"Emily?" the nurse assigned to me called out.
"Sorry! I'm in here, just washing my face." I walked out of the bathroom, brushing my hair into a crude bun, sitting back on the edge of the bed.
"The detective with the Bureau is here. Are you okay if he comes in? I'll be right outside if you need me." She made me feel comforted. Being questioned by a detective was not exactly what I wanted after spending all night getting poked and prodded.
"Yes, I'm okay. I'm ready." I looked down at my scuffed-up feet as the thudding of dress shoes entered the room.
"Emily?" I looked up. A man dressed in a black suit and tie stood in the doorway. He was reaching to show me his badge, but paused for a moment, looking confused... "Um, sorry… excuse me. I'm Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm here to figure out what happened to you last night. Can I pull up a chair?"
I nodded. Was it me being paranoid or did he almost double-take at me? I know I looked like a mess and probably still had leaves in my hair, but I'm sure it's not the worst thing he's seen working with the FBI.
"The doctors gave me a little background on what happened, but I think you might have more to tell me. Everything you tell me will be held in complete confidence that you will not be made to stay here longer. I was told you work in medicine, so I understand if you held back some details for fear of being kept here on a psych hold." he was right. I was fearful of being labeled as crazy and kept in a ward.
"I did. I mean, I don't believe what I witnessed. I somehow managed to find myself in Oregon from Michigan, in less than eight hours, and in these circumstances. It just doesn't add up. I know I've been through a lot in my life, but this doesn't make sense"
"That's okay. A lot of things in this world don't make sense. Let's just start with the beginning, in Michigan, at the bar." he sat forward, ready to listen to my story.
I started at the beginning, telling him how I was drinking to commemorate the end of a stressful semester studying cadavers and attending endless clinics and lectures.
"I got up to get another drink. The usual bartender was gone… and then… things started to get fuzzy." I trailed off, thinking of the bright white room and the face I saw before blacking out.
"You said the usual bartender was gone? Did you remember anything about the bartender that made you your last drink?" he asked with a quizzical look.
"Uh… kind of. He was around 6 feet, dark hair, young? I did notice his left hand was amputated, but I tried not to stare. He did mention his name though." as I said this the agent pulled a pad of paper from his coat pocket. He looked at me, eager that we may have a lead or some idea of what happened.
"He said his name was Alex." the agent looked at me again, with that strange double-take look. It was as if he was shocked. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"
"No, forgive me." he looked back down at his notepad, "Alex… did he say his last name?"
"No. He was a little rude, but it was Christmas Eve, so I assumed he just wanted to be home." I paused, waiting to see if he had any input before I began the crazy portion. He was silent as if telling me to continue.
"I made my way back to where I was sitting and had a few sips of my drink. That's when I knew something was wrong. I could tell, you know? I hadn't drank that much and I can handle my alcohol." flashes of last night were becoming more clear as I told the detective my story. Do I trust him? Something in me said yes.
"I went to grab my phone to call a cab home and I fell on the floor. I thought I was going to embarrass myself in front of people in the bar but that's when I noticed there was no one else in there, except for what I thought was the bartender." I froze shuddering at the thought of him locking the door. "He locked the front door of the bar and walked over to me. That's when I lost consciousness." but not before he said something odd. That 'they' thought they could hide me. That I looked just like 'her'.
"Emily? Are you okay?" the agent gently placed his hand on my shoulder, jolting me out of my thoughts. "Is that all that happened before you woke up in the woods?"
...tell him yes. Tell him yes so you can go back home...
"No. Before I woke up in the woods, I remember him telling me that 'they' thought they could hide me, but I was too important. And that I looked exactly like her. I don't know who 'they' are or 'she' is. I was adopted, so memories of my mother before her death were fuzzy."
The subtle look of shock came across the agent's face once again. He couldn't hide it. He knew something I didn't, something connecting these parts of the story.
"You said the bartender was missing his hand…" the agent trailed off, lost in his thoughts. You could see the gears turning in his head, piecing everything together.
"Do you know why they brought me from the Bureau?" the agent looked up from his notepad. Only the bartender's name was written down.
"Because there are two states involved?"
"Yes and no. I also deal in strange cases. Ones that don't seem to make sense, like yours. My partner is downstairs grabbing coffee. I'm going to have to catch her up on everything, but before I step out for a minute, I want you to think, during your loss of consciousness, do you remember anything? Any flashes of light, strange figures, or smells? Just think about it. Trust me, I won't let anyone but me and my partner know. I'll be back." the agent got up from the chair and smiled before he left the room.
… the agent left Emily with a lot to think about. The visions following falling unconscious, although frightening, had happened before. During sleepless nights after studying or particularly anxious periods, these visions came as nightmares…