Chapter 2: The Name I Buried
I didn't answer Lena right away.
The street suddenly felt too loud.
Cars passed.
People talked.
A bus hissed as it stopped at the corner.
But all I could hear was one sentence repeating inside my head.
"Your real name isn't the only thing you've been hiding.""
I looked at her carefully.
Most people who approached me wanted something.
A picture.
A story.
A reaction.
They wanted to feel good about helping someone.
But Lena wasn't looking at me like I was a project.
She looked like she was remembering something.
Something painful.
"What are you talking about?"" I asked.
She lowered her phone.
"I need you to trust me.""
I almost laughed.
Trust.
That word sounded strange coming from someone who still had a home, a car, and a clean shirt.
Trust was easy when you had nothing to lose.
For someone like me, trust was something people took advantage of.
"People say that right before they ask for something," I said.
Lena nodded slowly.
"You're right.""
Her answer surprised me.
She didn't argue.
Didn't get offended.
She just accepted it.
"I know why you don't trust people.""
I looked away.
"You don't know anything about me.""
She studied my face.
"Maybe not everything.""
A pause.
"But I know what it feels like to sit on that sidewalk and wonder if anyone sees you.""
My fingers tightened around the hundred-dollar bill.
The picture on her phone bothered me.
Not because she had been homeless.
Because she had been hiding it.
Just like me.
"Who are you really?"" I asked.
Lena looked around at the crowd.
People were still watching.
Some were filming Chase as he argued with someone near his broken tripod.
Others were taking pictures of me receiving money.
I hated that.
Even after everything, I still felt like I was standing on a stage.
Lena noticed.
"Come with me.""
I hesitated.
"Where?""
"Somewhere quiet.""
I almost refused.
Then my stomach growled.
Loud enough that she heard it.
She didn't react.
She just smiled slightly.
"Food first. Questions later.""
That was the first thing she did that made me believe she was different.
She didn't ask me to explain my pain before helping me.
She just helped.
Twenty minutes later, we sat inside a small diner two blocks away.
I hadn't been inside a restaurant in years.
The waitress looked at me when we walked in.
Not cruelly.
Just surprised.
I knew that look.
The look people gave when they wondered if someone like me belonged somewhere.
But Lena didn't hesitate.
She chose a booth near the window.
"Two burgers," she said.
Then she looked at me.
"Actually, make that two burgers, fries, and whatever dessert he wants.""
I shook my head.
"Don't.""
She looked confused.
"Don't what?""
"Spend money on me like I'm some charity case.""
Her expression changed.
Not anger.
Something closer to sadness.
"Joe.""
I looked at her.
"Don't let what happened to you make you believe you're less than everyone else.""
I didn't respond.
Because I didn't know how.
The waitress brought water.
I held the glass but didn't drink.
Lena leaned back.
"Your name is Joseph Carter.""
My hand froze.
The glass touched the table.
Slowly.
"What did you say?""
She didn't look away.
"Joseph Carter.""
The room suddenly felt colder.
Nobody had called me that in years.
Not since...
"How do you know that?""
Lena reached into her bag and pulled out a folder.
A real folder.
Not a phone.
Not a camera.
Paper.
My stomach tightened.
"I've been looking for you.""
I stared at it.
"Why?""
She opened the folder.
Inside were newspaper clippings.
Old photographs.
Documents.
My own face stared back at me.
A younger version.
Clean clothes.
Short hair.
A smile I barely recognized.
I pushed the folder away.
"No.""
Lena looked surprised.
"Joe—"
"No.""
My voice became louder.
People at another table looked over.
I lowered it.
"I don't want that.""
She closed the folder.
"Why?""
"Because that person doesn't exist anymore.""
Lena watched me silently.
Then she said:
"That's exactly what I thought about myself.""
I looked at her.
She continued.
"Two years ago, I wasn't just homeless.""
She paused.
"I was running.""
The words caught my attention.
"From what?""
Her fingers touched the edge of the folder.
"From a man named Richard Voss.""
The name meant nothing to me.
But the fear in her voice did.
"Who is he?""
Lena looked toward the window.
"He was my employer.""
"That doesn't explain why you were on the street.""
"No.""
She swallowed.
"It doesn't.""
The food arrived.
Neither of us touched it.
"I used to work for a company called Voss Media Group," she said.
I recognized the name.
Everyone did.
A massive media company.
"You worked there?""
She nodded.
"I was an investigative producer.""
I stared at her.
The woman sitting across from me looked nothing like someone who worked in a corporate office.
"What happened?""
Lena took a deep breath.
"I found something I wasn't supposed to find.""
"What?""
She looked at me.
"That company was paying creators to fake charity videos.""
My eyes widened.
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Chase...""
"Was one of them.""
The restaurant noise faded again.
Lena continued.
"They weren't just making fake videos. They were choosing vulnerable people because they knew nobody would defend them.""
My jaw tightened.
"So you exposed them.""
"I tried.""
Her voice became quieter.
"But Richard Voss found out.""
She looked down.
"He destroyed my career. Told people I fabricated evidence. Made everyone think I was unstable.""
I listened.
"Then one night, I lost my apartment.""
She smiled sadly.
"Funny thing is, after spending years telling other people's stories, nobody believed mine.""
I didn't know what to say.
Because I understood.
More than anyone.
"When did you find me?"" I asked.
Lena looked at the folder.
"Two years ago.""
My heart skipped.
"What?""
"I saw a picture.""
She pulled out another paper.
It was an old article.
The headline was faded.
But my name was clear.
Joseph Carter.
Missing businessman.
I stared at it.
"No.""
"Yes.""
"That was taken before.""
"I know.""
My hands started shaking.
"Who gave you that?""
Lena didn't answer immediately.
Then she said:
"Your sister.""
Everything stopped.
I hadn't heard that word in years.
Sister.
A person connected to a life I buried.
"You don't know my sister.""
"Her name is Emily Carter.""
I stood up so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
"How?""
People looked over.
Lena stayed seated.
"Because Emily has been searching for you.""
I stared at her.
"No.""
"Joe—"
"No.""
I shook my head.
"My family thinks I'm dead.""
Lena's expression changed.
"They did.""
The words hit me harder than anything Chase had said.
"Did?""
She nodded.
"Until three months ago.""
My breathing changed.
"What happened three months ago?""
Lena reached into the folder.
She pulled out a photograph.
This time, it wasn't old.
It was recent.
A woman standing outside a building.
A woman with tears in her eyes.
A woman I hadn't seen in seven years.
My sister.
Emily.
Behind the photo was a handwritten note.
I picked it up.
My hands trembled.
The handwriting was familiar.
Impossible.
"Where did you get this?""
Lena looked directly at me.
"Emily gave it to me.""
"Why?""
A long silence followed.
Then Lena said:
"Because she found out the truth about what happened to you.""
I looked at the photo again.
Seven years of memories came rushing back.
The last night I saw my family.
The argument.
The betrayal.
The accident.
The reason I disappeared.
The reason I never went home.
I pushed the photo back.
"I can't.""
Lena frowned.
"Can't what?""
"Go back.""
"Why?""
Because if they knew I was alive...
I swallowed.
"Because they weren't the ones who lost me.""
Lena studied me.
"Then who did?""
I looked down at my hands.
The same hands that had built houses.
Signed contracts.
Held my mother's hand in the hospital.
Before everything disappeared.
Then I whispered:
"The people I trusted.""
Lena didn't push.
For the first time in years, someone didn't demand my story.
She simply waited.
Finally, she asked:
"Joe, what happened the night you disappeared?""
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because I had spent two years pretending that night didn't exist.
But Lena already knew something.
She knew my name.
She knew my sister.
She knew I wasn't just a homeless man.
And before I could answer, her phone suddenly buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face changed.
"What?""
I watched her read the message.
Then she slowly turned the phone toward me.
It was a text from an unknown number.
Only six words.
*"Stop looking for Joseph Carter.""*
My blood ran cold.
Because underneath the message was a second line.
A name.
May you like
A name I hadn't heard since the night I vanished.
*Richard Voss.*
