27 CONNOR
“There has to be some explanation.” Sam scrolled up and down the list compulsively. “This never came up in any of my research.”
“Because the company is based in England.”
“My parents were never in England, Connor.”
“Does the name Bradan M. Cohen mean anything to you?”
Sam, who had been scrolling up and down the screen, suddenly stopped.
“Yes.” She turned to look at me. Her eyes were full of tears, ready to spill over. “When my parents disappeared, they had dinner plans with a friend.”
“Bradan.”
“He said they never showed up, and he had an alibi.” Sam got up and went to her closet. She pulled out a bundle wrapped in patterned fabric. Inside was a hardcover notebook.
“What’s that?”
“My mother’s planner.” Sam flipped through the pages until she reached the day her parents disappeared. The pages were already worn, falling open to that spot naturally. Sam must have opened it often. “Here.”
Sam handed me a photo. Sam, her father, and Bradan. I froze when I saw that man’s face.
Not necessarily his face… but his eyes. They were two different colors, like Samantha’s.
Different shades, but still. It wasn’t just the resemblance to Samantha that tormented me.
It was the memories I’d repressed for a while—memories that had haunted me for four years.
Nightmares that had finally given me a reprieve since I’d arrived here.
I immediately closed the laptop screen. Samantha was startled by my reaction.
“Sorry… I… no.”
“Hey.” She held my face between her hands. The touch was a reminder of the real world, even as my mind spiraled. “Are you okay?”
I sat on the bed and stared at my own hands covered in blood. Just like my clothes. My breathing failing. My abdomen hurt. My body… lying in a pool.
Reality glitching, merging with memories. A hand that wasn’t mine covering my chest. A woman’s face. The eyes. Those eyes.
“I-I… c-can’t… breathe.” I gasped for air with everything I had.
Those eyes piercing me. The pain—sharp, cutting—tearing through my abdomen. The air vanishing from my lungs, and the pool of blood on the floor. My hands on the cold metal of the gun that fired the shot. The ringing silence in my ears. It was all there. But I wasn’t sleeping this time.
“Connor…” Sam’s voice cut through the fog, tore through the nightmare, dragged me back. “Hey, detective. Breathe.”
She stroked my chest, squeezing my hand while I clung to her like my life depended on it. Gradually the shapes became clearer and her voice grew stronger, though I still drifted away for moments at a time.
“That’s it, that’s it,” she repeated. “Stay with me, okay? Stay with me!”
When I finally felt strong enough to sit up again, Sam handed me some water.
“What the hell was that?” she asked, and only then did I notice how terrified her eyes were.
“I… this hasn’t happened in a while. And it’s definitely never happened when I was this awake.”
“It looked like you were…”
“Dying,” I finished. “Yeah… it’s like PTSD.”
“Like prisoners of war?”
“Yes.”
“When did it start?”
“After my encounter with Ammit.” I took another sip of water. “Ever since then, I’ve been tormented by these confused dreams and jumbled memories, but it stopped when I got here.”
“But why now?” She still looked confused.
“Bradan Cohen.”
“My father’s friend?”
I took a deep breath before forcing out the next words. Her eyes waited, anxious and a little lost.
“I have reason to believe he’s Ammit.”