"Fee-fi-foe-fum, madness strikes the hour of tides. Blended within the fire of woes, fragility her undying keeper. Deeper and deeper still the fires of youth bled into firry dreams, a disposition of hunger and desire. How can one ever fathom the ever burdened weight of dreams on the shoulders of one so young and fragile?"
He stirred awake on the cold iron lip of a dumpster, the stink of rot clinging to his clothes. A hammer pulsed behind his eyes, each strike deeper than the last, as though some cruel blacksmith had set up shop in his skull. His ears rang with a thin, metallic whine, a sound that seemed to gnaw at silence itself. The world tilted sideways when he tried to lift his head, shadows swimming like tidewater, and all focus slipped through his grasp like smoke.
"Me se que infemo digressi il ge sues," a voice spoke into the piercing pain in his mind, jolting Ceaser awake.
He froze! the sound was neither dream nor memory, but something ancient and alive, echoing in his bones.
"Pe gue li mo na si fa vel de molisa pagueta, il mo to fueva be firo ge montila..." it continued, soft yet searing, like fire whispering through a crack in his soul.
Then, as though the meaning unfolded from within him rather than from words themselves, he understood:
"I know the infernal wanderer; he bears even the name of Christ."
"By the hand of the fragile one, the fire of sorrow rises in its vessel; it has gone beyond, into the fiery mountain."
Ceaser gasped and pressed his palms to his temples, the ringing in his ears swelling until it filled his skull. For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but light burning, trembling, infinite and then darkness reclaimed him.
The bordered crevasse of mysticism never served anything good except the good of its practitioners. Ceaser was never fond of magic tricks, yet he couldn't unravel what or how he'd ended up on the dumpster behind Rail Park Mall. His gaze darted to his right hand, searching for the watch.
"Damn it, I'm late!" he shouted, scrambling upright.
"These damned therapy sessions will drive me crazy," he muttered.
He found a half-empty bottle of water beside the trash and opened it in a frenzy, first to wet his dry mouth, then to wash his face, and lastly to tame his red bangs into a slick back. He started jogging, mind racing to remember where he'd parked his red Polo Vivo, when his reflection flashed in the mall window.
"Damn it! Where the heck is my shirt now?" he groaned.
He turned back toward the dumpsters, spotting Curious Joe, the local drifter, snoring on a flattened cardboard box. Ceaser's missing shirt now served as Joe's blanket. One glance told him it wasn't white anymore. He sighed, gave up, and sprinted off again, hoping for a spare in his car's boot.
Crowds of workers streamed past, checking their watches, their glances sharp and full of judgment. Ceaser could feel them seeing through him, through the cracks of a life he didn't quite remember.
"Isn't that Ceaser Grey? The lawyer?" one voice whispered.
"Yeah, Attorney Grey. Poor guy."
"His downfall should be studied," another said.
"Maybe it was witchcraft. How does a genius lawyer just… go crazy?"
Ceaser ignored them, running shirtless through the mall's corridors until he reached the parking area. The world still tilted slightly, the memory of last night a black hole in his mind. Then! keys jingling before his eyes, he froze.
"Here you go, Ceaser. You left them in your car door this morning," said Hermon, the security guard, already used to Ceaser's habits.
"For real? Didn't even notice. You're a lifesaver, Hermon. I owe you one!" Ceaser shouted as he grabbed the keys and bolted away, forgetting, of course, to ask where the car was.
Luck blessed him and there stood his car, parked crookedly along the white lines. Ceaser searched hurriedly for any spare clothing he could find, but all he found was the shirt he used to wipe car oil with last week. The car smelled of melting plastic and dirty socks, but Ceaser tanked it like a pro. The drive to Village Mall was a short burst as he couldn't afford to be late, he looked up on the sunshield and saw a reflection of his ice blue eyes surrounded by dark circles.
"Every night I have a dream, over and over and over again I see the world come to an end but over time I became aware there is a way to escape the tragedy. But over time I grew tired of running, every single night I run without rest." Ceaser thought in his mind.
"Ever since I was discharged from the dreadful hospital I remember nothing but that dream, every face is a new face." Ceaser concluded his thoughts as the elevator door opened.
Only a single flight of stairs remained between him and the therapy session he hates, but fate had other plans that day. Golden silk sparkled as the cold morning breeze blew from above the stairs carrying with them a familiar scent, a familiar rhythm of footsteps closed in from above and just as Ceaser looked up he saw the visage of an angel on Earth. Both eyes widened as they locked. A familiar face wearing a new musk of feelings, then the look of terror filled her eyes as she recognized him.
She walked past him when he stopped to speak, leaving his words hanging at the tip of his tongue. No words could explain what he saw or what he felt but right now one person had the right answers for him, the doctor waiting for him in therapy must know this familiar person.
Dr. Reaves sat in his office writing a log of his last session with Elizabeth Kylie. BAMM! The door to his office opened along with apologetic greetings.
"Dr. Reaves I tried to stop him, please forgive me." The receptionist begged her boss.
"Its alright Marlene, close the door behind you." Dr. Reaves assured the flustered woman.
"Who is she Reaves?" Ceaser shot straight to the point.
The Doctor sat quietly while completing his prior work, the sound of plastic keys taping against their base filled the room like music. Ceaser on the other hand slowly boiled into a frenzy.
"Tell me damn it! Who is that woman I just saw." Ceaser screamed at the doctor.
Typing sounds stopped and Doctor Reaves looked up while fixing his pair of glasses, "and what if I told you who she is?What could you possibly do with that information? People who haven't actively come to see you are clearly avoiding you and I assure its good for you and them If you stayed away until your memories came back."
"Are you kidding me? So what happens if I never remember anything about my life? Don't play with me right now!" Ceaser warned the doctor whilst getting dangerously close.
"Keep your calm Mr. Grey!" Dr. Reaves warned Ceaser.
But in a fit of rage Ceaser held the doctor by his collar, "I know you are hiding things about me, I don't want to be here and you clearly don't like me. Why don't you clear me for the day and ill be out of your face for the weekend." Ceaser attempted to bargain
Doctor Reaves fixed his glasses and glanced towards the hand on his collar, Ceaser's eyes locked onto that gesture and he let go. The doctor sat down at his table and took a deep breath calming his wave of adrenaline and then started typing again on his computer.
"Well if you're going to leave do it now." Dr. Reaves exclaimed in a low deep voice.
Ceaser turned around to leave and just as he opened the door a t-shirt landed on his face, the doctor had thrown it to him. Ceaser glanced in surprise but the doctor kept typing on his computer, a smile filled his face as he turned to walk out of the room. Then he remembered the woman from the stairs and ran out of the clinic, he hoped to find her at the parking lot if it wasn't too late.
The flight of stairs passed by like a wink as he flew over them with frightening speed, while he fought with the t-shirt openings trying to put it on. The elevator ride felt like ages as he kept wondering who she could be and what their relationship is, the look on her eyes was a clear indicator she knew who he was and possibly who he is.
The parking lot couldn't disappoint him more as he saw there were no cars but his own, Ceaser dragged himself to his car and wasted no time sitting in it. He drove out of the small complex and immediately got stopped by an unexpected chain of traffic but he waited it out. Just as he drove by a primary school 'Camp Primary school' he saw her again. He saw a boy with red hair like his own run up to her car, so he decided to pull over and watch them.
Elizabeth was picking up her son from school, she didn't notice the watching gaze from a red Polo vivo.
"Hey Rob where is your lunch box bag, how many times should I remind you to keep it close" Elizabeth scolded at her son.
"Hey Robert you forgot your bag!" another kid came crushing into their car followed by a trail of dust.
Ceaser watched everything with concerned eyes, 'It was only 8am so why was she already taking her son with her?' was the beckoning question in his mind. Although an even stranger suspicion arose in his head while he watched the strange woman and child.
"I don't want to say it but am I looking at my family right now?" a whispering thought invaded his guarded mind.
voices grew ever louder in his mind, as the scene before him continued to haunt and prick at his walls. then like a silent breeze memory took hold of his chaotic mind.
"I'm pregnant my love!" Elizabeth's voice announced
A younger Ceaser froze in shock of the news and then his eyes widened in sudden realization. He embraced her tightly at first then let her go with an awkward smile, Elizabeth laughed at his seemingly immature reaction to her pregnancy.
"Back then i was flabbergasted by the news of our unborn child, but seeing the two of you now buries me in a rain of dread." Ceaser whispered from his trembling lips.
A single tear dropped from his eyes as the memories of him and Elizabeth returned, he finally knew someone, but something pulled him away from going to meet them. He wasn't the man from his memories, nothing but a stranger, and he thought 'Maybe that's why the haven't come to find me'.
He turned the key and took one last glance at his family, he resolved in his heart to get back all of his memories before faring to approach them. After all happy memories can cloud a very dark past.
Central Business district (CBD)....
The air smelled of burnt oil and cheap perfume as Ceaser parked the car across from Masa Square. He needed a distraction! Something loud enough to drown out the voices of memory still ringing in his head. The clouds above hung heavy, swollen with rain and judgment.
The area was kind of empty at that time of the day so he decided to go up to a restaurant in Protea Hotel and get some breakfast, although he woke up from a dumpster Ceaser was off-cause a very wealthy man, providence of his successful career. On the contrary to his wallet, his reputation had taken a lethal blow, at the sight of his face receptionists started whispering or making secretive gestures.
After months of this treatment Ceaser had learnt to harden his heart, but the fact remained he didn't know what he did. His hands trembled slightly and he decided to order a full meal, which off-cause scared the life out of his waitress. A macaroni plate, two quarter chickens in mild-hot source, green salad, an island Mojito and a plate of fries.
He waited until the afternoon to leave the restaurant as his true motive for being at Masa square was New Capitol Cinemas, looking at the city from a high place didn't trigger any memories for him, not even a childhood memory. Maybe he wasn't born in the city area or he just grew up in a village somewhere, but he knew for sure the city was new to his eyes.
He bought a single ticket for Nightmare on Elm Street and climbed the long stairway to Cine 3, the theatre tucked away at the far end of the corridor. Inside, the world was quiet, empty rows, dust floating in the cone of projector light. He took the highest seat, letting the darkness swallow him whole.
For a while, he almost forgot who he was. The flicker of the movie washed over him like a fading dream. Freddy laughed on-screen, a cruel, mechanical laugh that sounded too much like the echo of his own thoughts.
Then, he heard footsteps.
A man entered and took the seat directly below him. Another followed soon after, sitting beside the first , their shadows overlapping like ghosts in communion.
At first, Ceaser thought nothing of it. People come late all the time.
But then he noticed something strange, the sound of their voices wasn't conversation. It was tension. Words muttered through clenched teeth, half-syllables bitten by restraint.
He leaned forward slightly, his heartbeat syncing with the sound of the projector.
And then!
'Crackle!' A small blue light flickered between their hands like static.
Ceaser froze.
His eyes adjusted, and he saw the impossible. Veins of light crawling beneath their skin, webbing up their arms like lightning trapped in flesh. The first man stood abruptly.
The second followed, and the silence snapped into violence.
They moved fast, too fast for human eyes. Every punch rippled through the air like thunder underwater. Seats cracked, fabric tore, sparks danced between them like living things.
Then came the knife.
A short, curved blade burning with a molten red glow, alive in the man's grip. Ceaser's breath hitched. He watched as the blade sang through the air and sliced clean through an arm but no blood followed, only smoke rising from the wound like incense.
"God…" Ceaser whispered under his breath.
The wounded man fell to one knee, then looked up with eyes hollow and bright. His lips moved, muttering words Ceaser could not hear or perhaps he refused to. The air warped, a low hum filling the room as if the world itself was being stretched thin.
Then the knife-bearer twitched! spasmed, and dropped.
Ceaser thought it was over.
But the man on the ground jolted upright with one arm, face blank as glass. He reached for the knife, and before Ceaser could blink, the blade arced once more, cutting through the neck of the other man in a single clean motion.
Both bodies fell silent.
Ceaser sat frozen, the movie still playing, Freddy laughing again, this time softer, more real. He could taste iron in his mouth though he hadn't bitten his tongue. He stumbled down the steps, pushing through the emergency exit and bursting into the lobby gasping for air.
Later...
Blue lights flashed against the tiled walls of Masa Square as the sound of sirens filled the underground parking lot. Ceaser stood aside, trembling, wrapped in a blanket that did little to stop the cold in his bones.
"Two bodies in there, Lieutenant," a young officer said. "No IDs, no blood, no weapon. Nothing."
LieutenantSetlholo exhaled a heavy sigh. He was a broad man, face weathered by years of disbelief.
"And this one saw everything?" he asked, pointing his chin at Ceaser.
"Yes sir! Says the killer used a 'red glowing knife' whilst the other guy used magic"
"and that they lit up while fighting," Setholo finished for him, unimpressed. "Christ, it's always something."
He walked over to Ceaser, crouched slightly so their eyes met.
"Mr. Grey, right? You said you were watching the movie alone, then two men came in?"
Ceaser nodded faintly.
"They weren't human," he muttered. "The knife cut through him like a hot knife in butter, but he didn't bleed! He really didn't!"
"Alright, that's enough." Setholo raised a hand gently. "We'll take your statement again at the station. Maybe after some rest it'll sound a little clearer."
Ceaser's throat went dry.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
Setholo didn't answer.
He simply turned away, speaking low to another officer:
"He's the lawyer, right? The one from the mental institute? Get his doctor on the line."
Ceaser heard that part. Every word sank like lead in his chest. He turned his gaze back to the flickering lights of the cinema entrance, two covered bodies carried out under white sheets.
No blood.
No weapon.
No proof.
Only his memory and that sound still ringing in his ears, the crackling hum of something not human.
CBD police station...
The buzzing of the fluorescent light was unbearable.
Ceaser sat alone in the cramped interrogation room, his hands clasped together, wrists still faintly smelling of the blanket they'd wrapped him in earlier. Across the metal table sat Lieutenant Setholo, thick fingers drumming on the surface like a ticking clock.
"You understand why we're still here, Mr. Grey," Setholo began, his voice slow and deliberate. "There were no other witnesses. No signs of forced entry. You bought a single ticket for Cine 3. Nobody came in or out after you. And we have two dead bodies you claim killed each other"
Ceaser's eyes darted around the room.
"I told you what I saw."
"You told me two men appeared out of nowhere, fought with lightning in their hands, and it vanished into thin air after they'd killed each other with a glowing knife that also vanished." Setholo leaned back. "That's not testimony, Mr. Grey. That's a movie pitch. Unless off-cause you are the killer."
Ceaser's jaw tightened. "I'm not insane."
The lieutenant sighed. "You've got history, Grey. Three years in Sbrana Psychiatric Hospital, schizophrenia diagnosis, missing memory, and this morning my officers report you were shirtless behind Rail Park mall dumpster's."
He flipped through the case file, thick with documents and rumors. "You tell me! if you were in my position, what would you believe?"
Ceaser looked down at his reflection in the table's metal. "That something's wrong with the world, not me."
Setholo chuckled under his breath. "You lawyers always find a way to twist reason." He rose from his seat and motioned to the guard. "Keep him here until I get a psych report"
The door opened before he could finish.
A woman in a charcoal coat stepped through with a badge clipped to her lapel. Her presence was sharp, cutting through the stale air like a blade.
"Detective Elizabeth Kylie, Homicide Division." She announced herself.
Setholo frowned. "This case is mine. I wasn't told Homicide was taking over."
"Orders from the Commissioner." She handed him a sealed directive. "Special reassignment. Case #27-1C, cinema double homicide."
Setholo broke the seal, muttered a curse under his breath. "I think its kind of poetic, a sick detective puts the man who caused her three years of depression behind bars for life."
Ceaser hadn't looked up until then. But the moment her voice reached him, calm, steady, painfully familiar.
He froze.
His breath hitched.
That name! That voice.
Elizabeth kept her composure, though her pulse betrayed her calm. Three years. Three silent, impossible years since the day her world had cracked apart. Now, sitting in front of her, was the ghost of that wound, alive, breathing, and accused of murder.
She sat across from him, opening her notepad.
"Mr. Grey," she began, her tone neutral, professional. "I've been assigned to your case. I'll need you to walk me through exactly what you saw."
Ceaser lifted his gaze slowly. "Elizabeth?"
She didn't flinch. "Detective Kylie," she corrected, scribbling something on the page she wasn't even reading.
"It's you…" His voice trembled.
"That's enough." Her tone sharpened like glass. "We're here to talk about the incident, not personal history."
"You know me," he insisted, voice rising. "Tell them I didn't do it."
Elizabeth closed the notepad and looked him dead in the eye, and for a second, her mask cracked. There it was, grief, buried deep behind steel and duty.
Then it was gone.
"Mr. Grey," she said coldly, "right now, the evidence says you were alone in that room. No blood, no weapon, no witnesses. Just you."
Ceaser's breath quickened. "You think I killed them?"
"I think," she said quietly, "that until I see something that says otherwise, you're the only person who can explain what happened."
She stood, collected her file, and paused at the door.
For a brief heartbeat, she turned her head just enough for him to hear her whisper, soft, almost lost under the hum of the lights.
"Ceaser… what did you see this time?"
And then she left.
Ceaser sat alone, again. The walls seemed to close in as fragments of the fight replayed in his mind, the crackling energy, the knife of fire, the soundless scream.
His reflection in the table shifted, blurred, became someone else, the face of the man with the knife.
He blinked.
It was gone.
Outside, Elizabeth leaned against the hallway wall, breathing through her trembling hands.
"Why him?" she whispered to herself. "Why now?"
But deep down, she already knew the answer.
The past had come back, and it had brought something with it.
Constable Mogomotsi walked past her holding a bundle of keys, and Elizabeth knew Ceaser was being released for the night but it was only a matter of time until she was forced to pin the case on him.
The drive back home was silent, a little too silent. Even the city seemed to hold its breath as Ceaser's car glided through the empty streets. Street lights blinked against the windows like tired eyes, blurring into streaks of red and gold.
He didn't remember buying this house, nor what had possessed him to live here alone. The gate opened to a gravel drive lined with sycamores, their bare branches reaching like skeletal hands toward the night.
Inside, the mansion felt more like a museum than a home, spotless, still, and void of warmth. A portrait hung in the foyer, a woman and a child smiling, the resemblance he shares with his mother quite uncanny. Ceaser stood there, staring at his own reflection in the glass, unable to recognize the family before him.
"Who were you, Ceaser Grey?" he muttered.
He walked upstairs, dropped his clothes across the floor, and stood beneath the scalding rush of the shower. Steam filled the marble room. The water beat against his back like falling glass, and for a brief moment he felt human again or something close to it.
When he finally fell into bed, sleep took him instantly.
But peace did not follow.
At first, there was only weight, a crushing heaviness pinning him to the bed. His chest refused to move, his breath turned shallow. He tried to call out, but his voice wouldn't come. The air rippled, the shadows at the edge of the room shifting.
Two figures stood beside him, vague and flickering like projections on smoke. Their voices were muffled at first, foreign yet oddly familiar, the same cadence as the dream-voices that haunted his mornings.
"He saw it," one of them said, calm and certain.
"He's unstable," replied the other. "We can't risk exposure."
"He's a witness," the first insisted. "A valuable one."
Their outlines wavered closer, tall, cloaked, their eyes faintly aglow.
Ceaser's mind screamed for his body to move, to speak, but his limbs lay frozen beneath the unseen weight.
Then, suddenly, one of the beings turned its head toward him.
"He's awake."
Ceaser's heart seized in terror.
The other raised a hand, palm burning with light. "Then he shouldn't be."
A burst of energy, white, blinding, filled his sight. His body convulsed, and the world fractured into shards of color.
Somewhere in the distortion of consciousness, he heard the echo of his own voice shouting, though whether in mind or dream, he couldn't tell;
"Who are you?!"
But no answer came.
Only darkness.
And thus, the first day of schizophrenia ended.