Daniel's head felt heavy, as if weighed down by something unseen. His breath came in short, uneven gasps as he forced his eyes open. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—cream-colored with an ornate chandelier hanging in the center. The faint hum of traffic outside told him he wasn't at home.
He turned his head.
Lenny lay beside him, half-buried under the hotel's pristine white sheets, his face slack in sleep.
Daniel shot up, his heart slamming against his ribs.
What the hell?
His mind scrambled for an explanation. The last thing he remembered—the book, the chair moving, the air pressing in around him—then… nothing. A void. A blank space in his memory where time should be.
He clutched his wrist instinctively, and the breath left his lungs in a shudder. The skin where the IV had been removed was swollen, tender to the touch. And on the other wrist—
Dark streaks. Like bruises, smudged shadows lingering where unseen hands had dragged him through the mirror.
Not a dream.
His stomach churned. This was real.
His pulse hammering, Daniel grabbed Lenny's shoulder and shook him roughly. "Lenny. Wake up."
Lenny groaned, rubbing his eyes before peering up at Daniel in confusion. "What's your deal, man?"
Daniel's voice was tight. "How did we get here?"
Lenny blinked. "What?"
"This hotel room. How did we get here?"
Lenny frowned, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. "What are you talking about? We went out partying, remember?"
Daniel's blood ran cold. "Partying?"
"Yeah, man," Lenny said, stretching. "You finally gave in. We convinced you. Went out, had drinks. It was a wild night. I'm surprised you don't remember."
Daniel shook his head. "That's bullshit. That's your thing, not mine. Lenny, we weren't at some club. We were in the nursery. The book—"
Lenny's face twisted in confusion. "Nursery? What nursery?"
Daniel gritted his teeth. "I was in the hospital, Lenny. And you were there. You saw—"
Lenny raised an eyebrow. "Daniel, I don't know what you're talking about. You weren't in any hospital."
A wave of nausea crashed over him. His hands clenched into fists. "No. You were with me. We saw it. The book, the chair—"
The door to the room burst open, and a familiar voice boomed through the space.
"Wooo! There he is!"
Dale.
Daniel turned sharply, his stomach flipping at the sight of his other friend, looking entirely too cheerful.
"You partied like a legend last night, man," Dale continued, grinning. "Didn't think you had it in you."
Daniel's head pounded. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Dale snorted. "Dude, don't tell me you don't remember."
Lenny laughed, shaking his head. "I think he blacked out, man. Too much alcohol."
Daniel's entire body tensed. "No. That's not what happened."
"Then what did happen?" Lenny shot back. "Because I don't remember any nursery, any hospital, or any creepy book. We went out, we drank, and we crashed here."
"No." Daniel's voice was barely above a whisper now, his throat tightening. "That's not right."
Dale chuckled. "Man, you must've had one hell of a night if you're this lost."
But Daniel wasn't lost.
He was trapped.
Because he knew the truth.
He had been in the hospital. He had seen that book. And he had been pulled into something he couldn't understand.
So why was it that Lenny keeps insisting he don't remember ?
Daniel needed proof. Something—anything—that would confirm he wasn't losing his mind.
His hands trembled as he reached for his phone. He scrolled through his call log, looking for any indication of a hospital visit, a message, a timestamp—something that aligned with his memory. But there was nothing.
His heart dropped.
No calls. No texts. No evidence that the last night had been anything but a party.
His fingers hovered over his mother's contact. He pressed call.
The phone rang once. Twice. Then—
"Daniel?" His mother's voice came through, warm and familiar. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
His throat tightened. "Mom… was I in the hospital yesterday?"
A beat of silence. Then a nervous chuckle. "What are you talking about, dear? Why would you be in the hospital?"
Daniel felt his breath hitch. "I—" He glanced at his wrist, at the swollen mark. He knew. He knew. But if she didn't remember either…
Then who did?
He swallowed hard. "Never mind."
"Are you sure? You sound off."
"I'm fine, Mom."
Another pause. "Okay… well, call me if you need anything."
He ended the call before she could say more.
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, his skin crawling with unease. This wasn't normal. None of this was normal. His mother would never lie to him—but she genuinely had no recollection of something that had definitely happened.
Lenny and Dale were watching him, their amused expressions fading into concern.
"You good, man?" Lenny asked.
Daniel exhaled sharply. "Yeah. I just need to—" He grabbed his jacket, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Dale called after him.
"To get answers."
Because if no one else remembered, he'd find someone who did.
---
The hospital was colder than he remembered, the bright fluorescent lights making his skin itch. He approached the front desk, swallowing against the unease rising in his throat.
"I was admitted here," he told the receptionist. "Daniel Carter. Can you check my records?"
The woman typed something into the computer, her expression neutral. A moment later, she frowned. "The last recorded patient under that name was discharged three weeks ago."
Daniel's stomach twisted. "Three weeks? Yes, I had been here three weeks ago but I was also brought back two days ago and was discharged yesterday. I had an IV—I was in a hospital bed! Check again."
She rechecked the screen and shook her head. "Sir, I'm sorry, but there's no record of you being here recently. The last entry states you were discharged three weeks ago. That's all."
His breath hitched. "That's not possible. I was here. I—" He staggered back, his mind scrambling for an answer.
His hand slipped into his pocket, searching for his phone, but instead, his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic.
A coin.
He pulled it out, heart pounding. It was identical to the one from before. His breath caught as he turned it over.
More words were scratched into the surface, the letters deep, jagged, almost desperate:
"I TOLD YOU TO STOP DIGGING."
Daniel's vision blurred. His stomach twisted violently. A chill crawled up his spine.
Shaking, he turned to Lenny. "Look at this. Tell me you see this."
Lenny took the coin from his hand, turning it over. His expression remained blank. "See what? It's just a coin."
Daniel's mouth went dry. He snatched it back. The words were gone. The metal was smooth, untouched.
"No, no, no. It was there. I swear." He looked between them, his pulse pounding. "I'm not imagining things! I swear it said—"
Lenny exchanged a glance with Dale. His voice was careful, too careful. "Daniel, maybe we should talk."
Dale sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Man, I think we need to call someone. A therapist, maybe. Just to talk things out."
Daniel shook his head violently. "You don't believe me. You think I'm losing it?"
Lenny stepped closer, his voice gentle. "We're worried about you. You're seeing things, forgetting things. Just... let us help."
Daniel felt the walls closing in. If he couldn't trust his own memories, his own senses—
Then what the hell was real?