The Life He Forgot

Léon Veyron had never thought that his life could be described in a single word.

Yet, if he had had to choose one, he probably would have chosen: survive.

His alarm rang at 6:42 a.m.

He opened his eyes without moving.

The white ceiling above him was slightly cracked. The crack started from the upper-left corner and went up to a few centimeters from the lamp. He knew it by heart. He could probably have drawn every twist and turn with his eyes closed.

He stayed lying down for a few seconds, his arms behind his head.

Then he sighed.

"Another day."

His voice was still hoarse.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. No important messages. Two notifications from an app he barely used, an advertisement, and nothing else.

He scrolled through the screen one last time before locking it.

He had still hoped to see a message.

Not necessarily from his ex.

Maybe just from someone.

Someone who had thought of him.

Léon gave a small mocking smile at his own thought.

"Pathetic."

He got up.

His apartment was small, but clean. Not perfectly tidy. Not messy either. It was exactly like Léon: somewhere in between.

On a shelf, a few books were stacked on top of each other. Next to them, a console and a few games. A pair of headphones was lying on the couch.

He took a quick shower, got dressed, and spent almost ten minutes looking for his keys even though they had been in his hand for thirty seconds.

He looked at his hand.

Then at the keys.

Then at his hand again.

"Good job, Léon."

He put them in his pocket.

In the kitchen, his breakfast consisted of coffee and something quick he had bought the day before.

He did not particularly like mornings.

Not because he was tired.

Because mornings meant starting over.

Same route.

Same office.

Same smile.

Same conversations.

And at night, the same silent apartment.

He put his headphones on and started a song before leaving his apartment.

Music had become a sort of presence for him.

It filled the places where no one spoke.

And in Léon's life, there were far too many silent places.

⸻

His job was not bad.

It was simply... a job.

He worked in an office where he spent his days answering clients' requests, solving problems, and directing people when they did not know what to do.

Léon was surprisingly good with people.

He knew how to listen.

He knew how to calm down an angry person.

And when a client started talking for too long, he could usually come up with a subtle enough sarcastic remark to make them smile.

"I assure you, sir, if you really want your file to be processed today, you have two possibilities."

"Which ones?"

"Either you trust me, or you threaten my manager. But in the second case, I suggest you come back tomorrow because he's absent today."

The client stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then burst out laughing.

Léon smiled.

"There. We've already made progress."

That was what he liked about his job.

Helping.

Not saving the world. Not changing people's lives.

Simply making someone's day a little less difficult.

At noon, he ate alone.

That was not unusual.

He had a few coworkers he got along well with, but not really any close friends.

And since his breakup, he had even less desire to pretend he was okay.

He put his phone on the table.

No messages.

He locked the screen.

Then unlocked it.

Still nothing.

He sighed.

"Stop."

He was talking to himself.

Again.

Always.

⸻

THINGS THAT FALL

The afternoon was almost identical to the rest of his day.

An angry client.

Two urgent files.

A coworker asking him for help.

A coffee that had gone cold before he could even finish it.

Then, around 4:18 p.m., something insignificant happened.

A coworker walked behind him carrying a cup.

She stumbled.

The cup slipped from her fingers.

It fell.

Well... it should have fallen.

Léon reached out.

His hand closed around the cup a few centimeters from the floor.

Silence.

His coworker looked at him.

Léon looked at the cup.

Then at his hand.

"..."

"How did you do that?" she asked.

Léon did not answer immediately.

He did not know.

He had simply moved.

He had not thought.

He had not calculated.

He had moved.

"Just luck."

His coworker frowned.

"Luck?"

"A lot of luck."

He handed her the cup.

"Here."

She took it back with a smile.

"You're weird, Veyron."

"I know."

She walked away.

Léon remained still for a few seconds.

His hand was trembling slightly.

He looked at it as if it belonged to someone else.

Why had he done that so quickly?

He had not even seen the cup fall.

He had simply... known.

A strange sensation crossed his mind.

Something cold.

A flash.

A white light.

A corridor.

Then nothing.

Léon blinked.

The office was still there.

The computers.

The files.

The coworkers.

He put a hand on his forehead.

"You okay?" someone asked.

He looked up.

"Yeah."

A small smile.

"Just tired."

He went back to work.

But this time, his mind was no longer really there.

⸻

That night, he dreamed again.

He never knew exactly what he dreamed about.

Only fragments.

A light that was too bright.

The steady sound of a machine.

Footsteps behind a door.

A metallic smell.

And sometimes, a door.

A large white door.

With a simple number engraved on it: 4.

Léon walked toward it.

Always.

Every night.

But he never opened it.

This time, however, something was different.

As he placed his hand on the handle, a voice spoke his name.

"Léon."

He turned around.

Someone stood in the darkness.

He could not see their face.

"Who are you?"

The figure did not answer.

"Why do you know my name?"

The light went out.

Léon woke up violently.

He sat up in bed.

Breathing fast.

Heart pounding.

He looked around.

His apartment.

The same lamp.

The same crack in the ceiling.

The same darkness.

He ran a hand over his face.

Then he noticed something.

His hand was resting on his chest.

And his fingers were touching an old scar.

He looked down.

He knew that scar.

Well... he knew it existed.

But he had absolutely no idea how he had gotten it.

Just like the others.

He slowly ran his finger over it.

A strange sensation went through his body.

Then the phone rang.

Léon jumped.

He looked at the screen.

An unknown number.

At 3:17 a.m.

He hesitated.

Then answered.

"Hello?"

No answer.

Only breathing.

Léon frowned.

"Who is this?"

The line went dead.

He stayed there for a few seconds with the phone against his ear.

Then he put it down.

He did not sleep again that night.

⸻

CORLAX

The next morning, Léon arrived at work with less than three hours of sleep.

"You look terrible, Veyron."

"Thanks. I was actually trying to look dead today."

His coworker laughed.

Léon smiled too.

He told no one about the phone call.

He did not talk about the dream either.

And even less about the scar.

He had always done that.

When something scared him, he kept it to himself.

He preferred helping other people with their problems rather than letting someone into his own.

Around eleven, his manager asked him to come into his office.

Léon sat down.

"Have you ever thought about changing jobs?"

Léon raised an eyebrow.

"That's a very elegant way of telling me I'm fired."

"No."

His manager smiled.

"Quite the opposite."

He placed a sheet of paper in front of him.

Léon looked at it.

CORLAX.

The name meant nothing to him.

"What is it?"

"An organization looking for people for a somewhat unusual position."

"What kind of position?"

"Transport and escort of documents and funds between several countries."

Léon raised his eyes.

"Money?"

"Yes."

"And why me?"

His manager shrugged.

"Because you're reliable. You know how to keep your calm. You know how to talk to people. And you've never had any disciplinary issues."

Léon looked at the document again.

The salary listed on it almost made him lose his neutral expression.

It was several times what he currently earned.

Enough to completely change his situation.

Enough to stop counting every expense.

Enough to start living instead of simply surviving.

"Is it legal?" he asked.

His manager smiled.

"To my knowledge."

Léon looked up.

"'To my knowledge'?"

"I'm trying to be honest."

He took the document.

"You have an interview tomorrow morning at nine if you accept."

Léon stayed silent.

He looked at the company name one last time.

CORLAX.

He did not know why, but something about that name gave him a strange feeling.

As if he had seen it before.

As if he had heard someone say it before.

He shook his head slightly.

Probably just exhaustion.

He stood up.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

Léon picked up his jacket.

"I'll go to the interview."

He left the office.

And behind him, his manager remained alone.

His smile disappeared.

He took out his phone.

"He accepted."

Silence on the other end.

Then a voice answered:

"Perfect."

"He's the one?"

A few seconds passed.

"We'll know for sure after the test."

The conversation ended.

In the hallway, Léon walked on without suspecting anything.

To him, it was just an interview.

A new job.

Maybe a chance to start over.

He simply did not know one thing.

This job wasn't going to change his life.

It was going to reveal that he had never really known what his life was.