One Hundred and fourty eight

CHAPTER 148

Alicia sat enjoying a bowl of blueberry and strawberry yogurt sprinkled with raisins while watching television. The weather outside was unfriendly and Alicia could only stay in her own flat. Occasionally glancing at the cell phone on the table, she waited for a message from Nicholas. It had been a whole day since Nicholas had left, but he hadn't texted or called.

Alicia's strong intuition told her that something was up. But Alicia chose to hold back this time. She stirred the yogurt into the bowl and started eating it. The television shows no longer interested her. Alicia changed the channel several times and still found no interesting shows. It was just gossip and entertainment shows that didn't calm Alicia down.

After finishing her snack, Alicia went to the kitchen and cleaned her hands. She then went to her room and locked the door. The large windows in her room were not covered with curtains, so Alicia could see the snowfall that fell on the earth that day. The time on the wall clock indicated that Nicholas had left without a word for several hours. Alicia pulled out her whistle-shaped necklace and kissed it, as if to blow.

But Alicia distracted herself. She pulled out one of her journals and began to record all the events she had experienced over the past few weeks.

"I'll start checking everything from the beginning." A coincidence that Nicholas was also doing where he was. Alicia picked up a pen and started writing small sketches that formed a mindmap on the blank page of her journal. "My parents' death, Brittany's accident, Ace's escape, the masked man, the death of an unknown male corpse... jane doe, maybe?"

Alicia wrote everything down in the journal, tapped the surface of the paper with the tip of her pen, and muttered. "First, she must be someone who knows my parents. He knows the process of my adoption as a teenager and he has the identities of Michelle and Edward. But, who? They haven't even seen me since a few years ago."

The girl bit her lower lip in doubt while looking at the scribbles that she herself had written with her hands, Alicia began to draw lines, and drew circles on both of her parents' names on the paper. "They might be someone from my past. It could be Amanda, she disappeared after being released from the rehabilitation center. She probably killed my mom and dad. But the person who almost killed me in the forest... was a man. He definitely had a heavy voice and was more of a man than a woman."

Alicia leaned back in her chair, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. The journal opened, revealing a chaotic web of interconnected thoughts and suspicions. She traced her fingers over the inked lines, trying to untangle the mess her life had become.

The blizzard outside mirrored the storm inside her, her thoughts racing like snowflakes in a whirlwind. Her intuition, a faithful companion, drives her to dig deeper, to find the elusive truth hidden within the folds of her past.

With a steady sigh, Alicia flipped through the pages of her journal, retracing the traces of her memories. The pieces of her life seemed like a vague puzzle, each piece holding a clue that she could not yet grasp.

The image of the masked man appeared, a haunting presence in her mind. His cold eyes seemed to penetrate into the core of her being. She recalled the fear that gripped her when she found the body of the unknown man, the vague circumstances surrounding his death making her uneasy.

"Who are you?" Alicia muttered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. Her mind raced through a list of faces from her past, trying to match the mysterious figure with someone she knew. Amanda's disappearance after leaving the rehabilitation center raised suspicions, but the man's identity remained a haunting puzzle. "I must know you, or... otherwise."

She stared out the window, snowflakes dancing in the cold air, a stark contrast to the chaos going on inside her mind. Memories flashed before her eyes-the warmth of her parents' embrace, the laughter with her friends, the calm before the storm shattered her reality.

A sudden knock on the door broke the silence, jolting Alicia from her reverie. Her heart raced, her fingers curling around a whistle-shaped necklace, a relic of happier times.

"Alicia?" a familiar voice called out. It was her neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, with worry evident in her tone.

The old woman hadn't visited in a long time. She was busy taking care of her son who had just come home from the hospital and Mrs. Thompson must not have known the turmoil that had recently befallen Alicia, the introverted girl who was her neighbor.

Relieved but worried, Alicia opened the door. "Mrs. Thompson, hi. Is everything okay?"

"I hear voices. Is everything okay, dear?" Mrs. Thompson peered inside, worry etched on her wrinkled face.

Alicia managed a weak smile. "Just clearing up some things. Thank you for coming. How's your son, is he feeling better?"

"Of course. He'll recover, he's already showing very good and quick changes. Thank you for asking."

Alicia smiled.

"If everything is indeed fine, I'll leave."

"Of course, Mrs. Thompson."

As the door closed, Alicia's mind swirled with new questions. She sat back in her chair, her mind returning to the clues scattered in her journal. Her determination flared within her; she would not rest until she unraveled the mystery that loomed over her past.

The journal opened, a testament to her determination. With renewed determination, Alicia delves deeper into the maze of her memories, piecing together the pieces in pursuit of the intrinsic truth that eluded her grasp.

Alicia's journey to uncover the truth about the masked man becomes an obsession that blurs the lines between past and present. Each page of her journal is a map, leading her through the maze of her memories.

"The masked man was... aggressive and shooty. He must be used to doing that. But, who?"

The snow outside grew thicker, enveloping her small apartment in a cocoon of silence. Alicia's world had narrowed down to the echoes of her thoughts and the vivid memories etched into the yellowed pages.