‘You’re in Danger,’ Police Officer Told Me When I Woke Up in the Hospital with No Memory

Scarlett found herself in a hospital, her mind a blank canvas as she faced a police officer and a man who claimed to be her boyfriend. With vague memories and a heart full of questions, she set out on a journey to uncover the truth.

As I blinked into consciousness, the glaring light made me squint. Slowly, my eyes adjusted, and I began to piece together my surroundings.

I quickly realized I was in a hospital, and the scent of antiseptic confirmed it. My heart rate quickened with confusion and unease. Sitting by my bed was a police officer whose demeanor was both serious and calming.

A man stood by the window, silhouetted against the blinding light, his face as unfamiliar as my surroundings.

The officer addressed me softly, “Scarlett, you’re safe now, but you were in danger. Can you hear me?” My throat was parched, making words difficult, yet I managed a nod.

The man at the window showed visible relief as he turned to face me. “Scarlett, you’re awake!” he exclaimed, approaching my bedside.

“Who are you?” I inquired, my voice trembling slightly.

“I’m Ben, your boyfriend,” he answered with gentle assurance, taking my hand which felt foreign under his touch. “The doctor said you might experience memory gaps due to your head injury, but I’m here for you,” he reassured, kissing my hand gently.

“Do you know who you are?” the officer asked.

“Yes, but it feels fragmented,” I confessed.

“Do you remember how you ended up here?” he probed further.

I shook my head slowly. “No, there’s nothing there,” I admitted.

With a heavy sigh, the officer explained, “Last week, you reported someone following you, but we couldn’t find any evidence. You called again two days ago, claiming you were being chased. We believe you fell and injured your head while escaping. We found you unconscious, the stalker had vanished.”

“I was unconscious for two days?” The realization shook me.

“Yes, you were in a coma,” he confirmed gently.

Mistrust gnawed at me. Ben’s familiarity felt alien, and I voiced my suspicion to the officer. “I don’t know why, but I don’t trust him,” I said. “Could he be the one who was following me?”

“We’ve checked, and Ben is indeed your boyfriend,” the officer assured. “Distrust is not uncommon after head injuries,” he added.

Still uneasy, I persisted, “But it just feels wrong,” fear leaking into my voice.

Handing me his number, he said, “Call me anytime you feel uneasy.” His sincerity brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Once Ben returned, unease settled back in. Despite the comforting presence of Officer Ryan’s number, the doubt lingered as I grappled with disjointed memories.

Released from the hospital days later, Ben drove me to what he called our apartment. Everything felt familiar yet distant, like a life slotted in memory gaps.

Photos filled the walls, each depicting memories with family or in solitude but strikingly absent of Ben. “Why arenโ€™t there any pictures of us together?” I questioned.

“Uh, I guess Iโ€™m just not photogenic,” Ben replied, hesitation in his tone. “Is it bothering you?”

“Not seeing us together feels eerie,” I admitted wearily, unsure of my footing in this life we supposed to share.

Detecting my hesitance, he asked, “How about lasagna for dinner?โ€ attempting normalcy.

Phone alert drew my attention; calling Officer Ryan, I expressed concern over the absent photos. “Ben and I don’t have any together,” I conveyed worryingly. The officer advised caution but didnโ€™t want me jumping to conclusions.

Later, as Ben revisited our past, he mentioned Catherine, claiming she introduced us; an odd claim, as Catherine despised matchmaking.

Suspicion rekindled, “I plan to meet my friends later,” I proposed casually, wondering about his reaction.

His hesitance was telling, “Perhaps it’s better not to, the doctor did suggest rest. They can visit tomorrow,” he offered awkwardly.

Without breaking pace, I had messaged Catherine, quizzing if Ben and I were genuinely together. Her enthusiastic affirmation “Of course!” underscored my anxiety, as doubt burrower deeper.

Deciding to probe, “Ben, do you remember going to the game with Stacey?” I asked, gauging his response.

He faltered, “Oh, confused perhaps? Weโ€™ve never done that,” his denial triggering dread precisely.

Heart accelerating, I realized Ben’s role played an elaborate charade. Desperation guided me towards the door abruptly, fleeing as his voice chased behind.

With sheer will, I reached safety in my pleading call with Officer Ryan, “Ben isnโ€™t my boyfriend,” I pleaded, unraveling quietly.

Meeting Officer Ryan was temporary relief, as his garbed presence sheltered my shaken spirit. “Youโ€™re safe now,” easing the disquiet.

His residence offered brief solace with comforting tea and sanctuary, promising safety with vigilance as he departed.

Ropes nearby sparked an odd thought, invoking past school days where climbing was remembered fondly. “Oh, climbing hobby,” he explained.

Noticing my apprehension invoked worries until curiosity wandered to a yearbook; familiar yet hauntingly nostalgic, exposing our shared scholastic past.

A photo confirmed visceral realizationโ€”Officer Ryan was the shadow I feared, his familiar yet unremembered visage.

Suddenly, phone messages revealed fragments shattered by truth. Ryan’s illusion dissolved into malevolent intent, cage unmasked.

Overcome, I despaired. Benโ€™s embrace anchored me, reflecting naivete and vulnerable trust shaken to the core.