Chapter 8

            Through the door walks a large man with a rather intimidating physique, an appearance which is somewhat offset by the white cotton scrubs he wears. Upon further inspection, I notice attached to his clothing is a sort of identification badge, so I can only assume he is a member of the staff here. I seem to already have an intuitive impression that such is the case, though, as if I recognize him from a long time ago. He certainly was not one of the nurses or doctors attending me at the hospital in which I last recall myself residing, nor does this room have even the most remote similarity to that facility. Nonetheless, I am struck by an oddly vague familiarity with the layout of this room, as if perhaps it were the hospital in which I had been born.

            "It's good to see you're finally awake again," says the man. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm the nurse who has been attending you during your stay here."

            His voice is somewhat recognizable, which further suggests the possibility that I have met him before. I also seem to recall that I am not terribly fond of this individual, a negative impression which has managed to make me wary of becoming overly friendly with him.

            Putting this aside, however, I am rather perplexed by how I have come to find myself in this peculiar predicament. There are so many elusive pieces to this puzzle that it may take me some time to analyze this situation properly. I need to focus.

            "Is there anything I can help you with? Would you like me to get you anything for now?" asks the nurse.

            I believe the most crucial piece of information I can use at the moment is that I can be reasonably certain that this body is not the same as my previous body. Beginning with this assumption on its own, I believe the most likely possible explanations for this would be: 1) my body has been heavily altered or modified beyond recognition; 2) my consciousness has been somehow transplanted into another body; 3) I am still within my own body and am merely dreaming or hallucinating; or 4) this is my original body and I have been vividly dreaming or hallucinating about my life as Viktor Kovac.

            Judging from my personal observations, I cannot find any scar tissue or other indications that my body has been in some way modified. In fact, this body I am in now actually appears to be in quite good condition aside from the obvious deterioration of muscle tissue, which suggests that I have been lying here for quite some time. Additionally, if this is the same world as the one I left, I do not believe that medical technology has advanced far enough to allow the transfer of consciousness between minds. While I may be a physicist, I have an avid interest in neuroscience and am continuously trying to keep myself privy to new advances within that field. As far as I have read, we are not even close to having that type of technology. Therefore, I feel confident in ruling out the first two possible explanations.

            "Um... sir? Can you hear me right now?"

            This leaves me with the most likely conclusion that this scenario has developed on account of my mind being or having been in some sort of dream state. Now, I will need to find something that will allow me some clue as to whether I am in a dream, or if I have only now come out of a dream.

            On one hand, my life up to now seems to be very consistent and without contradictions or breaks. As well, the memory of my life as Viktor Kovac is very fresh in my mind, unlike my memory of this life. On the other hand, the level of alertness I have right now makes me feel that I am not in a dream at the present moment; if I were, I can certainly say that I have never before been so lucid while within a dream. Unfortunately I feel like I need more information than what I have to work with right now.

            "Sir? Are you feeling alright? Do you need-"

            "My apologies if this seems a little rude," I finally say, "but I am trying very hard to concentrate at the moment, and it is difficult while you keep interrupting my thoughts."

            "Oh... I'm sorry, I was just trying to see if there was anything I could get for you right now." He looks quite taken aback at my first words addressed toward his presence. Perhaps I was a little too blunt. "If there are any questions you have," he continues, "I would be more than happy to answer them for you if I can."

            "Thank you, but as far as I can determine now, there is little you could say that would help me resolve the question of whether or not what I am experiencing is real."

            "I see..." he says, falling silent.

            After a moment, I finally come up with a question to ask of him. "I suppose it might be helpful if you could tell me the date today. Also, if you have any, a cup of tea would be nice," I add.

            "Oh, of course," he replies, finally smiling again, as if he had only been wishing to be of some use to me. "Today is the 19th of September, 2023, which would make it... about 17 days since you were last awake, if I'm not mistaken."

            Interesting, I do not seem to directly recall being awake 17 days ago, but if the date is September 19th, then that would mean I have been in a hospital bed for almost 7 months, if this timeline is indeed the same as the timeline in which I had been before. At least the year is still the same.

            "If that's all the questions you have for now, I'll go ahead and get you your tea. Do you have any preferences?"

            "Earl Grey, if you have it. Thank you." He nods, and turns to walk out.

            If I am to establish if this is not a dream, it would be helpful if I had some memories of my life from before I fell asleep. Could it actually be possible that I dreamed an entire lifetime over the last 17 days, and I am now merely living in an imaginary existence as Viktor Kovac? If so, that would be quite fascinating, if not somewhat troubling. Would the knowledge I had gained throughout my life still be applicable here, or would it simply fabricated "facts" I dreamed up in my slumber?

            If only I had something I could recognize, something to act as a trigger for my memory. I need to focus on some scene from this room, should it be the case that I had been here before. Something that might answer a question which I cannot even form in my head. Something that stood out. Something, something inside a...

            "... box."

            The nurse stops as he is passing through the door. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

            "There was a box," I repeat.

            He looks at me, confused. "I'm not quite sure what you mean. Could you be more specific?"

            I try to imagine the scene in my head once again, but it eludes me. "You had a box, and you were going to show me something. I feel like it was something important. I want to see it."

            He stares blankly for a moment, his eyes shifting around the room as if he is suddenly remembering as well.

            "Ahhh, I think I know what you're talking about. Yes, if you'd like to see it, I'll see if I can find it for you." With that, he exits the room, leaving me once again in silence.

...

            A quarter of an hour passes by, and the nurse finally returns with the items I requested. He hands me the tea, and sets the box down at the foot of my bed.

            "Is there anything else I can get for you now?" he inquires.

            "No, thank you. If it is not too much trouble, I would like a few moments to think," I respond, as I blow on the steaming cup of tea.

            "Of course, take your time. If you need anything, the call button is next to your bed. I'll return in a little while to check up on you as well."

            With that, he leaves once again, and my attention becomes wholly transfixed on the box he had left on my bed. I am, in all honesty, somewhat nervous, but I understand that I must absolutely know what is in this box. I feel as if I had died long ago only to return to this world in order to satisfy a wish that went unfulfilled during my life. I sip my tea and try to imagine what could be inside.

            At last, I work up the nerve to set my tea down and pull the box toward me. Opening it and reaching inside, the first thing I remove is a pair of embroidered cloths. Immediately, a torrent of images enter my mind, and I understand: I am not Viktor Kovac. There can be no other explanation, I conclude, as I look upon these works which I know were made by my own hands, and yet also by the hands of others. This revelation does not seem to disturb me as much as I had anticipated, though, and I find myself oddly accepting with this outcome.

            However, knowing who I am not has not yet given me the answer I seek. For that, I must see the final item that is within this box. I reach inside, holding my breath, and take it out.