Something is wrong

ISABEL MAYS

The silence stretched, it lingered after Aiden’s answer and stayed there longer than it should have, thick and uncomfortable, pressing against my skin. 

The woman’s eyes were still on me. Like I had stepped into a place I wasn’t meant to be. She was in a luxury mini gown with a shining red lipgloss which made her look like someone who was possessed. Aiden didn’t say anything else. 

He just turned and walked inside as if that would settle everything. 

I hesitated just for a second. But it was enough to feel her gaze burn into me. Then I followed. 

The moment I stepped in, something felt off. Not the luxury, I already expected that.

It was so quiet. Everything was too controlled. Too still. Like even the air had rules. 

Aiden didn’t slow down. Didn’t check if I was behind him. He just walked, long strides and straight ahead. 

I had to increase my steps to keep up with him. 

“Are you going to tell me anything?” I asked, slightly out of breath.

“No.”

I blinked. “No?”

“You’ll see for yourself soon.”

I frowned. “That’s not how this works. I need information before I…”

“You’ll get what you need,” he cut in. “When it matters.” 

I stopped for a second, irritation rising again. “You really don’t know how to communicate or do you?” 

He didn’t even look back.

“Keep up, Isabel.”

My jaw tightened, but I moved. 

We passed the first door. It didn’t open until Aiden placed his hand against a scanner.

A soft beep.

Click.

The door slid open.

I slowed down. Then another door.

Scan. Beep. Open.

Another one.

Same thing.

By the third, something clicked in my head.

This wasn’t normal.

Not for a home.

Not even for a rich one.

“What exactly do you do?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

Aiden didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t.

I folded my arms slightly, thinking. Security like this didn’t just exist for comfort. It meant protection or control.

Or even danger.

My mind started working without permission, connecting pieces I didn’t fully understand yet.

Who was he?

And what exactly had I walked into?

We reached another door.

This one opened slower.

And the moment it did..

I felt it.

The faint sterile smell. The low hum of machines. The controlled lighting.

A medical space.

My space.

I exhaled without realizing it. For the first time since I got here… I felt steady.

Aiden stepped in. I followed immediately.

The room was quiet.

Machines lined the walls, soft beeping sounds filling the space. Everything was clean and well-organized.

I moved instinctively, my body already adjusting.

This, I understood.

This, I could handle.

Aiden stopped.

I followed his line of sight.

The bed.

“This is him,” he said.

I stepped forward.

Everything else faded.

The house. The tension. The woman. Aiden.

Gone.

It was just me… and the patient.

I moved closer, my focus locking in.

Male. Mid-twenties. Maybe early thirties.

Pale.

Too still.

I reached for his wrist, checking his pulse. It was steady.

I glanced at the monitor. Heart rate stable.

Oxygen normal.

Brain activity… controlled.

I frowned slightly.

“Has he been unconscious this whole time?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Three years.”

I paused.

Three years?

That didn’t sit right.

I leaned in closer, checking his pupils. Minimal reaction.

My fingers moved quickly, adjusting a monitor, scanning the readings again.

Everything looked… fine.

“He doesn’t look like someone who’s dying,” I said slowly.

Aiden stepped closer behind me. “He is.”

I shook my head slightly. “No. If he was, these readings wouldn’t look like this.”

I tapped the screen lightly.

“This is controlled, stabilized and Maintained.”

I checked again.

Same result.

My brows pulled together.

Something wasn’t adding up.

I moved to the other side of the bed, scanning the IV lines, the medications.

Strong.

Advanced.

Precise.

Whoever had been treating him knew exactly what they were doing.

So why call me?

“Who’s been handling his case?” I asked.

“Several doctors,” Aiden replied.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Silence.

I turned to look at him.

“I need names,” I said firmly. “Specialties. History. What treatments have been tried. Everything.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“You’ll get the files.”

“That’s not enough.”

I stepped closer to him now.

“If you want me to help him, you don’t keep things from me.”

Our eyes locked.

Tensions. Of course I was right.

“I’m not hiding anything,” he said.

I held his gaze. “Then prove it.”

Silence stretched again.

Then..

“I will,” he said.

I didn’t look away at first.

I turned back to the patient. Checked again.

Pulse.

Breathing.

Brain activity.

Everything was stable.

Just too stable.

“This doesn’t match,” I muttered.

“What doesn’t?” Aiden asked.

I didn’t answer immediately.

I leaned in again, watching the monitor closely.

No fluctuation.

No irregularities.

Nothing.

“That’s the problem,” I said finally.

He frowned slightly. “Explain.”

I straightened slowly.

“If what you told me is true… if he’s been like this for three years…” I gestured toward the monitors. “Then something should be off. Something should be failing. But it’s not.”

Aiden’s eyes darkened.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” I hesitated for a second, then continued, “this doesn’t look like a natural condition.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

Aiden took a step closer. “Be clear.”

I met his eyes.

“This looks controlled,” I said. “Like something is keeping him this way.”

His expression didn’t change.

But I felt it.

The shift.

Subtle. Sharp.

“Are you suggesting someone did this to him?” he asked.

“I’m not suggesting anything yet,” I replied carefully. “I need more information.”

I looked back at the patient.

Then again.

Something wasn’t right.

Not medically, logically and not all.

I exhaled slowly, my thoughts racing now.

This wasn’t just a case.

This wasn’t just a patient.

This was something else.

Something deeper.

Something is wrong.

I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

Without looking at Aiden, I spoke.

“What exactly happened to him?.”