ZEN
The days blurred together in the sterile confines of the San Miguel Mental Health Facility. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, marked only by the routine of meals, medication, and brief moments of interaction with the staff. I had lost track of how long I had been there, the passage of time a vague concept that held no meaning in this place.
Each morning began with a regimented schedule. A nurse would bring breakfast—a tray of bland oatmeal, a cup of lukewarm tea, and a piece of dry toast. I would eat mechanically, my mind elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of what had brought me here.
Medication followed soon after—a small cup of pills that I swallowed without question. They were meant to help, to calm the voices in my head, but they only dulled the edges of reality, leaving me in a fog of numbness.
Days passed in a haze of therapy sessions and group activities. I participated half-heartedly, going through the motions but never truly present. The other patients seemed lost in their own worlds, their faces familiar yet distant.
In the afternoons, I would retreat to my room—a small, bare space with a narrow bed and a small window that offered a glimpse of the outside world. I would sit by the window for hours, watching the clouds drift by, the rain tapping gently against the glass.
Occasionally, memories of Noah would surface, but they felt distant, like echoes from another lifetime. Had he been real? Or had he been a figment of my imagination, a manifestation of my unraveling mind?
I tried to piece together the events that had led me here, but the memories were fragmented, disjointed. Chief Ramirez, the police station, their disbelief—all of it seemed like a distant dream.
One evening, as I sat by the window, a nurse entered my room, carrying a tray of dinner—a plate of overcooked vegetables, a dry piece of chicken, and a glass of water. She placed the tray on the bedside table, her expression kind but guarded.
"How are you feeling today, Zen?" she asked gently, her voice tinged with concern.
I looked up at her, my gaze weary. "I don't know anymore."
She nodded understandingly. "It takes time, Zen. Adjusting to a new environment can be challenging."
I forced a smile, pushing the food around on my plate. "Thank you."
She lingered for a moment, as if waiting for me to say something more, but I remained silent. With a sympathetic nod, she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Alone once more, I picked at my dinner, my appetite nonexistent. The food tasted like cardboard, the flavors muted and bland. I ate mechanically, my thoughts drifting aimlessly.
As night fell outside, casting the room in shadows, I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep eluded me, my mind restless with unanswered questions. How had my life come to this? Had I imagined everything? Or had I stumbled upon a truth too dangerous for others to believe?
Hours passed in solitude, the silence broken only by the distant hum of activity in the facility. Eventually, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep haunted by fragmented dreams.
In the depths of the night, I awoke with a start, my heart racing. A sense of unease settled over me, a feeling of being watched. I sat up in bed, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
Outside my window, the rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart. Shadows danced across the walls, playing tricks on my tired mind.
And then, in the darkness, I heard a whisper—a voice so familiar, it sent a chill down my spine.
"Zen..."
I froze, my pulse quickening. It couldn't be. It was impossible. But the voice persisted, growing louder, more insistent.
"Zen, it's me. Noah."
I clutched the sheets tightly, my mind racing. Was this another hallucination, another trick of my troubled mind? Or was Noah really here, somewhere beyond the walls of the facility?
"Zen, I need you to listen to me," the voice pleaded, its tone urgent yet filled with an undeniable longing.
I hesitated, torn between fear and hope. Could it be true? Could Noah be real?
But before I could respond, footsteps echoed outside my door. The handle turned, and a nurse entered the room, her face lined with concern.
"Are you okay, Zen?" she asked softly, her eyes searching mine.
I glanced back at the window, but there was nothing there—only the rain and the shadows.
"I... I thought I heard something," I stammered, my voice trembling.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. "It's okay, Zen. It's just your mind playing tricks on you. Try to get some rest."
With a nod, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Alone once more, I lay back down on the bed, my thoughts in turmoil.
Noah's voice had felt so real, so close. Had he been there, just beyond my reach? Or was he nothing more than a ghost haunting the corners of my mind?
As dawn broke outside, casting a pale light into the room, I closed my eyes and prayed for clarity, for answers that seemed forever out of reach.
****
As days turned into weeks at the San Miguel Mental Health Facility, I found myself settling into a rhythm of acceptance. The routine became my anchor—a predictable cycle of medication, therapy sessions, and meals. Each day blurred into the next, and I resigned myself to the idea that perhaps Chief Ramirez and the others were right. Maybe I was crazy.
I spent my days in quiet contemplation, reflecting on the events that had led me here. The memories of Noah felt distant now, like fragments of a dream slipping through my fingers. Had he ever existed? Or had he been a manifestation of my fractured mind?
One afternoon, as I sat in the facility's cafeteria, picking at a tasteless salad, my gaze wandered to the television mounted on the wall. The news was playing—a routine I had become accustomed to ignoring. But this time, a headline caught my attention.
"Serial Killer Strikes Again: Fifth Victim Found in Downtown San Miguel."
My heart skipped a beat as I watched the screen, the image of a young woman's face staring back at me. She had dark hair, delicate features, and a haunting familiarity that sent a shiver down my spine.
I leaned closer, my breath catching in my throat. The resemblance was uncanny—a chilling reminder of the women who had been murdered. And then, it hit me like a bolt of lightning.
They looked like me.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, threatening to pull me under. I struggled to make sense of it all, my mind racing with a thousand questions. Why did they look like me? Was it just a coincidence, or was there something more sinister at play?
I glanced around the cafeteria, but no one else seemed to notice. The other patients carried on with their meals, oblivious to the weight of the revelation that had just crashed down on me.
I pushed my plate away, my appetite gone. The salad sat untouched, a stark reminder of the unsettling truth that had surfaced. Chief Ramirez and the others had dismissed me as crazy, but deep down, I knew there was more to the story.
I had to find a way to prove it, to uncover the truth that had eluded me for so long. The murders, Noah's disappearance—they were all connected somehow. I could feel it in my bones.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a nurse approached me, concern etched on her face.
"Zen, are you okay?" she asked gently, her voice pulling me back to the present.
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from the television. "I... I'm fine," I replied, my voice unsteady. "Just... thinking."
She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here," she offered softly before walking away.
Alone once more, I stared at the television, my mind spinning with possibilities. Could I trust my instincts, despite what everyone else believed? Could I trust myself?
The image of the murdered women lingered in my mind, their faces haunting me. They looked like me. They could have been me.
As I left the cafeteria, the television screen flickered behind me, casting a pale glow on the empty room. The news continued, the voices of reporters fading into the background as I walked down the sterile hallway.
********