Lina (in Valentin's body)
I write.
With blood, because I don't get pens.
"I am not Valentin."
It's on the cell wall.
They painted over it.
Then I wrote it again – this time in tiny letters under the bed frame.
I talk to myself. I hear my voice in my head, but it's not mine anymore.
I hear it in the cell opposite.
I hear it in the corridor.
It says sentences I would say – but with the wrong emphasis. Wrong thoughts.
Copied.
I observe the visiting routine.
Three orderlies rotate every six hours. One of them – Janek – sometimes looks me in the eyes, as if he senses something is wrong.
I start murmuring patterns in his direction. Always the same words. Always when he's near.
Maybe he notices.
Maybe not.
But I can't give up.
Because if I disappear, only he remains.
Valentin (in Lina's body)
I've perfected her movements.
The walk down the corridor.
The sound of the heels.
The typing on the tablet – always slightly delayed, because Lina was never in a hurry.
I changed the code to her office.
I deleted the password memory.
I listened to the voicemail – three messages from someone named Julius, then nothing.
I call him.
He sounds surprised, but not suspicious.
Not yet.
I say I want to see him.
He agrees.
I meet him in the park in front of the hospital.
He's tall, angular, wears a jacket too expensive for his demeanor.
"Lina," he says, forcing a smile.
"You're calling suddenly. Is something wrong?"
I study him.
He knows things.
Things I need.
I tilt my head slightly and say:
"I don't remember everything."
He goes quiet.
His gaze narrows.
Good.
This is the beginning.