps. Tall windows lined one wall, their panes clouded with grime. Several iron tables stood beneath them, crowded with glass vessels, coils of copper wire, and instruments suspended from hooks. Thick cables descended from the ceiling and disappeared into the floor.

A low electrical crackle came from somewhere overhead.

I stepped down from the table and nearly fell. My legs held, though the movement felt strangely unfamiliar, as though I had risen too quickly after a long illness.

There was a coat hanging beside the door. I searched its pockets and found a folded piece of paper covered in writing. The letters were recognizable, but the words meant nothing to me. I turned the paper over, expecting some explanation on the other side.

It was blank.

I looked around for someone who might tell me what this place was, but the room appeared abandoned. An overturned stool lay beside a cabinet, and one of the glass vessels had shattered across the floor. Whatever work had been taking place here seemed to have ended abruptly.

I called out.

The sound startled me.

I tried again, louder this time, and listened as my voice traveled through the room and returned from the far walls.

No one answered.

Near the windows stood a tall apparatus fitted with leather restraints. Its surface was scratched and discolored, and several wires hung loosely from its frame. I approached it without knowing why.

There were marks along the restraints, deep impressions where something had pulled against them.

I placed my wrist beside one.

The width was almost exact.

For the first time, I considered that I might have been brought here against my will.

Was I a prisoner? Had I committed some terrible offense? The thought frightened me less than the realization that I could not dismiss it. I knew nothing of the man I had been before opening my eyes. For all I knew, there was good reason to keep me restrained.

I searched for an answer, for some detail that might explain the room, the table, or the clothes I wore. My thoughts moved easily enough from one question to the next, yet whenever I attempted to think beyond the walls around me, I found nothing.

Not darkness. Not an obscured memory.

Nothing at all.

I could not say where I had come from, how long I had been here, or whether anyone might be looking for me.

But more troubling still, I could not say who I was.

Was I a man of importance? A criminal? Someone’s husband, father, or son? Somewhere beyond these walls, was there a life that belonged to me?

A name would have been useful.

I waited for one to occur to me.

None did.

Then, from the other end of the room, something heavy struck the floor.

I turned toward the sound.

Beyond the reach of the lamps, a door stood open.

I was certain it had been closed before.

And from somewhere on the other side, I heard a man breathing.