How much time had passed?

Jamie still didn’t know the answer.

He knew only three things—first, he was finally able to take his first steps; second, Creed could barely hide his pain anymore; and third, he had finally managed to look out the window and discovered he was somewhere that looked like a cheap motel.

Right now, it looked as though Creed was preparing to leave again, even though he was clearly struggling. Every day, his gaze grew emptier and his face paler, until it began to seem as if he had never seen the sun.

The biggest difference was his posture. He trembled constantly, though he tried to suppress it in front of Jamie, and he walked hunched over. His breathing hardly seemed steady, yet he remained on his feet, unwilling to give up, and that was something Jamie could relate to.

Every day Creed left the room and practiced walking without falling to his knees outside, the hero did the same inside. Slowly but surely he was regaining his balance, and along with it he tried to train his fine motor skills too. He buttoned and unbuttoned the buttons on the pillowcase, pushed coins across the table with his fingertips, and opened and closed his fists until the movement started to feel natural.

The only thing Jamie still hadn’t dared to try were his abilities.

In this situation, they weren't essential anyway, since only a single door separated him from freedom. It belonged to a cheap motel and wasn't secured well enough that Jamie couldn't open it even without his powers. He had tried.

That was another way he trained his fine motor skills: picking the room’s lock without a key, since Creed carried it with him.

Fortunately, while his hero training hadn't prepared him for recovering from a coma, it had prepared him for being locked in a room and needing to get out safely. Now, he just needed the right time to put it into practice.

What Jamie would give right now to have Eli’s red stress ball in his hand.

.

.

.

If it was even real. 

If Creed’s words about the coma and false memories were true, it meant that Jamie’s mind had made up some memories and details.

What was even the truth? He didn't know the answer, but he believed that once he returned home, he would figure it out. He had to. There was no other choice.

He pushed the negative thoughts aside and refocused on his plan. Step by step, foot after foot. Every additional stable movement meant being a little closer to escape and to getting answers. That was the most important thing now.

Jamie had been keeping track of how long Creed was usually gone, so he knew when to return to bed and pretend to be helpless. Of course, he made small progress too, just enough to show that the medications for prostration were working, so he wouldn’t raise suspicion.

“How are you feeling?” the stranger asked him after returning to the small motel room. One thing Jamie had realized over the past few days was that there was only one bed here, and once, during the night, when he woke up, he noticed the smaller man curled up in a chair in the corner. He might have attributed his pain to that position if it didn't look far worse than just the result of an uncomfortable sleep.

“Better,” the hero admitted truthfully. 

“That’s good.” Creed nodded and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

If Jamie understood correctly, he planned to move them the moment the hero could walk. That’s why he was doing everything to make sure Creed didn’t have a clue about his progress.

“You think you could try some real food?” 

The dark-haired man in the hoodie lifted a bag and walked over to the cabinet to unpack its contents. Jamie watched as he pulled out container after container until he finally took out the plastic spoons.

“I grabbed all the yogurts and puddings they had on sale.” 

It certainly looked that way; Jamie counted seven containers in total, each a different size and color. 

“Which one do you want to try first?” Creed turned his gaze toward him and waited for his answer.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Hearing Jamie’s voice, almost back to its normal level, seemed to please the stranger.

“What do you like more? Chocolate or vanilla?” he asked next, probably hoping to hear him speak again.

“Chocolate.”

Even though Creed’s face was pale, almost gray in places, tense, and constantly glistening with cold sweat, he kept a positive attitude whenever he interacted with Jamie and saw his progress. It was strange.

“Do you think you can manage to hold it?” 

Before the stranger got an answer to his question, he moved closer to the hero to help him sit up and turn so he could lean his back against the wall. 

Instead of an answer, Jamie reached out his hands toward him.

Creed first put a spoon in Jamie’s right hand, then the cup of pudding, letting the hero’s fingers overlap his for a moment to make sure his grip was strong enough and he wouldn’t drop it.

“Can I let go?”

Jamie nodded, and Creed finally stepped back.

He watched Jamie for a moment, but when the hero managed to get a third spoonful of pudding to his mouth successfully, he decided to join in and opened another cup for himself.

Jamie realized it was the first time he’d seen him eat.

He’d probably eaten outside. That would make sense. Jamie had no intention of asking. He needed to save whatever remained of his memory in this state for more important things.

Together, they finished the puddings, and Jamie then managed to eat another whole yogurt until he had enough and needed a break. What he realized with satisfaction as he lay down, however, was that he didn't feel sick from eating—and that was a good sign.

Actually, that was probably an understatement.

Three days later, Jamie was standing firmly—or almost firmly—on his feet and could walk across the room twice without his legs shaking or getting tired. That was all he needed. After grabbing Creed’s spare hoodie, which had been left draped over the chair, and pulling the hood over his head, he finally decided to see what lay beyond the door.

It took him a moment, and he had to go down on his knees, with the risk that he might not get up easily, but he took the chance—and it paid off.

With the door open and being able to stand, Jamie had no intention of lingering in the room and stepped out into a dimly lit hallway. The overhead lights flickered, and when he reached the staircase leading outside, he realized the gloom in the hallway was due to a lack of windows rather than it being late at night. A clock in the hall assured him it was shortly after four in the afternoon and that was the last thing he paused to note.

His only focus was to keep moving forward, head down, and interact with no one. He had no idea where he was or who the people around him were, or if they knew Creed. He couldn't trust anyone but himself. 

Maintaining this pace, he walked out of the motel and onto the road beside it, now starting to focus on memorizing his surroundings. Not that he planned on returning, but he needed to orient himself to know where he was and where to go. He was certain, however, that he wasn't in Krasport, and without a map, his options were limited. 

In the end, he decided to follow the road, thinking it had to lead somewhere.

After a few more minutes, he began to realize that his gait was no longer so steady, and he started to feel the first twinges of pain. So, he decided to take a break to regain his strength, picking a small bus shelter he saw a few meters ahead. 

He reached it with his head down, and fortunately, he was alone, so he allowed himself to sit on the bench and close his eyes for a few seconds to control the headache starting to build.

His breathing was slightly accelerated, but he attributed it to the lack of water and the longest distance he had covered in recent days.

Months… 

It was likely the longest distance he had covered in months.

Seconds turned into minutes as he gathered the strength to stand up. When he finally did and lifted his head, he quickly hit his shoulder against the wall of the shelter as he lost his balance. Not because his legs had failed him, though.

“What—”

He blinked, closed his eyes, and opened them again, even taking off his glasses for a moment before putting them back on. However, no matter what he did, the image before him remained the same. 

Among the flyers plastered to the walls of the shelter—which by now looked more like wallpaper than individual advertisements for buying, selling, or sales prices—a figure from a missing person poster was staring back at him. 

His own face…

“That can’t be.”

Sliding his shoulder against the metal wall, he edged closer. 

JAMES CARROWAY. LAST SEEN APR 24

It couldn't… 

It couldn't be true.

The hero instinctively clutched his chest as he felt his breathing worsen, a sensation washing over him as if he couldn't draw in any air. His heart was racing, and he could hear his own breath—not only shallow and rapid but also competing with his heart to see which would reach the finish line first. 

Jamie didn't know what the finish line was, but getting there was costing his body everything.

His hands began to tremble, and after a moment, his knees joined in, forcing him to slide sideways down the metal wall of the shelter and curl up on the ground in a seated position. He hugged his knees as tightly as he could, feeling the need to hold onto something firm to stabilize himself. Even that didn't help, and he continued his rapid breathing, accompanied by a sudden surge of heat and cold sweat on the back of his neck.

Jamie felt as if he were dying, and it felt as if it would never end. Slowly, though, all the symptoms began to fade, leaving only lingering anxiety and exhaustion.

The hero didn't know what had just happened, but even in this state, he knew he couldn't stay put—he needed answers. So, he slowly rose to his shaky feet, wiped his tear-stained cheeks, and forced himself to head back where he had come from.

The walk back took much longer than the trip to the bus stop, and by the time he opened the same door to the motel hallway, it was already starting to get dark outside. 

He shuffled from foot to foot, feeling his strength drain with each step. It was ironic, considering he was only a few meters away from the right room after successfully conquering the stairs, which he had thought would be his greatest obstacle.

Without even realizing it, he stopped to lean against the wall and close his eyes for a moment.

“Jamie!”

He opened his eyes, but as quickly as he opened them, he closed them again. 

He no longer had the strength to remain conscious. 

Fortunately, a few seconds later, he felt a pair of hands on him, and someone caught his weight. They were practically carrying his full weight as they moved forward, and though Jamie would’ve liked to help, he couldn’t.

“Rest,” was the last thing he heard before completely losing consciousness, and the last thing he felt was the softness beneath him.