Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The light in Doctor Zhang's office was soft, and a faint lavender scent filled the air, creating an inexplicable sense of calm. He had brewed a pot of tea, served in that gold-rimmed cup. As I watched the steam rise slowly, I felt a fleeting sense of being back in the café.
"How much do you remember?" His voice was gentle, as if afraid to disturb something fragile.
"I'm not sure," I said, staring at the tea leaves sinking slowly to the bottom of the cup. "Those memories are like shattered glass—some fragments are clear, while others remain obscured. Why L?"
"That was the code name you chose for yourself," he replied. "After you... encountered difficulties, you began referring to 'another self' as L. You said L stands for 'Lost.'"
The computer screen on his desk still displayed my medical records. In the fluorescent reflection, I caught a glimpse of my own face, momentarily unable to distinguish whether it was the present me or Doctor Lin from the psychologist's office.
"I need to show you something." Doctor Zhang pulled a tablet from his drawer. "This is a video you recorded during... the early stages of your illness."
The video began to play. The version of me on screen wore a white coat and looked serious: "If you're watching this video, it means you've started to doubt everything. Yes, you are me, and I am L. We are the same person. When I recorded this video, I was still quite lucid, but I knew that soon... I might split apart. If that day comes, please remember: trust Doctor Zhang; he genuinely wants to help us."
The video paused for a moment as I seemed to gather my thoughts: "Do you remember Yang Ling? The patient who committed suicide on Wednesday afternoon? No, don't think about that. I must..." The screen suddenly shook violently before fading to black.
"Yang Ling," that name sent a piercing pain through my head. "She was my patient?"
Doctor Zhang nodded. "She suffered from severe depression. That afternoon, she took an overdose during her session. You were there but couldn't stop her. The impact was too great for you."
Memories surged like a tidal wave. I recalled it vividly; it was a sunny Wednesday afternoon. Yang Ling had arrived on time as usual, bringing with her a box of homemade tiramisu. Who would have thought that dessert contained enough lethal sleeping pills? By the time I realized something was wrong, it was already too late.
"Afterward, your condition worsened," Doctor Zhang continued. "You began experiencing memory confusion, unable to tell if you were the doctor or the patient. Sometimes you insisted you were Visitor L and needed to consult Doctor Lin; other times you reverted back to Doctor Lin without any recollection of L's existence."
"So the café..."
"Was a therapeutic environment we designed together. You resisted the hospital setting but managed to maintain relative stability there. Wang Ling—the head nurse you know—suggested using a neutral space for treatment. That orange cat was also intentionally arranged; it does help calm patients."
I forced a smile. "So, does that mean my dislike for cats is also a lie?"
"No, you really don't like cats," he replied. "But L does. That's one of the indicators we use to observe your state—when you start to get close to that cat, we know you've 'switched' again."
A brief silence fell over the room. I looked out the window as the sun set, painting the sky in an unreal shade of orange-red. At this time, the orange cat in the café should be sound asleep, undisturbed in its afternoon nap.
"So," I struggled to keep my voice calm, "what do we do now?"
"Continue with the treatment," he said. "But this time, you're awake. We'll still use the café setting because that's where you're most stable. Just know now that it's part of the treatment."
"And the medication..."
"You still need to take it," he said gently but firmly. "It helps you stay awake and prevents your personality from splitting again."
I looked down at my hands and noticed that I had been rubbing the area between my left thumb and index finger with my right thumb. There was a small scar there—something I had never noticed before.
"This scar..." I began, but Doctor Zhang's expression shifted momentarily to one of tension.
"It's... it's a mark from L," he seemed to choose his words carefully. "Let's not discuss this for now. What you need most right now is rest."
In the days that followed, I began to accept treatment in a "normal" way. I took my medication on time, had regular conversations with Doctor Zhang, and went to the "café" at scheduled times—now I understood it was actually a special treatment room in the hospital.
On the surface, everything seemed to be progressing positively. I no longer experienced identity confusion and could clearly distinguish between reality and treatment scenarios. But deep down, a voice kept reminding me: things weren't that simple.
For instance, why were there snowflakes on the surveillance footage? The hospital's equipment couldn't possibly be that outdated.
And why did Doctor Zhang react so strangely to that scar?
Why do I always feel like I'm being watched? Even at home, I can hear faint footsteps echoing around me.
It was another Wednesday afternoon. I sat in the café, gazing out at the sunlight streaming through the window. The orange cat was lounging on its favorite mat as usual. Suddenly, I noticed a detail: the cat's shadow and the angle of the light didn’t quite match.
My gaze wandered around the room. Everything seemed so perfect, too perfect to be a real café. It felt like a meticulously arranged stage, where every prop conveyed the message that "this is real."
The reflection in my teacup caught my attention. From this angle, the neatly arranged tables and chairs resembled hospital beds. I suddenly realized that perhaps this "surface truth" was also part of a carefully crafted script.
Maybe the real truth lay hidden deeper still.
I looked at the pills in my hand. Were these really medications to help me recover? Or... were they some form of control?
The nurse entered, interrupting my thoughts. "Doctor Lin, it's time for your medication."
I obediently placed the pills in my mouth but didn’t swallow them. I needed to stay alert because I sensed that behind this so-called "truth," there was an even greater secret lurking.
Back home, I opened my computer to watch that video again. Strangely, the video file was gone. All folders related to L had vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed.
I grabbed my phone to message Wang Ling, but her number was no longer in my contacts. Instead, there was a new text from the Hospital Psychology Department:
"Dear Lin, this is a reminder for your psychological consultation appointment tomorrow at 3 PM. Consultant: Zhang Ming."
Suddenly, I heard a cat meowing outside. I walked to the window and saw an orange cat sitting on the roof across from me, staring intently at my window.
That cat looked exactly like the one in the café.
Comment 0 Comment Count