Trace #008 — Memory Left Behind
The knock at the window didn't come again.
It didn't need to.
I stared at the glass, frozen, half-expecting a face to appear in the dark.
But there was nothing.
Twelve stories up. Locked. Undisturbed.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had been there. That whatever knocked… hadn't needed a way in.
It had already left something behind.
---
By sunrise, I was outside.
I hadn't slept. Again.
I didn't tell Rey. He'd only insist I rest. That I let forensics handle it.
But this wasn't about the case anymore.
This was about what I couldn't remember.
---
I walked aimlessly at first, letting the wind decide my direction.
Then I saw it — a construction site, three blocks away from the building.
Fenced off. Silent.
The sign read:
FUTURE LOCATION — KARL MEMORIAL CLINIC
Groundbreaking Delayed.
My last name.
I didn't remember this.
I didn't know who had started the project, or why.
But something about the site tugged at me. As if part of me had been waiting to return.
I climbed the fence.
---
Inside, the place was barely cleared. Rubble everywhere. Broken tile. Dirt. Cement bones from an older building that had been torn down.
And in the far corner — half-buried beneath a tarp — was a bench.
Old. Weathered.
I knew that bench.
I sat there once, didn't I?
With—
A sudden ache bloomed behind my eyes.
I knelt down, pulling the tarp aside fully.
Underneath, half-wedged between concrete blocks, was a music box.
Dusty. Cracked.
And familiar.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
---
The moment my fingers touched the brass dial, it struck me like a flood:
> My mother's voice.
Laughter.
Warm hands helping mine wind the box.
My father pretending to hate the song, but always humming along anyway.
"You're off-key," she'd tease.
"He gets it from you," he'd reply.
And then—
The memory changed.
I saw myself.
Sitting alone on the bench.
Music box on my lap.
Tears in my eyes.
> "They're not coming back," I whispered.
And someone answered.
A child's voice.
From the shadow just beyond the trees.
> "Don't cry. If you remember them too much, it'll find you."
---
I fell back, gasping.
My head hit the concrete, hard.
I stared up at the gray sky, wind spinning dust into my eyes.
That voice...
I hadn't remembered it until now.
Someone had been with me.
Back then.
They'd spoken like they knew something.
Like they'd seen it happen before.
---
Back at HQ, I locked myself in the case room.
I ran the music box under forensic trace scans. Emotionally sensitive residue came back strong.
Unfiltered readout:
> Grief. Comfort. Warning. Echo Memory Detected.
Residual Link: Unknown Entity — Age Estimate: 10-13.
Possible Match: Subject 014.
Rey finally found me two hours later.
"You look like you've been hit by a truck," he said.
"I remembered something," I told him. "A place. A music box. And a voice."
He raised an eyebrow. "From the trace?"
"No," I said. "From me."
---
I showed him the box.
He ran his own scans. Quietly. Carefully.
"This is personal," he said.
I nodded. "It was mine."
"And you forgot it?"
"I didn't forget," I replied. "It was taken."
---
That night, I stood in my apartment, staring at the music box.
I didn't wind it.
I didn't need to.
Because the moment I touched it again, I felt something shift in the air — like someone had turned to face me.
And then…
A small voice echoed in my head:
> "You weren't supposed to remember me."
---
I spun around.
Nothing.
But I could feel them — like cold fingers brushing the edge of my mind.
They were close now.
Not threatening.
But afraid.
> "Don't trace anything else. Please. He'll know."
I whispered, "Who is he?"
Silence.
> "He never forgets what he kills."
---
Outside, the streetlamp flickered.
And for a second, I saw a figure standing at the far end of the block.
Not moving.
Not watching.
Just waiting.
Like it had all the time in the world.
---
To be continued...