Chapter Text
“That should do it,” Ethan said under his breath, leaning back and surveying the freshly completed flowerbed. One of the goals he made when he moved into his new house was to plant a garden, and now, two months later, he had finally made good on that promise to himself. There were poppies, lavender, marigolds, and a young orange tree in the corner by the gate that practically glowed under the blinding Los Angeles sun. The robust little sapling, which he’d put in the week before, was his favorite thing in the yard. The dense soil of his front yard had not made it easy on him, but in the end all the time spent digging the hole to plant the tree had been well worth it. It was doing well besides a few yellow leaves, and he hoped it would produce a large harvest as it matured. Today he had put in the last of the flowers and mulched the whole area. Wanting to take a picture of the finished garden, he reached into his pocket for his phone, but it wasn’t there. He rolled his eyes and walked back inside to look for it. There was no telling where he might have left it; he misplaced it on a regular basis.
He’d been having trouble remembering all sorts of things lately, as a matter of fact. He didn’t know what was up with his brain, but all of a sudden he was forgetting things that he normally had no trouble remembering. Just little things, like where he’d left his keys or what he’d had for breakfast that morning, but it was happening often enough that it was beginning to worry him. He’d even forgotten to feed Spencer last night, which he hadn’t done once in the five years he’d had his dog. He would have just written it off as part of being human, or his ADHD, if it hadn’t been happening so frequently.
He at last found his phone on his bedside table, though he certainly didn’t remember leaving it there. He could have sworn he’d pocketed the device when he got dressed that morning, and he hadn’t been in his bedroom since then. He wondered if he’d somehow gotten a concussion or something that had given him a memory issue, though he wasn’t showing any of the other symptoms when he looked it up. He did accidentally hit his head rather hard on the headboard after a nightmare a couple days ago; maybe that was it?
That was another thing. He had never had a problem with insomnia or night terrors in the past, but he kept jolting awake at ridiculous hours of the morning, tears streaking down his face and shivering violently. He couldn’t even remember what had woken him. Come to think of it, maybe his newfound forgetfulness was a result of sleep deprivation. He sighed and resolved to get more rest that night. He wandered back into the kitchen, phone in hand, now trying to remember what he needed it for in the first place. He stopped by the window, staring out at the flowerbed he’d just planted, before smacking his own forehead at his own stupidity and ducking outside to take a picture.
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That night, Ethan startled awake at three in the morning. Three in the morning! He angrily dashed the tears from his eyes and reached to his left to turn on the light, only to have his fingers rake through empty air. He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, then turned over and turned on the lamp that had sat on the table to his right for the entire time he’d owned it, even in his old place. He laid back down and groaned, resigned to laying awake for at least an hour. At least he didn’t have any plans for tomorrow.
He was sick of being exhausted and distracted all the time, and his nerves were shot. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t hit his head or gone through a traumatizing event or seen anything even remotely frightening, and he couldn’t think of anything else that would cause something like this. And it was not helping matters that his body always seemed to decide that the best way to recover from a nightmare was to stew over it long enough for the adrenaline to work out of his system before giving him the chance to fall back asleep. It was a lucky night indeed that he managed to sleep for longer than a six-hour stretch.
He flopped out of bed to turn off his alarm. He was going to do his absolute best to sleep until noon tomorrow. He had a video lined up for tomorrow already, and his circadian rhythm could stand one day out of his schedule.
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Ethan woke up around ten the next morning; the only thing that made him get out of bed at all was the sound of his phone informing him he had a new text message. Yawning and stretching, he stared with bleary vision at his phone across the room as it buzzed insistently. He reluctantly rolled out of bed to see who could possibly be texting him. He smiled when Mark’s name showed up on the screen.
Hey, Ethan, where are you? We were supposed to start filming fifteen minutes ago.
His eyes widened and he sprang into action, firing off a quick apology to Mark and rushing to get dressed, angrily berating himself. He had completely forgotten they were supposed to start filming a new batch of videos today.
He stuck a piece of toast into his mouth, tugged on his jacket, and ran out the door. Ten seconds later, he ran back in, grabbed his keys, and was gone again.
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After another week, Ethan felt like he was losing his mind. He was almost afraid to set anything down at this point, because he would almost certainly forget where he left it. He wrote everything down in an effort to stay on top of his schedule, but then he couldn’t even find the lists he made. And he’d run his phone through the wash two days ago after he forgot to take it out of a sweatshirt pocket, so he couldn’t set reminders either. He was reaching his breaking point. He just couldn’t take much more of this ridiculous scatterbrained nonsense. He’d taken to writing reminders on his arms and hands, the only things he couldn’t misplace. He hurriedly wrote his latest note, supplies shopping with Mark on Tuesday, on the underside of his left arm. It just had to last for three days. He hoped he would remember to rewrite it after his shower. He slapped a sticky note onto the bathroom mirror to remind himself to do it.
He’d gone to the doctor the day before to confirm he didn’t have a concussion (he didn’t), and just to get his head in general looked at, but they sent him on his way with a clean bill of health and instructions to get more sleep. There was not much he could do on that front, however. His sleep pattern was nonexistent at this point, and depending on the night he could get anywhere from eight hours to two. The other day he’d been so tired that he tried to swipe his driver's license to pay at the gas station. Then he’d discovered that he had forgotten his credit card.
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Ethan was incredibly frustrated. He irritably concentrated on his black phone screen, silently willing it to turn on, but it stubbornly remained dead as a doornail. Mark had left his GoPro at his house after filming, and Ethan was sure he’d forget to return it. Now he couldn’t even call him to come get it. How did his phone even get broken? He hadn’t dropped it. The last time he looked at it, it was a perfectly capable cellular device. As he stared daggers at the broken phone, his vision started fading and he hurriedly sat down on the floor and braced himself.
Blinding pain stabbed through his head, as sharp and intense as a bullet. The phone fell out of his hands, cracking like a whip on tile. He sucked in shallow breaths through clenched teeth, wincing as the pain spiked again, coming and going in waves before ebbing away into a dull ache. He pulled himself into a kitchen chair and cradled his head in his hands, his eyesight gradually returning. He’d been getting these splitting headaches once or twice a day for two, no four, three days? He was no longer sure, but this was his third one today. After the first couple, he’d gone to the nearest urgent care facility, but they’d only sent him home with a promise to look for a potential cause and over-the-counter migraine medicine that did nothing against the pain.
A loud knock echoed through the kitchen, causing him to whimper a little as his skull vehemently protested the loud noise. His head felt like it might explode, and his ears were ringing slightly. He slowly lifted himself out of the chair and walked to the door, his head buzzing strangely. His vision was kind of fuzzy, just a little bit out of focus.
Mark waited apprehensively on the doorstep, twisting the strap of his bike helmet and mentally chiding himself for leaving his camera at Ethan’s house. He’d noticed his friend had seemed a little out of it that day and knew he’d been having trouble sleeping, so he’d resolved to leave him alone and let him take it easy. Yet here he was, back again after only an hour or two. After an uncomfortably long wait, Ethan swung open the door, and he immediately regretted bothering him again. He was pale and peaked, and he looked like he’d just dragged himself out of bed.
“Sorry Ethan, I think I left my GoPro here this morning, could I come in and look for it quick? I’m really sorry if I woke you…” He trailed off, noticing just how dazed and confused his friend appeared.
“Hey, are you okay? You’re not looking too great.”
Ethan seemed to snap out of a trance, his usual silly grin popping back into existence. “Hey buddy, what brings you here?”
Mark blinked, the sudden shift in expression jarring. “Um… I just told you. My camera, remember?”
His smile seemed plastered to his cheeks. “Your camera? Oh, I didn’t see it. Come in, we’ll look for it. When did you leave it here?”
“Just this morning. I think I left it on the counter, you really didn’t see it?”
When they rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen, he sighed in relief when he saw the camera resting on the table, but a frown creased his face when he went to pick it up.
“You just told me that you hadn’t seen it, but you left yourself a note to give it back to me,” he accused, holding up a small yellow post-it with a distinctive cramped script scrawled across it. Ethan’s eyes widened.
“But I didn’t write that!” he exclaimed, his smile cracking at the edges, “I haven’t even been in the kitchen today except to get breakfast.”
Worry for his friend flooded his mind, all sorts of alarm bells ringing in his brain. “Ethan,” he said slowly, “we filmed for two hours this morning in your kitchen.”
His brow furrowed, the smile finally flaking away. “I… wha?” The buzzing in his head was growing louder, like an angry hornet crashing around in his brain. He could hear Mark’s concerned voice, but it was muffled, like cotton was stuffed in his ears. The hornet in his mind redoubled its efforts, and he whimpered as the pain sliced through his head. It wanted out, it wanted to get out of him, and he didn’t know how to let it out, it was getting worse, louder, harder, sharper, chipping away at him, it was destroying him, he just wanted it to stop…
“Woah!” Mark yelled, lunging forward to catch Ethan as his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled. He grunted as the completely dead weight hit him and eased both of them shakily to the floor. “Ethan? Ethan!” He grabbed his wrist, the air whooshing out of his lungs in relief when he felt a pulse beneath his fingers. It was strong, but erratic, like it was supercharged and trying to rip out of his arm. He glanced at Ethan’s face and blanched; his eyes were still rolled back and his face was contorted into an expression of such utter terror that it was hard to look at. He didn’t know what to do. He reached for his phone, intending to call 9-1-1, but a hand grabbed his arm roughly, preventing him from reaching it.
“No,” he growled in a guttural voice, “No hospital.”
Mark stared with scared eyes at his friend, slowly retracting his hand. He was now muttering under his breath, his face still twisted in fear. As he watched, frozen, his muttering slowly quieted. His death grip on Mark’s arm gradually loosened, and his eyes closed. Mark was rooted to the floor by shock. After a few minutes, common sense kicked back in and he cautiously picked him up and carried him inside to the couch. He sat down on the rug, anxious thoughts running through his head at a million miles a minute. He thought about going to get Ethan’s EpiPen, but this sure didn’t look like any allergic reaction he’d ever seen. As time ticked by, he grew progressively more worried as the other man still remained unconscious. Finally, after ten excruciatingly long minutes, he heard him groan faintly. Quickly looking up, he saw him sluggishly blinking and peering owlishly around him.
“Wha happened?” he slurred.
“Oh, thank goodness.” He punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t you dare do that again!”
“Do what?” He sat up a little straighter. “Did I fall asleep on the couch?”
“You passed out. Your eyes rolled back into your head! What’s the matter? Are you okay? Sick?”
“I passed out? Wait, how did you even get into my house? Did I forget to lock the door again?”
“You let me in. Plus I have a copy of the key.” Mark said. He sat back on his heels and thought for a moment about what Ethan had said, desperately hoping the only problem was he was still half-asleep. Alarming possibilities swirled in his mind as he anxiously slotted clues into place. “Ethan, can you tell me what you did this morning?”
Ethan automatically opened his mouth, then furrowed his brow and closed it.
“No…” he hesitantly said, “What… What did I do this morning? Why can’t I remember?” His voice was rising in pitch and the first sparks of panic were beginning to dance in his eyes as he racked his brains, trying desperately to remember something, anything, from that morning.
“O-okay, then,” Mark stammered. He was seriously worried. “I think I’m just going to call Amy and get her to pick us up in her car. I’ll come back for my bike later. I think we should go get your head looked at. I’ll feed Spencer if you end up staying at the hospital longer.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started dialing in her number.
“Yeah… I think that’s a good idea,” his voice quavered. “So who’s Amy?”
Mark’s head snapped back up. “Do you not remember her at all? You’ve known her for years.” How serious was this memory loss?
“No, I can’t remember anyone named Amy… I knew her for that long?” His voice cracked. “I forgot her after that long?”
Mark’s tight-lipped nod caused tears to spring to Ethan’s eyes. “What happened to me? What else did I forget? How will I even know if I’ve forgotten something?” His breaths started coming faster and faster, catching in brief panic when Mark grabbed his shoulders, but he only pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed the tiniest bit in the embrace as tears started leaking from the corners of his eyes.
“Hey, calm down a little for me, okay? We’re going to find out what’s going on. Panicking isn’t going to help anything.”
He clutched his best friend tightly, tears now flowing steadily down his cheeks. They sat there for a while, Mark murmuring reassurances to him as he eventually calmed his breathing. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was much calmer.
“Can you show me a picture of Amy?” he softly requested. Mark unlocked his phone and held it up for him to see. A photo of his girlfriend’s beaming face smiled up from his home screen. He stared intensely at the photo, stubbornly struggling to pull a memory from some far corner of his mind.
“I… recognize her, I think,” he finally said, “She looks familiar and I can hear her laugh, but it feels like she’s someone I met once and never talked to again.”
“Well, that’s something, at least,” Mark said, standing up and walking towards the hallway. “I’m going to call her now,”
One brief phone call later, he walked back into the room. “She’s coming. I told her that you needed help, but I wasn’t sure how to tell her why over the phone,” he said a little sheepishly.
“Okay.”
Mark plopped down on the couch next to him, wrapping one arm comfortingly around his shoulders.
“Why don't we try to figure out what you do remember?” he ventured. “Tell me about the most recent memory you have.”
“Last night,” he said immediately, “Or I’m pretty sure it was last night. I remember waking up from a nightmare again.”
“What was it about?”
“I can’t remember that, but I’ve been having them for a while. I never remember the dream that woke me.”
“I wonder if the same thing is causing both the nightmares and the amnesia,” he commented. “At least that’s pretty recent. What do you remember from yesterday?”
“I think I had a sandwich for lunch.”
“Do you remember what was on it?”
“It’s fuzzy… jam, I think? And maybe peanut butter?”
“But you’re allergic to peanuts.”
“I am?” he exclaimed. “I can’t remember my own allergies?” Mark saw him starting to work himself up again and quickly pulled him into another hug.
“Hey, focus on me, all right? Tell me what you know about me.”
“Pies,” Ethan sputtered quickly, as if afraid these memories would wither and fade too. “I remember us making pies for a video. You thought mine looked like demon-spawn.” He chuckled breathlessly. “And dumplings. You make really good chicken dumplings,” He took a deep breath. “You love improv and you hate mannequins.”
“Good. It’ll be okay, all right? We’re going to drive to the ER and get you checked out.”
It will be okay, Mark thought. It had to be.