The relief Nina felt as she left the building was nearly overwhelming. She still kept her pace steady as she marched out of the front doors with the files tucked under her arm. Nerves still simmered within her, bubbling up with each gaze she caught on her way out, each whispered conversation that her paranoia insisted was about her. As soon as she was out, Nina let out a breath, closing her eyes as the cool wind hit her face.

Even then, she didn't stop. Instead, she walked quickly to her car, not daring to look back. The cool handle of her car's door felt comforting—felt like safety. Nina climbed inside, tossing the files onto the passenger seat. She stared at them for a moment, feeling some disbelief at having actually pulled it off.

Admittedly, it hadn't been easy, and she was just fortunate that the man who'd helped her hadn't bothered to ask many questions. She just worried about the look he'd given her when she named Fearnley. Clearly, he knew who he was—knew what he had done. He'd still helped Nina find the records she needed before leaving the room.

After that, the rest was a blur. Maybe because Nina had been so focused on getting out. On not getting caught. On the answers that modest folder in her hands could hold. Now, sitting inside of her car with the dim light from stormy skies washing over them, the records seemed so simple—so insignificant. It was difficult to think of how much Nina had gone through to get them.

After a moment, Nina turned her gaze away, started the car, and drove home.

It was as Nina reached her home that her phone buzzed inside her pocket, a silent notice of a call that played over and over until it became clear Nina wouldn't answer. For a moment, Nina considered picking up, but thought better of it as she knew her friends would want to more than a quick conversation to know she was fine. They would want time Nina wasn't able to give them at the moment.

The phone stilled just as Nina parked. She wondered who it was calling her, and just as she pulled out her phone, it bussed once more to notify her of a message.

"Nat," Nina read the name displayed on her screen. She ignored the message for the time being, grabbed the files next to her and headed to her apartment.

As soon as she entered, Nina noticed the unsettling silence that had become so stifling as of late. It was something that had never bothered her before but now seemed like a prominent and unfortunate part of her life. Nina sometimes found herself wondering when she had managed to isolate herself so much.

She was reminded of the unread message in her phone and of all the calls she'd missed. Guilt flashed through her, and Nina found her hand going to her pocket, fingers curling around the phone she kept there. A wide smile flashed through her mind as a twinge of pain shot through her head, her hand sliding out of her pocket and up to reflexively touch her head. The pain was gone in an instant, along with Nina's desire to speak to anyone.

Instead, Nina walked over to the coffee table in her living room and dropped Fearnley's records on top of it before walking off to get changed. The feel of the clothes she had on reminded her of the nerves that had filled her when she was looking for Fearnley's files. It was something Nina didn't want to recall. Not when it made her feel so different from who she had been before—someone who searched for the truth without fearing it.

For what was far from the first time, and would certainly not be the last, Nina was reminded of all that was taken from her on the night of the accident. It was a memory that seemed so distant but no less significant.

The sky was streaked with pinks and purples marking the setting of the sun by the time Nina sat down and opened the records, the television tuned onto a show she'd never watched—a thriller that didn't seem half as crazy as her life. Her notepad was next to her along with a pen as was her usual cup of coffee. Nina already anticipated it being another long night. It was nothing new.

Fearnley's medical records were ordered chronologically, with the latest notes and files at the top. Nina decided if she wanted to get a good understanding as to what happened to the man, she'd have to start from the beginning. Nina ignored the sections she didn't think would be of use, at least for the time being. Perhaps it was because she wanted to get through it as quickly and efficiently as possible, or maybe it was just because she was fully aware of just how much she was invading Fearnley's privacy.

It's all necessary, she told herself, looking through the treatment plan that had been outlined for Fearnley.

A lot of it was much like what Nina had gone through. She still knew perfectly well what was written in her medical records—something she'd requested as soon as she could remember to do so. As Nina read along, moving onto the diagnosis the man had received, the similarities continued. It was all so like Nina's experience that she found herself thinking back on those difficult days in the hospital.

The strong smell of alcohol mixed with the scent of medication and the hushed whispers as her doctors spoke with her father. Those were constants during Nina's stay along with the pain—both physical and mental—that came from learning so much had changed. So many things had happened, things Nina would never remember. Nina had learned to cope with it all, with the uncertainty of what the future would hold for her.

Now it seemed that uncertainty had only increased.

Nina moved onto the progress notes, most of them written in small, neat lettering that flowed together along the page. It was the first time Nina had seen Alice's writing. She had been heavily involved with Fearnley's treatment, unlike with Nina's case where she had served as more of an adviser.

Why? What was different with our cases? Nina wondered. Whatever the reason was, Alice seemed to have distanced herself from that point of research. What changed?

Nina considered that, thought about what would make someone like Alice—someone deeply devoted and successful in her line of work, excited in the possibilities they could open up—seemingly lose interest.

No, not interest. Something else changed. Something made her step back. Nina kept that in mind. It was one more answer she would have to search for.

Her gaze returned to the notes before her. In them, Alice spoke about Fearnley making good progress after the surgery. The implant had steadily made it easier for the man to make long term memories. It was a gradual shift, something Nina vaguely remembered having gone through. Seeing it outlined in detail, despite the patient being someone else, was interesting. To Nina, it almost felt like a glimpse into her own past.

She still had the first memories she'd created after she'd received the implant—fragments that were embedded into Nina's mind. The brightly lit room where she'd recovered, the stench of disinfectant and intangible feeling of loss, though Nina wasn't sure at the time what it was that she had lost. Her father's hand in her own, a comforting touch that was still vivid in Nina's mind. It was something that had helped Nina get through her most difficult moments. She wondered if Fearnley had anyone to provide that for him. Not a moment later, she found the answer to that.

"Patient is in good spirits after call from former spouse. The support has had a marked effect on patient's progress." Nina didn't doubt that.

Fearnley's former wife had seemed like a kind woman. Kindness, Nina knew, could work wonders for those in need, and Fearnley had very much needed it.

Nina kept reading, much of the notes describing short memories that Fearnley had begun forming. They increased in frequency as time progressed, the memories themselves becoming longer, more detailed.

"Patient can recall in detail the conversation we had the previous day. He mentions a scent of rain and the flowers his former spouse sent to him."

Nina remembered the scent of flowers that had been present in some of Alice's memories, lavender and wildflowers. She shook her head and focused on the dark ink that seemed to blur as the cream colored hall flashed in her mind.

Not now, she thought, willing away the memories.

The ink in front of her blurred together, lines merging as her eyes struggled to focus and a headache began to form. Nina sat back, a hand reaching up to her head as her grasp on the records slackened. She closed her eyes, pressed them tight and hoped when she opened them the world had righted itself.

When the memories that weren't her own were no longer struggling to surface, Nina opened her eyes again. Her hands shook, slight tremors that she'd become used to. After a moment, she reached out for the coffee laying on the table, steam still rising from it, and took a sip. Nina savored the drink, strong and earthy taste still hot as it ran down her throat. She focused on it, on the way the fading light from the setting sun streamed in through the windows and the faint sounds of the city that drifted up into her apartment.

The mundane sights and sounds grounded her, made her feel steady in a world that felt like it was always tilting, trying to knock her off her feet. In that moment, everything was clear. Steady.

Nina breathed easy as the sounds from the television washed over the room and the scent of coffee—with it's bitter taste still in her mouth—stuck in her mind. She wondered if she'd remember any of it as vividly the next day.

"Smell, sights and sounds may all act as triggers for memories." The quote emerged from some part of her brain that had worked to store as much information as possible.

Alice knew that. She'd seen it with Fearnley, the way he remembered sensory details. Nina thought. So she made sure to include those when she planted her memories, when she constructed them.

Now, Nina found herself wondering when Alice had done all of that. She'd taken the time to create new memories, strong ones that would be almost painfully vivid. And then she had stuck them inside Fearnley.

"Great, now I just need to figure out when," Nina muttered.

She turned the page after skimming through the rest, her eyes growing tired as they scanned the notes. Fearnley's progress was steady, Alice praised it enough in the notes that Nina could tell she truly cared about her patient. She also seemed happy to have Fearnley's ex wife providing support, though Nina wasn't sure if that wasn't mostly because it seemed to help with Fearnley's recovery. One thing Nina noted, was that there was no mention of the daughter he still thought he had. She wondered if that would change as the notes progressed.

Alice's notes were meticulous, pointing out every change—however slight it was—that emerged during Fearnley's treatment. Every new memory that was formed and relayed to Alice, every visit and call that Fearnley received, every headache and bad dream. All of it was carefully noted down in Alice's neat writing. Nina was yawning by the time that changed.

The shift was sudden, but obvious enough that Nina noticed it right away. Alice's writing changed to a larger, slightly messier script, the letters wider and notes more impersonal. Nina felt her brow furrow, the corners of her lips tilting down just the slightest bit as her eyes swept over the new writing.

It's someone else's writing, Nina thought. Someone else took over Fearnley's care. Nina looked at the date, thinking about the timeline she'd written with what little she knew until then. She could rule out Alice's death, that was still some time away.

Nina turned a couple of pages, knowing it was near the end of the progress notes. Then, suddenly, Alice was back. Her careful writing stood out to Nina, who'd been poring over her notes for hours.

"Patient seems well, no unusual changes from when I last saw him."

Nina thought that was an odd way to word it. It was almost like Alice didn't know what she would find when she saw Fearnley.

And where did she go? Nina wondered.

Alice's absence had been a short one, perhaps just a couple of days. She'd still expected something to have changed upon her return, and Nina couldn't help but note the relief that seemed to be present in her written words.

Alice's notes went on for a couple more pages, and then they switched to the same messier writing when she was so clearly replaced. Nina looked at the date and felt her heart sink. The date was the day after Alice's death—the day Fearnley had walked back into the building where Alice had been murdered.

Nina sat back, a wave of sadness sweeping over her for reasons she couldn't quite identify. She wasn't certain if it was because Alice, a woman she'd hardly known, had died. Or if it was because it made her think back to the man still locked away in prison, with memories that weren't his own and a mind that was almost as close to shattering as Nina's.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of her phone vibrating on the coffee table. Without thinking, she grabbed it and nearly picked up the call, wincing immediately as she realized what she'd almost done in her distracted state. Instead of answering, she looked down at the name on the screen and was a bit surprised to see it was Nat.

Nina had already had several missed calls and messages from her friend that day. Enough that she considered picking up, especially given the late hour.

She's probably just worried, Nina told herself as the phone finally stilled, yet another missed called added.

She stared at the screen for a second longer, yawning and deciding it was time for her to get some rest. As she made her way to her room, Nina ignored the guilt she felt as she thought of her friends attempting to get in contact with her. More than that, Nina did her best to not think about the odd sense that something was wrong—that something was going on, something she was missing. After one last glance back to her phone, Nina headed off to bed, telling herself that she'd call her friend the next day.

That night, Nina dreamed. It wasn't the normal dreams she'd had before and neither was it the usual memories from Alice replaying in her head. She was back in the hall, the walls painted the same cream color as always and a scent of rain and earth and something that Nina—or perhaps it was Alice—could only register as familiar.

She took small steps, the world around her feeling all too large and the door at the end towering above her even from a distance. The picture on the wall hung high above her head as she passed it by without even pausing and then the door was in front of her. A small hand reached out, fingers almost touching the shining doorknob.

"Alice," a voice called, warm and affectionate. Nina turned, heart fluttering, and a single word flowed through her mind.

Mom.

Before Nina could fully turn, a laugh bubbling up through lips that were not her own, the world blurred and faded away along with the silhouette of a woman Nina had never known.

It was still early when Nina woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, warm rays of light illuminating the world through grey clouds. Nina awoke to the now usual feeling of exhaustion which only became worse when she thought about all that was wrong in the world. It was enough to make her want to stay in bed, hiding from truths she didn't want to face and denying the wetness in her eyes as the images from the memories refused to fade.

But this time, there was also a sense of comfort, and a sadness that had been absent for longer than Nina could tell. The dull ache of a loss that was too great and the feeling that she knew who was calling Alice's name in that odd memory—that she knew where that cream colored hall was. The sense of familiarity, of comfort, was enough to make Nina certain.

Nina thought she knew where Alice had gone during Fearnley's treatment, when she'd left him to someone else's care and returned with the expectation that things would be different. Alice had left with the knowledge that something was wrong.

With much effort, Nina got up and began to get ready for the day. Coffee was brewed and a cup was drunk before she glanced at her phone, still sitting on top of the coffee table along with Fearnley's records and Nina's notes. On the television, the weatherman spoke with a voice too cheerful for such an early hour.

"There is a possibility of flash floods later this evening, with rain starting as early as noon in some parts." He wore a wide smile on his face as he gestured to the map behind him. Nina felt a twinge of pain that faded quickly enough that she wondered if she'd imagined it. The image of a crimson smile that had flashed in her head faded away slowly, but the thought of it gave Nina a feeling of unease.

She was distracted from both her musings and the smiling man on the television screen by the sudden sound of her phone vibrating from its place on top of the table. Nina reached for it immediately, before pausing to look at the name displayed on the screen.

"Ben," she said, surprised that he'd call so early. After a moment of hesitation, during which she recalled the guilt she'd felt the previous night after ignoring Nat's calls, she picked up. Before Nina could say anything, Ben spoke, voice sounding rushed—desperate.

"Nina, what did you do?"

The words took Nina aback, that feeling of wrongness from the previous night returning like a wave slamming onto the shore. Ben was worried, anxious and Nina knew whatever he had to say couldn't be good.

Things were changing, and Nina hoped she was ready.

- - - - - - - - -

Hey everyone! Here's the latest chapter, hopefully you've liked it. Next one will be out next Friday, and to those of you celebrating Thanksgiving, I hope you have a wonderful time with friends and family. Have a great weekend and don't forget to vote and/or comment if you can. It would be much appreciated!