Shackles of Memory

Maya's eyes fluttered open to the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. The ceiling above her was white, sterile, and unfamiliar. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her head throbbed with a dull, insistent pain, and her mouth was dry as sandpaper.

She tried to sit up, but her movement was abruptly halted. Cold metal dug into her wrist, and she looked down in confusion. A handcuff, thick and unyielding, tethered her to the bed. Panic surged through her. She tugged at the restraint, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet room.

"What the hell?" she muttered, her voice hoarse and shaky. She tried to remember—anything that would explain why she was here, why she was restrained—but her mind was a fog. Flashes of disconnected images surfaced: the sound of tires screeching, a dark alleyway, the sensation of falling. But none of it made sense.

The door to her room creaked open, and a man in a white coat stepped in, holding a clipboard. He was tall, with graying hair and a tired expression. His eyes, though kind, were wary as they met hers.

"You're awake," he said, stating the obvious as he approached the bed. "How do you feel?"

Maya stared at him, her heart racing. "Why am I handcuffed? What happened to me?"

The doctor sighed and pulled up a chair next to her bed. "My name is Dr. Patel. You're in St. Matthew's Hospital. You were brought in two days ago after an incident downtown. Do you remember anything about that?"

Maya shook her head, frustration bubbling up inside her. "No, nothing. Why am I restrained?"

Dr. Patel hesitated before responding, as if choosing his words carefully. "The police brought you in. They found you at the scene of a… disturbance. You were unconscious, and there were signs of a struggle. When they tried to wake you, you became violent—lashing out, screaming. They had no choice but to restrain you for your own safety."

Maya's mind reeled. Violence? That didn't sound like her at all. She had always been calm, even in stressful situations. The idea that she could have attacked someone, or been involved in some kind of altercation, was surreal.

"Who did I hurt?" she whispered, dread creeping into her voice.

Dr. Patel looked down at his clipboard, then back at her. "You didn't hurt anyone, as far as we know. But there was someone else at the scene—a man. He was badly injured. The police are investigating, but they haven't been able to speak with him yet. He's still in critical condition."

Maya's stomach churned. The flashes of memory that had surfaced earlier now felt more like fragments of a nightmare. "I don't understand," she said, her voice trembling. "Why can't I remember anything?"

"Memory loss can happen after trauma," Dr. Patel explained gently. "It might come back to you in time. Or it might not. For now, it's important that you try to rest and let us help you."

Before Maya could respond, the door opened again, this time admitting a police officer. He was a large man, with a stern face and a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Ms. Harper," he said, addressing her by name. "I'm Officer Reed. I need to ask you some questions about what happened that night."

Maya's throat tightened. She didn’t know if she could give him any answers. But one thing was clear—whatever had happened, she was at the center of it. And until she could piece together her shattered memories, the handcuffs would stay.