Margaret hadn't slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them—Frank's other selves. Watching. Smiling. Waiting.
She had escaped the house, but the truth followed her. Inside her bag were the files. And in her mind was one question that refused to let go:
> "Why did someone erase my memories?"
---
Kenneth was asleep on the couch.
Margaret sat in his hoodie, hunched over a notepad filled with everything she could remember. Names. Places. Dreams. Dates.
And in bold ink:
DR. ROSIN – ST. LUCIA PSYCH UNIT
---
She took a cab before sunrise.
The hospital was far outside town, tucked behind old pine trees and foggy hills like something meant to be forgotten.
She walked through the doors like a ghost.
> "I'm here to see Dr. Rosin," she said.
> "Do you have an appointment?" the nurse asked.
> "Tell him Margaret Lane is here."
The nurse's smile faltered. Her fingers paused mid-type.
> "He doesn't take walk-ins."
> "Tell him anyway," Margaret said coldly. "He'll remember me."
---
Ten minutes later, she was led down a long hallway with too many locked doors.
The silence buzzed in her ears.
Then the nurse stopped outside a frosted glass door.
> "He'll see you. But… five minutes. No more."
---
Inside, Dr. Rosin looked the same.
Bald. Clean suit. Wrinkled eyes that studied her without blinking.
> "It's been a long time," he said.
> "Has it?" Margaret replied.
He folded his hands.
> "Frank told me you'd come. Eventually."
> "Which Frank?" she asked.
He smiled sadly.
> "That's the question, isn't it?"
---
She dropped the folder on his desk.
> "You gave him this. You knew what was happening to me."
Dr. Rosin didn't touch the folder. He didn't even flinch.
> "Margaret, do you know what you were like when you came here? Before all this?"
Her heart stopped.
> "What are you talking about?"
> "You weren't brought here for Frank. You were a patient. In 2017."
Margaret stared, frozen.
> "No."
> "You had a different last name. That's why you don't remember."
> "I came here for therapy—"
> "No, Margaret. You were part of the same program."
---
He opened a drawer and pulled out a file.
RESET – M
Inside was a photo.
Margaret.
Pale. Thin. Wearing a hospital gown. Eyes swollen.
Taped under it was a form:
> PATIENT M-4: Extreme Memory Suppression Candidate
STATUS: COMPLIANT AFTER CONDITIONING
Her voice barely came out.
> "What did you do to me?"
> "I didn't do anything," Rosin said. "But someone wanted to erase you. Start over."
> "Frank?"
> "No. Not Frank."
He paused.
> "One of his alters. The one who thinks you belong to him."
---
Margaret backed away.
> "You let him experiment on me."
> "I tried to stop him," Rosin said. "But you begged to forget. You said you couldn't live with what he made you do."
---
Margaret ran.
Down the hallway. Out the hospital doors.
Into the rain.
She could barely breathe.
She didn't know what was real anymore.
---
She wasn't just married to a man with a disorder.
She was part of the disorder.
She had helped create it.
And now it was pulling her back.
Margaret stood in the rain outside St. Lucia Psych Unit, heart racing, breath broken.
She didn't remember that place.
She didn't remember being a patient.
But now her reflection in the clinic's glass doors felt unfamiliar—like someone else was staring back at her.
---
Her phone rang.
Kenneth.
> "Where the hell are you? You just left without—"
> "He said I was part of the program," she whispered.
> "Who did?"
> "Dr. Rosin. He showed me a file. I was a patient in 2017. I had another name."
Silence.
> "Kenneth… why didn't you tell me?"
> "Because you asked me not to."
---
Margaret froze.
> "What?"
> "You don't remember, but before your coma, we made a deal. You said if you ever started remembering again… I should let you decide what to do next. Alone."
> "So I've been here before?"
> "You were in that same clinic. But not for treatment. You were part of something… hidden."
> "Then who am I, Kenneth?"
> "You're the woman who tried to kill the man she loved."
---
Her knees buckled. She sank against the wall.
> "I need to know the truth."
> "Then come back. We'll do it together."
---
Later that night, Margaret sat in Kenneth's dark apartment. Rain hit the windows. Candles flickered. He brought out an old flash drive.
> "This was mailed to me two years ago. No note. No name. Just one word on the drive: M_Revive."
He inserted it into the laptop.
There was only one file: "Session 14 – Regression Memory Unlock"
He clicked it.
The screen flickered.
A video began to play.
---
[VIDEO FILE – DATE: MARCH 25, 2017]
A younger Margaret sat across from a doctor, restrained at the wrists, eyes glassy from sedatives.
> "Tell me what you remember," the doctor said.
> "He says I'm not allowed to leave. Not until I say yes."
> "Yes to what?"
> "To being his. Forever. He says if I try to run again, I'll forget who I am."
> "What's his name?"
Margaret's video-self paused.
> "He doesn't have one. But he wears Frank's face."
---
The camera zoomed closer.
Margaret's expression hardened.
> "I stabbed him once. In the side. He didn't bleed like a man. He just… changed."
> "Into what?"
> "Someone calm. Sweet. And then… I loved him again."
---
Kenneth paused the video.
Margaret stared at the screen, unable to blink.
> "Why would I forget all this?" she whispered.
Kenneth looked at her carefully.
> "Because the part of you that loved him—really loved him—couldn't handle what you'd done
. So the other part of you chose to forget."
---
She shook her head, barely breathing.
> "What if I was wrong?"
Kenneth looked down.
> "What if you weren't?"
The next morning, Margaret stood outside the house she once called home.
The rain had stopped.
But the air was heavy—like it, too, remembered everything she had forgotten.
She held her breath and rang the doorbell.
Footsteps.
Then the door creaked open.
---
Not Frank.
Not the quiet, sweet version.
But the unnamed alter—the one with the cold smile and eyes that didn't blink.
He leaned casually on the doorframe, like he'd been expecting her.
> "Well, well. Look who came crawling back."
Margaret didn't flinch.
> "I want answers."
> "That makes two of us."
He opened the door wider and stepped aside.
> "Come in. Let's unpack your sins."
---
Inside, nothing had changed.
But everything felt off—like the walls themselves had heard secrets they weren't supposed to keep.
He led her to the study.
The mirror behind the cabinet was gone.
In its place: a photo. A blown-up black-and-white print of Margaret.
Eyes wide.
Lip split.
Trapped in a hospital bed.
---
> "Why that photo?" she asked, her voice thin.
> "Because it's the moment I knew you were mine."
> "I never was."
> "No. But you will be."
---
He walked around her like a wolf circling prey.
> "You see, Margaret… Frank was never supposed to fall for you."
> "But he did."
> "Because of you. Because of what we saw in you."
> "What did you see?"
He leaned in, nose nearly touching hers.
> "The part of you that liked the danger."
---
She stepped back.
> "What do you want from me?"
> "I want you to stop pretending. Stop acting like the victim. You weren't innocent. You chose me once. And when you didn't like what that meant, you tried to erase me."
> "You threatened me. You kept me locked in my own house."
> "You stabbed me. Or did you forget that part too?"
---
Margaret's hand twitched at her side.
> "You deserved it."
> "Maybe. But here we are. Full circle."
He pulled something from his coat pocket.
A small envelope. Sealed in red wax.
> "This was never meant to be opened unless you remembered everything. Congratulations."
He tossed it onto the table.
> "Consider it your last confession."
---
Margaret didn't move.
> "Where's Frank?"
He grinned.
> "Gone."
> "Gone?"
> "He's sleeping. Or hiding. He doesn't want to see you anymore."
> "Why not?"
The alter's smile faded.
> "Because he remembers what you really did in 2017."
---
Margaret stared.
> "What are you talking about?"
> "Open the letter. Then decide if you're still the hero of this story."
---
She reached for the envelope.
Hands shaking.
Inside was a photograph.
Not one she'd seen before.
It was a morgue photo.
Of a woman.
Young. Bloody. Face beaten. Dead.
Margaret's handwriting on the back read:
> "She tried to warn me. I didn't listen. And now she's gone because of me."
---
Her head spun.
> "Who is this?"
> "You don't remember?"
> "No."
He smirked.
> "Her name was Clara. Frank's sister."
> "Frank doesn't have a sister."
> "Not anymore."
---
Margaret stepped back like she'd been slapped.
Her stomach churned.
> "I… I killed her?"
> "You didn't pull the trigger. But you let it happen."
> "Why?"
> "Because she found out about us. And she was going to tell Frank. So you kept her quiet."
---
Tears stung Margaret's eyes.
She didn't remember any of this.
But the guilt felt real.
It pressed on her chest like an old weight rediscovered.
---
> "Is t
his why Frank's gone?" she whispered.
> "It's why he'll never trust you again."
He stepped closer.
> "So the question is… now that the truth is back—what are you going to do with it?"
---
Margaret didn't answer.
But inside her… something was breaking.
Or maybe it was waking up.
Margaret sat in the study long after the alter left the room. The house was still. Too still. She could almost feel the echo of her past self in the silence—screaming to be remembered.
The envelope was empty now, except for one last thing: a USB.
She slid it into the laptop. It auto-played.
> "RESET – SESSION 17: CONFIDENTIAL – SUBJECT M-4"
Her own voice filled the room. Slurred. Trembling. Drugged.
"I need you to do it," her recorded voice said. "I can't live with this anymore."
The interviewer spoke calmly. "Margaret… if we proceed, you'll forget everything. Your time with Frank. The alter. Clara. You'll lose all of it."
"I want that," past-Margaret whispered. "If I don't, I'll go crazy. I already am."
There was a pause.
"I loved the wrong part of him. I thought I could save him. I thought I could fix this. But it's not just him that's broken—it's me too."
Present-Margaret's lips trembled. She wanted to stop watching, but she couldn't.
"I let Clara die," her recorded voice continued. "She told me the truth. I told her to leave. He followed her. He didn't mean to… but he doesn't stop once it starts. I could've stopped it."
The interviewer asked, "And the baby?"
Margaret's head jerked.
"What baby?" she muttered.
On screen, her past self broke into sobs.
"I didn't want to believe it. I took the test too late. But after the fight… I lost it. I lost everything. Frank never knew. None of them knew."
Present-Margaret stared at the screen, paralyzed.
"I don't deserve to remember," past-her said. "Please… erase me."
The screen turned black.
Margaret sat frozen.
A baby?
She had been pregnant?
No wonder they buried it. No wonder she wanted to forget. The guilt, the loss, the death of someone innocent—by her silence, her decisions, her love for the wrong part of a broken man.
She pressed her hand to her chest. She couldn't breathe.
And then something clicked.
She wasn't just a victim.
She was a participant.
A witness.
An accomplice.
And now that she remembered everything, the alters wouldn't let her walk away again.
Not without consequence.
Her phone buzzed.
A new message from a blocked number.
> "We know you remember now. Be home before midnight. Or Kenneth dies next."
Margaret stared at the screen.
No tears.
No panic.
Just one chilling realization.
They weren't hiding anymore.
And neither was she.
She grabbed her coat and left.
If she was walking into a trap, so be it.
Because
this time, she was done playing the scared one.
This time, Margaret Lane was the threat.