Chapter Seven – White Walls
Darkness held me like water.
Heavy. Thick. Soundless.
But the voices floated through it anyway—blurred, distant, muffled like they were speaking from the other side of a closed door underwater.
"…found her—"
"…forest? Naked?"
"…no ID…"
"…keep her stable…"
And then—
Flip.
Pages.
Not many. Just one or two.
A soft rustle, the exact sound that haunted me before everything went black. But maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was my brain trying to piece together memories that didn't belong to me.
Pain dragged me back slowly.
A throbbing in my feet. A stabbing behind my eyes. A burning in my throat like I had swallowed shards of glass. Every part of my body felt foreign and swollen, like someone had replaced me with a stitched-together version that didn't fit right.
I forced my eyes open.
Light punched into me, harsh and white. I winced, closing them immediately. My eyelids fluttered open again—once, twice, five times—until the pain softened enough for me to see.
White.
White walls.
White curtains.
White ceiling tiles.
White light too bright to stare at.
I blinked harder.
A slow drip echoed beside me. A cold tube taped to my arm. And my feet—cleaned, bandaged neatly, wrapped like fragile objects that might fall apart if anyone breathed too hard.
I wasn't naked.
Someone had dressed me in light hospital clothes—thin, papery, but better than nothing. A soft blanket lay over my legs. The sterile air tasted like disinfectant and something sweet beneath it, something off.
I inhaled shakily.
A hospital.
I was in a hospital.
I didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified.
Everything here didn't feel right. Too quiet. Too organized. Too… staged. Like the room had been prepared for me before I arrived.
The door clicked.
An old man stepped inside wearing a doctor's coat. His smile was gentle—but not the comforting kind. It was the kind of gentle that looked painted on, stretched too neatly, like he had practiced it in a mirror.
"Ah," he said softly. "You're awake."
I didn't respond.
I didn't trust him.
I didn't trust this place.
I didn't trust anything anymore.
His eyes scanned me with the kind of calm that felt rehearsed.
"You gave us quite a scare," he said, voice warm but hollow. "But you're safe now. You're in St. Myrtle General Hospital."
I'd never heard of that place.
He continued before I could speak. "Your feet were in very bad condition when you were brought in. Severe dehydration. Exhaustion. Several bruises. But you're stable now."
Stable.
The word felt wrong. Like a label slapped onto me.
He stepped closer, clipboard in hand, smile unwavering. Too unwavering.
"Well," he said, letting out a slow breath, "the police would like to speak to you shortly. Routine questions, nothing serious. You were found alone, in a forest, in… well… very poor condition."
He cleared his throat delicately, eyes flicking to the blanket covering my body.
"The man who brought you in left shortly after. Said he'd return later to check on you."
My heartbeat stuttered.
The man?
"What man?" I croaked.
He waved a dismissive hand. "A passerby, they said. Someone who saw you collapse on the road. He acted quickly. You owe him your life."
A passerby? Who drives past a naked girl in the woods and doesn't stay?
It didn't add up.
"Anyway," the old man said, smile tightening, "how are you feeling, madam?"
I swallowed. My throat scraped painfully.
"I don't know," I whispered. "Lost."
His expression softened carefully. Too carefully. "That's perfectly fine. No need to rush. If you want more time before the officers come in, I can arrange that. We move at your pace."
I forced a weak smile. "I'm okay. They can come."
Even if I wanted answers, I wouldn't be giving them any of mine. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Everything in this place felt soaked with danger.
Familiar danger.
Familiar how?
Familiar from where?
Familiar from when?
I didn't know. And that scared me more than the naked forest or the hunger in the shadows.
A knock tapped against the door.
The doctor nodded at me, then moved aside. Two police officers stepped inside—a man and a woman. They looked normal. Completely normal. But their movements…
Too synchronized.
Too in-unison.
Too… scripted.
"Good day, madam," the male officer said, offering a polite nod. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel like I was hit by a car," I said honestly. "But I'm… fine."
The female officer chuckled politely, a sound that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're lucky to be alive. Forest terrain like that can be dangerous. Especially at night."
Night?
I had no idea how long I'd been unconscious.
"Well," the male officer continued, lifting a small notebook, "we won't take too much of your time. Just a few questions. First—can you tell us your name, your age, and what led to you being found in the forest… in that condition?"
I looked between them slowly.
Their eyes were calm. Their uniforms were neat. Their voices steady.
But the question felt too direct. Too pointed. Too exact.
Like they already knew the answer.
Like they wanted to see if I knew it.
I swallowed and licked my dry lips.
"My name is…" My voice trembled.
Who was I supposed to be here? Myself? A safer version? A lie?
I breathed out.
"My name is Kaia," I said softly. "Kaia Grey."
A lie.
Half-true.
Safe.
"And your age?" the woman asked.
"Twenty."
She wrote it down without hesitation.
"And what were you doing in the forest?" the man asked.
I hesitated.
Their pens hovered over the page like swords.
"I…" I swallowed. "I don't remember."
The woman raised a brow. "You don't remember anything?"
"No. I woke up there. Naked. I don't remember how I got there."
Their eyes flicked to each other for half a second. Just half. Like a signal passing between them.
Staged.
"So you're saying you have memory loss?" the man asked.
I forced a breath. "Yes."
He scribbled something down, but his posture didn't change. His face didn't soften. It was almost like he expected that answer.
The woman stepped closer.
"Kaia… did someone hurt you?" she asked gently.
I hesitated.
Not because the answer was unclear—but because they were.
"No," I said quietly. "No one hurt me."
Another quick glance exchanged. Another silent message. Another practiced reaction.
They didn't believe me.
But worse… they didn't seem surprised.
"Alright," the man said, snapping his notebook shut. "For now, we'll leave you to rest. But we'll need to talk again. There are… inconsistencies we want to clear up."
"I understand," I murmured.
The officers nodded and walked out. The door closed behind them with a soft click that felt like a lock even though it wasn't.
The silence pressed down on me. Heavier than before.
White walls.
Too white.
Too clean.
No sounds from the hallway.
No footsteps.
No nurses walking by.
No beeping machines outside.
No conversations.
Just me.
And a drip.
And the faint, almost-imagined sound of—
Flip.
A page turning.
I froze.
My breath caught.
Another flip.
Slow. Deliberate. Too close.
I turned my head slowly toward the corner of the room.
Nothing was there.
Nothing but shadows and white walls.
I closed my eyes tightly, trying to push down the panic crawling up my throat.
I wasn't alone.
I didn't know how, or why, or what—but I wasn't alone.
And for the first time since I woke up, the thirst came back.
Not the physical kind.
Not the dehydration kind.
A different kind.
A hunger in my spine. A tug in my chest. A whisper beneath my heartbeat.
The same one I felt when the book swallowed me.
The same one that brought me here.
The same one waiting in the corners of this too-white room.
Something wanted me awake.
Something wanted me here.
And it hadn't finished with me yet.