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墨書 Inktalez
I sat in the car, my fingers gliding over the screen of my phone. First, I checked my contacts list—no sign of "Alice." Then I scoured social media, emails, and even bank transaction records, but there was no trace of that name.
Next, I opened our family shared cloud storage and browsed through our family photos. Year after year of holiday snapshots, birthday parties, everyday moments—only me, Mark, and Lily appeared frequently, with no other woman in sight.
But when I opened a folder labeled "Backup-2023," I stumbled upon something strange. There were several photos I didn’t remember taking: the interior of an apartment I had never seen, a strange desk cluttered with neuroscience books and notes. The oddest part was a photo showing a woman who looked remarkably like me, but with slightly shorter hair and eyes that seemed to be purple (perhaps a filter effect). She wore clothes I had never owned.
The metadata of the photos indicated they were taken last October when I should have been attending an academic conference in Chicago. But I was certain I had never stayed in such an apartment and didn’t recall any pictures with purple-eyed filters.
My fingers trembled as I clicked on the search function in the cloud storage and typed in "Alice."
The result revealed an encrypted folder that required a password for access.
"Password incorrect." I tried all the usual combinations—our wedding anniversary, Lily’s birthday, my birthday—but none worked.
Finally, I attempted "M-734," the special case number from my research.
The folder opened.
Inside were dozens of video files, each labeled with a date and a brief description. I randomly clicked on one marked "First Awakening."
The screen displayed a hospital room. A woman lay on the bed—it was me—but with bruises around her eyes and her head wrapped in bandages. Mark sat beside her, holding her (my?) hand.
"Alice," Mark said softly in the video, "can you hear me?"
The woman on the bed slowly opened her eyes, and to my astonishment, her irises indeed had a purple hue, possibly some rare form of heterochromia.
"Mark?" she replied weakly. "What happened?"
"You were in an accident, but you’ll be okay. The doctors say your recovery is better than expected."
The "me" in the video—or rather Alice—slowly looked around before asking, "Anna where is she?"
Mark's expression grew complicated. "Alice... Anna didn’t..." He paused as if choosing his words carefully. "She’s not here right now. You need to focus on your recovery."
The video abruptly cut off.
I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me as if the entire world was spinning. What was this? Some elaborate prank? Or something more sinister? If "Alice" truly existed, then who was she? Why did she look exactly like me except for those purple eyes?
I clicked on another video labeled "Memory Training - Week Three." The scene showed that "me"—Alice—sitting in what appeared to be a home office while Mark stood behind her.
"Tell me your name," Mark said.
"Anna Chen," she replied without hesitation.
"Your occupation?"
"Neuroscientist, focused on Trauma Memory Repair research."
"Your family?"
"You are my husband, Mark. We have a daughter, Lily, who is now nine years old."
"That's great," Mark encouraged, "your memory is coming back quickly."
Then, to my shock, Mark pulled out a photograph—it was the very image of the woman with purple eyes that I had in my pocket—and asked, "Who is this person?"
Alice (the woman now calling herself Anna) looked at the photo, her brow furrowing. "I don't recognize her," she said. "Who should she be?"
"It's okay," Mark reassured her, "this is just part of the test. You're doing very well, Anna."
I turned off the video, feeling my breath become labored. My mind refused to accept the implications of these images—a woman almost identical to me, trained to be... me? But why? Who was she? Who am I?
Suddenly, my phone rang, displaying the school's number. I glanced at the time and was shocked to realize I had missed the pickup for Lily.
"Hello, Mrs. Chen," Lily's teacher said, "school has been out for twenty minutes. Are you on your way?"
"I'm on my way," I hurriedly replied as I started the car. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
As I drove toward the school, my mind was flooded with countless questions. Most importantly: Am I Anna Chen or the woman known as Alice? And if I am Anna, then where is the real Alice? If I am Alice, then what about the real Anna?
I decided that after picking up Lily, I must confront Mark and demand the truth about all of this. But as I glanced in the rearview mirror to check traffic, the woman with purple eyes—Alice—suddenly appeared in the back seat, staring directly into my eyes.
"Find me," she whispered, "before you forget who you are."
I turned around in terror, but the back seat was empty. Yet her voice echoed in my ears as if it were coming from deep within my own mind.
"Find me before it's too late."
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