Dr. Adrian Sinclair, a very renowned psychiatrist, had always prided himself on his ability to understand the human mind.
It was a puzzle—complex, fragile, and yet remarkably resilient.
Every patient who sat across from him in his dimly lit office at Blackwood Psychiatric Institute carried their own intricate maze of thoughts, secrets, and trauma.
He had spent years untangling them, guiding the lost back to the reality they had abandoned or forgotten.
But Daniel Reeves....he was different.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping absently on his desk as he reread the case file. It was thinner than expected—too thin, really, for a man with no past.
> Patient Name: Unknown (Self-Identified as Daniel Reeves)
> Age:Estimated 30-35
> Condition: Severe retrograde amnesia
> Found: March 10th, 3:42 AM, wandering on Holloway Bridge
> Physical State:Disoriented, covered in blood (no apparent injuries)
> Police Involvement: Possible connection to missing person case (Emily Caldwell)
Adrian's eyes lingered on the last line—
Emily Caldwell.
The name was familiar. A woman in her late twenties, missing for over a week, last seen leaving a downtown café.
No suspects. No leads. Until now.
He exhaled slowly and tap closed the file, his brows a bit furrowed. He had been doing this for past so many years, yet with just one look, he could tell the man was different. In some way.
Across from him, the man in question sat motionless, his posture unnervingly rigid. He had the kind of face that was impossible to pin down—one moment ordinary, the next unsettling.
His dark eyes were unfocused, drifting somewhere beyond the walls of Adrian's office. His clothes, stiff with dried blood, clung to him like a second skin.
He had refused a change of clothes. Refused food. Refused everything except the name— Daniel Reeves.
A name that, as far as Adrian could tell, did not exist. "Tell me about yourself, Daniel."
Silence.
Adrian let it linger, watching the man's reaction. Silence could be as revealing as words. Eyes were windows to one's soul.
Daniel's fingers twitched slightly. Then, finally, in a voice that was both calm and hollow, he said:
"I don't remember anything."
His voice sent a ripple of unease through Adrian.
"Nothing at all?"
Daniel's gaze drifted toward the window, watching the rain streak down the glass.
"No."
Adrian nodded.
Amnesia wasn't uncommon in cases of severe trauma. The brain had a way of locking away what it couldn't handle. But this felt different.
"Let's start with what you do remember."
Daniel tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. A long pause.
Then—softly—
"Red."
"Red?"
A flicker of something passed through Daniel's expression, so fast Adrian almost missed it. "Blood," Daniel clarified.
"A lot of it. Everywhere."
Adrian noted the way Daniel's hands curled into fists. "Yours?"
Daniel shook his head.
"I don't think so."
Adrian's pen hovered over his notepad. "Then.. whose?"
A small muscle in Daniel's jaw tightened. He swallowed, looking down at his hands as if expecting them to still be stained.
"I… I don't know."
Adrian watched him carefully, inspecting. There was no flicker of dishonesty. But that didn't mean he wasn't hiding something.
"Do you remember how you got to
Holloway Bridge ?"
Daniel's fingers twitched again.
"No."
"What about before that?"
A slow inhale.
"Nothing."
Adrian resisted the urge to sigh. This was going nowhere. But then Daniel spoke again.
"I hear things sometimes."
Adrian's pulse quickened. His hands instantly hovered over his notepad.
"What kind of things?"
Daniel's eyes met his for the first time.
"A woman's voice."
---
A knock at the door cut through the moment.
Adrian turned to see Detective Eric Holloway standing in the doorway, his presence commanding despite the casual posture.
"Dr. Sinclair"
Holloway greeted, stepping inside. His sharp blue eyes flickered toward Daniel.
"Mind if I have a word?"
Adrian stood and motioned toward the hallway. Once the door was shut behind them, Holloway wasted no time.
"Your patient in there—Daniel Reeves?"
He crossed his arms.
"The thing is, we ran a check. No ID. No records. It's like he doesn't exist."
Adrian frowned.
"That's not unusual for amnesiacs."
Holloway exhaled sharply.
"Maybe. But here's the part that should bother you."
He pulled out a photograph and handed it to Adrian. Emily Caldwell.
Blonde hair, light blue eyes, a warm smile—the kind that didn't belong on a missing persons poster.
"Her blood was found on him."
Adrian felt something cold settle in his chest. He shrugged it off immediately. It was common for many patients in the psychiatrict ward to be related to cases and he had dealt with many extreme.
"He could've been a witness,"
Adrian reasoned.
"Or she was injured, and he tried to help her—"
"Maybe."
Holloway's expression darkened.
"Or he's the one who made her disappear."
The words lingered between them like a warning.
Adrian turned, glancing back through the small window in his office door. Daniel hadn't moved. But something about the way he sat—the unnatural stillness—sent a shiver down Adrian's spine.
"Be careful, Dr. Sinclair,"
Holloway murmured.
"You might not like what you find in that man's head."
Adrian didn't respond.
Because for the first time in his career, he wasn't sure if he was trying to save a mind—or unravel one. If he saved one, it was an achievement, and if he could unravel one, then he would journal it.
It was that simple.
Wasn't it?