Tristan’s world turned upside down.
Feverish, he backed away from the cramped space,
bringing the box with him. It seemed to hold his very life at the precipice,
its contents the answer to everything that’s choking him.
Like a man in the desert about to quench his thirst,
he took off the lid with trembling hands, and grabbed the thin stack of papers
inside.
Disorientation kicked him in the gut.
This…this isn’t
you…
The 1x1 picture on the bio data could be anyone else in the world, but Tristan
was certain with his whole being that it wasn’t Reeya. Not the Reeya he knew.
Not his Reeya.
The woman in this picture was close to 30. His Reeya
was much, much younger than that. The stranger also had lanky hair, a sharp
chin, and blunt, dead eyes the color of charcoal.
Tristan’s breathing was shallow.
What is going
on?
He snatched the tag and read the rest of it. This
Reeya has been dead for three years now.
“Shit,” he gritted his teeth. “What the fuck is
going on…”
Almost hysterical, he read the information in his
hands, whispering some phrases as he attempted to speed up as if the next
sentence would bring him the clarity he needed, the clarity he yearned for with
all that he is.
There was nothing.
He found nothing that shed light to the compromising
turn of events. This Reeya and his Reeya were two completely different people.
He read everything again. And again.
On the third time, through the haze of confusion and
crippling agony, he noticed something peculiar.
There were words written on the backside of the bio
data sheet – something handwritten. It would be illegible to most, but Tristan
read it in an instant, but it only added to his puzzlement and hurt.
File number
A1618 (Black)
Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes. Stuffing
the papers back to the box, he stood up, and unceremoniously put it back on the
rack.
He knew where to look. The word ‘black’ can only
mean the obvious – it’s within the first room. The one with the black boxes.
Tristan took a long, deep breath, and let it out. He
couldn’t take the hurricane of deception any longer, but a more pressing matter
loomed, like a sword hanging above his neck.
Reeya.
He couldn’t even get himself to say her name – if it
was hers. For the first time since he
met her, Tristan felt she had slighted him. He felt she didn’t trust him
enough.
She could’ve
said anything to me! Anything!
Tristan felt betrayed.
He brushed his tears away with his sleeve, not caring
about the burning sensation it left in its trail when he applied unnecessary
force.
File A1618.
His jaw set, he walked out of the extended room, mentally
preparing himself. He hid behind a wall where the hurt can’t reach him.
File numbers are always encoded with a single letter
– the initial of the patient’s last name. He had no idea what he would find
there, and he tried not to care much, as well.
Coming back to the aisles, his hardened eyes started
searching. He found it in no time, beside John Akerman’s file, which was
labelled A1617.
Avery Allton. A1618.
Devon Residence, same time
“Shh, it’s okay.”
“I am so sorry
– ”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not your fault.” Nika rocked
the poor patient of Tristan’s side to side. The nurse’s frantic heart was
slowing down now, unlike a few minutes ago, when she felt like it was about to
leap from her chest. Reeya’s cries from her sleep tugged at her sympathy. She quickly
rose her from the nightmare and was overwhelmed by tearful hug she received in
return.
“Why don’t you tell me what it was about?”
“It – it was the same one I told you,” she whimpered,
“the one I painted. There’s something – something strange that I…”
“What? What’s strange?” asked Nika, gently pulling Reeya’s
face from her shoulder. Better for her to
let it all out than keep it in, Nika thought.
“The boy, he – he called me something. Another name
that I really think that I should – ” she succumbed into another round of
crying before she got any more words out. She enveloped the nurse in a hug, and
distressed her with heart-breaking sobs.
“Okay. Some other time, then. Don’t cry now.”
Reeya’s muffled query took the nurse by surprise,
“Is Tristan back yet?”
“No,” she replied, looking at the early evening
through the clear, glass windows, “Not yet.”
She hoped he was already on his way.
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