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MidReal Story
The Fast Lane Series
Scenario:Betrayal
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Alex Harlow
He is a former professional hockey player who suffered a traumatic brain injury, leading to memory loss. He is introspective, determined, and vulnerable. After the injury, Alex struggles to remember key aspects of his life, including his marriage to Candace. He returns home to Seattle, grappling with his past and trying to rebuild his life. His brother Chris supports him during this transition. Alex is haunted by the loss of his best friend Jon and his desire to uncover more about his past.
Candace Harlow
She is Alex Harlow's wife during the time of his accident. She is supportive, caring, and patient. Candace stands by Alex as he navigates his memory loss and recovery. She helps him adjust to life without a memory of their marriage and the year that has passed. Despite her efforts, she feels distant and wants to reconnect with Alex. This highlights her longing for their relationship to return to normal.
Chris Harlow
He is Alex Harlow's younger brother and a professional hockey player. He is protective, loyal, and understanding. Chris supports Alex during his recovery from the brain injury, providing him with a place to stay and helping him adjust to life without a job. He balances his career with family responsibilities, including caring for their niece Sadie. Chris acts as a bridge between Alex's past and present, facilitating communication and support between them.
I remember everything.
Every crack of the bat, every hockey puck's bounce off the ice.
I remember my first hockey fight like it was yesterday, as well as the time I got my first pair of hockey skates when I was five years old.
I remember everything… except the last year of my life.
My name is Alex Harlow, former right winger and defenseman for the Seattle Storm.
My life took a dramatic turn after a car accident left me with a traumatic brain injury.
My best friend, Jonah "Jon" West, died that night protecting a stranger.
His death was senseless, and it still doesn't make any sense to this day.
He died doing something heroic, and it doesn't seem fair that he's really gone.
I don't know what happened that night, but I wish I could go back in time and change things.
I drive my brother's pickup truck down the dark highway, following the same route that Jon and I took that night.
The neon sign of Pete's Diner blinks in the distance, followed by the abandoned gas station and the crooked mile marker.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I approach the curve where it happened.
I pull onto the gravel shoulder, exactly where I parked when Jon stopped to help that stranger.
The guardrail is still dented, painted with fresh reflective coating.
I get out and stand at the edge of the road, staring down the steep embankment where Jon's car tumbled.
Broken glass still glitters in the dirt.
Standing at the guardrail, I notice movement in my peripheral vision.
I turn to see a figure emerge from the misty darkness near the treeline.
My heart stops as I recognize the gait, the slight limp from an old hockey injury, the way the right shoulder hunches forward.
I blink hard, wondering if my brain injury is playing tricks on me.
The figure moves closer, and I grip the cold metal rail to steady myself.
The streetlight flickers, casting shadows that dance across the ground.
And then, like a ghostly apparition, I see his face.
Jon's face.
He raises his hand in our old team's greeting, and his mouth opens to speak.
"Alex, it's me," Jon says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I stagger back, shaking my head. "This can't be real—you're dead, Jon."
He steps closer, eyes intense and pleading. "I need you to remember what really happened that night."
My legs feel weak, and I lean against the guardrail for support.
I watch as Jon's ghostly form moves under the flickering streetlight.
He paces back and forth, his movements jerky and agitated.
The highway remains empty except for the occasional whoosh of passing cars behind us.
Jon stops pacing and turns to face me.
His eyes bore into mine, filled with a mix of sadness and urgency.
"It was that night," he begins, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
"I was driving home from the bar, and I saw her."
His words fade in and out like a bad radio signal, making it hard to follow.
I strain to hear him, my heart racing in my chest.
The streetlight above us flickers ominously, casting eerie shadows on the ground.
I take a step closer to him, trying to make sense of what he's saying.
But his voice is like a distant echo, fading away into the darkness. "I saw her standing there, alone and scared," he continues, his voice growing stronger but still wavering.
"I had to stop."
His words hang in the air like a challenge.
I want to respond, but I can't find the right words.
Instead, I just stare at him, trying to process what's happening.
The streetlight flickers again, and Jon's form wavers before me.
I feel a chill run down my spine as I realize that this is really happening.
He's here with me, talking about that night.
I take another step closer, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Jon," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't understand."
He reaches out towards me with a trembling hand.
I back away, my boots crunching on the broken glass scattered around us.
His hand hovers in the air, palm up, as if pleading for something.
The streetlight flickers again, and his face shifts between solid and transparent.
It's like watching a bad TV signal, struggling to stay tuned.
I close my eyes tightly, hoping that when I open them again, this hallucination will be gone.
But when I do, he's still there.
His voice grows stronger now, filling the night air with urgency.
"The car was silver," he says, his words cutting through the darkness.
"The woman was wearing a red coat. I remember the sound of screeching tires."
Each word hits me like a physical blow, forcing memories to surface from the depths of my mind.
My hands tremble as I lean against the guardrail, forcing myself to stay and listen.
The ghostly figure of Jon moves closer, his form wavering like a bad TV signal.
"I was driving home from the bar," he says, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and urgency.
"I saw a car pulled over on the side of the road. The hazard lights were blinking."
He pauses, collecting his thoughts.
"There was a woman inside, crying. I stopped to help her."
Memories flood back to me - I was driving behind Jon that night.
I remember seeing him pull over and stop his car.
I had driven past, not thinking much of it at the time.
But now, as I hear Jon's ghostly voice recounting that night, it all comes rushing back.
"I approached her car slowly," he continues, his voice growing stronger with each word.
"She was sitting there, her face buried in her hands. She looked scared and alone."
He pauses again, taking a deep breath before continuing.
"There was something about her that didn't seem right. But I couldn't just leave someone stranded on the side of the road." As he speaks, I notice dark stains appearing on his ghostly shirt.
They spread like spilled ink across the fabric, slowly covering more and more of his form.
It's as if the memories themselves are staining him, marking him with their intensity.
I feel a shiver run down my spine as I watch him speak.
His words are like a spell, conjuring up images from that fateful night.
"The car door opened," he says finally, his voice filled with emotion.
"She got out and started walking towards me. And then...and then everything changed."
His eyes lock onto mine with an intense gaze.
"I heard another car coming," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It was coming fast, too fast," Jon continues, his voice trembling.
"I tried to warn her, but it was like she couldn't hear me."
He pauses, his eyes searching mine for understanding. "That's when it hit her, Alex. That's when everything went dark."
His ghostly form moves closer, his voice growing stronger with each word.
"I rushed towards her," he says, his words pouring out in a rush.
"I had to save her."
As he speaks, I notice the dark stains on his shirt begin to fade slightly.
The air around us seems to warm up, the usual night chill dissipating.
Jon's form begins to look more solid under the streetlight, his features clearer than before.
His movements become less jerky and more fluid as he continues his story.
"The car swerved past us," he says, his voice filled with urgency.
"It was so close. I could feel the wind rushing past us."
He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing.
"I helped her up and called 911," he says, his voice steady now.
"But then...then everything went wrong."
I reach out instinctively, my hand brushing against his shoulder.
For a brief moment, it feels solid under my touch before passing through him again.
I watch helplessly as his form starts to dissolve at the edges, like smoke caught in a breeze.
His features blur, but his eyes remain sharp and focused on mine.
He struggles to maintain his presence, his mouth moving with increasing urgency to share one last detail.
The words "Thank you for coming back" drift between us, barely audible over the distant hum of traffic.
His body becomes translucent, a ghostly outline against the dark highway.
I lunge forward, trying to grasp his fading shoulder, but my fingers close on empty air.
The temperature drops suddenly, the streetlight above flickering once before going out.
I stand there alone, my hand still reaching for where Jon's ghost had been just moments before.
The wind picks up, rustling through the dead leaves that line the side of the road.
It carries whispers with it, faint but unmistakable.
They seem to circle around the guardrail, echoing off the metal in a chilling melody.
I strain to listen, trying to make out what the whispers are saying.
But they remain just out of reach, a tantalizing mystery that teases at the edges of my hearing.
As I stand there, trying to decipher the whispers, I notice movement from the corner of my eye.
At first, it's just a dark shape emerging from the tree line that borders the highway.
But as it draws closer, I realize that it's not a shape at all - it's a figure. It moves towards me with an unnatural grace, its form indistinct in the darkness.
I can't make out any defining features, but there's no mistaking that it's human in shape.
It glides across the ground rather than walks, its movements eerily fluid.
I feel a shiver run down my spine as it approaches.
The whispers grow louder now, swirling around me in a maddening vortex.
I grip the cold metal of the guardrail tightly, bracing myself for whatever is about to come.
Suddenly, more figures emerge from the trees.
Three of them this time, their forms equally indistinct in the darkness.
They move with the same unnatural grace as the first figure, their movements almost hypnotic to watch.
The whispers grow even louder now, forming words that I can't quite understand. I feel my skin prickle with unease as they draw closer.
Their forms begin to take on more definition now - arms and legs and torsos materializing out of the darkness like specters.
But their faces remain obscured by shadows, making it impossible to discern any features.
The whispers grow loud enough now that I can make out individual words amidst the cacophony.
I stumble backward, my boots scraping against the loose gravel that lines the side of the road.
The four figures halt at the guardrail, their arms still outstretched towards me.
They remain completely still, their forms silhouetted against the dark sky like black cutouts.
I can't stop myself from taking another step back, my breath coming in sharp gasps.
My heart pounds in my chest as I study them, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.
Each figure is identical in height and build - tall and lean, with long arms that reach out towards me like black branches.
They appear to be wearing long coats that ripple in the breeze, even though there's no wind tonight.
The closest figure takes a fluid step forward, its hand still extended towards me.
Something about its gesture strikes a chord deep within me - it's almost...familiar.
And then I realize why: it's the same way Jon reached out to me just moments before.
The whispers grow even louder now, forming a chorus of urgent murmurs that swirl around me like a vortex. I feel my heart pounding in my chest as I try to make sense of what's happening.
One of the figures speaks, its voice a low, resonant hum that cuts through the whispers.
"You must listen," it says, the words clear despite the chaos around us.
"We are here because you hold the key to setting Jon free."
I take a tentative step forward, my boots crunching on the broken glass that litters the ground.
The closest figure extends its skeletal hand further, beckoning me closer to the guardrail.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do.
But something about the figure's gesture feels almost...gentle.
It's as if it's trying to reassure me that everything will be okay.
I take another step forward, my heart pounding in my chest.
The figure reaches out with its other hand, forming a tight circle around me with the others.
Their long coats brush against my arms, sending shivers down my spine.
The tallest figure leans down so that its face is inches from mine.
For a moment, I'm terrified that it will reveal some grotesque visage - but instead, I see only darkness where its features should be. "You must uncover what really happened after Jon called 911 that night," it says in a voice that sends chills down my spine.
"The truth is hidden in plain sight. You just need to know where to look."
The other figures nod in unison, their movements jerky and unnatural.
I feel a surge of fear mixed with curiosity as I study them.
They seem to be waiting for me to respond - but what can I say?
I have no idea what they're talking about.
"How do I start?" is all I manage to stammer.
The figures remain silent for a moment, their long coats billowing in the breeze.
Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they vanish into thin air.
I stumble backward, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me.
The whispers die away, leaving only the distant hum of traffic to fill the silence.
I stand there for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened.
The words of the dark figures echo in my mind - "You must uncover what really happened after Jon called 911 that night."
I fumble for my phone in my pocket, my hands shaking as I pull it out.
Opening the call history app, I scroll through old records until I find the entry from that night.
It's logged at 11:47 PM - but according to the official accident report, Jon had already been dead for thirty-two minutes by then. My heart skips a beat as I realize what this means - there's no way he could have made that call himself.
Someone else must have done it for him.
And if that's true, then everything we thought we knew about his death is a lie.
I press play on the recording, holding my breath as static fills the truck's cabin.
A voice crackles through, unmistakably Jon's, whispering, "Find the truth."
I lean against the guardrail, staring at the entry for Jon's last call in my phone log.
A text notification pops up on my screen, and I frown as I see that it's from an unknown number.
Curious, I tap on the message to open it.
The words dance before my eyes as I read them, my mind struggling to process their meaning.
"50,000 dollars for any information about Jon's activities on the night of his death," the text reads.
"Specifically, events between 11:15 PM and midnight."
My hands begin to shake as I read the message again, trying to make sense of it.
The time frame mentioned - 11:15 PM to midnight - is exactly when Jon was supposed to have died.
And it's also when that mysterious call was made.
I type out three different responses before deleting them all and starting over.
Finally, I settle on a simple question: "Who is this?"
The reply comes almost instantly: "Someone who knows you were there."
My breath catches as the screen goes dark, leaving me alone with the truth I can no longer ignore.