The next morning, I woke up groggy, my head still heavy with last night's nightmares or hallucinations, maybe both. But I had made up my mind. I needed answers.
I walked into the city police station, half-expecting some kind of hope, maybe even a shred of understanding. I stood before the officer at the desk and laid it all out everything. The mysterious man I kept seeing, the words he said to me, the pattern of murders. I told them this wasn't just random violence, that it felt like something deeper. A conspiracy, perhaps. An underground criminal group, or worse something unexplainable. Something inhuman.
They listened or pretended to. But the look in their eyes was louder than any response. The younger officer raised his brows subtly, while the older one gave me that pitying nod, like you give to someone grieving too hard. I could see it clear as day they thought I was just some broken guy who had lost a coworker and spiraled into madness.
When I walked out of that station, I didn't feel safe. I felt invisible.
I pulled out my phone to call Sam, maybe just to hear a familiar voice. But I froze. He'll think you're crazy too, I thought. You're starting to sound like you believe your own nightmares. I pocketed the phone.
If no one else believed me, then I'd find the truth alone. If Sara's family was going to get justice, it would have to come from me.
The city was overcast, the sky grey and sluggish as if mourning with me. By the time I reached the coffee shop, it was nearly noon. The streets were unusually quiet, and the shop had only a trickle of customers. It was the kind of day where even the espresso machine sounded like it was whispering.
I stood behind the counter for a while, staring at nothing, lost in the maze of my thoughts. Then my gaze shifted toward the back room.
That room.
Since the day Sara died, I had avoided going in there alone. Just the thought of that cold, lifeless space made my stomach churn. But something felt different today. A voice inside me pushed Do it. Face it. Find something.
I hesitated at the doorway, hand resting on the frame. The light inside was dim, and dust floated lazily in the air like the room itself was exhaling. A thin beam of sunlight crept in through the top corner of the locked delivery door on the far wall. That was the door Sara had tried to escape through. I remembered that awful detail from the reports the door had been locked, and the killer hadn't even hesitated.
The room had that same smell. Cold cardboard. Steel shelves. Faint antiseptic. My skin prickled with goosebumps. I scanned the corners, the shelves, the floor. I didn't even know what I was looking for maybe a clue, a trace, anything that would tell me this wasn't just in my head.
And then, I heard it.
A sound.
No, more like a voice low, dragging, sinister. A whisper without breath.
I spun around, heart pounding against my ribs. There was nothing… nothing except wait.
A mirror.
My breath caught. I had never seen a mirror in this room before. Not ever. It stood against the wall where the cleaning supplies used to be stacked. Its surface was fogged, as if it had just been breathed on.
I took a step closer, drawn to it against my will. The air around it felt thicker, like it was holding something in.
My reflection slowly came into view but it wasn't just me.
There was someone else.
The same man I had seen under the streetlight. The same one whose eyes burned into my soul. In the mirror, he stood beside me his image blurry but real enough. In his hand, he held a rusted metal bat, stained dark at the tip.
Behind him was a woman.
Sara.
No… not Sara. Or maybe it was. Her face flickered, like a bad signal, as if the mirror couldn't decide what to show me. But she was afraid. She was begging.
I tried to move, to shout, to run but my body wouldn't respond.
His eyes met mine through the glass. They were glowing. Red.
He stepped forward.
One step.
Two steps.
He raised the bat above his head, grinning wide and cruel. I couldn't breathe. My hands felt nailed to my sides.
Then
"Sir?"
A voice snapped me out of it.
I blinked. The mirror was gone. Just a plain wall. A customer stood behind me, looking confused and slightly panicked.
Customer: "Sir… are you okay? I was calling you from the counter, but you weren't responding. You were just standing here, staring at the wall."
I wiped my face. My skin was damp with sweat.
Rahul: "Yeah, yeah… I was just… uh… checking for insects. Sometimes they crawl in from the vents. Got distracted, I guess."
The customer gave me a weird look, but didn't push.
Customer: "Right… Can I get a hot cappuccino?"
Rahul: "Of course," I said, forcing a smile. "Coming right up."
I returned to the counter, trembling slightly as I picked up the coffee pot. My hands were cold. My mind was colder.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of customers, espresso shots, and forced conversations. I kept looking over my shoulder, half-expecting that mirror to appear again. But it didn't.
When my shift finally ended, I locked up the shop, double-checked the door, and stepped out into the evening fog.
The walk home was quiet. Too quiet. My footsteps echoed unnaturally down the narrow lanes. Streetlights buzzed faintly above me, and every shadow looked like it might come alive.
When I reached my apartment, I threw my bag on the couch and headed straight for the kitchen. I needed food. Or comfort. Or a distraction. I cooked in silence, barely tasting anything as I ate.
I couldn't shake the feeling. The memory of the mirror haunted me. The man's eyes. The red glow. The way my body refused to move.
Was I hallucinating?
Or was something real trying to reveal itself?
I picked up my phone and dialed Sam. It rang. Once. Twice.
No answer.
I tried again.
Voicemail.
That wasn't like him.
I dropped the phone on the couch and stared at the ceiling. My thoughts spun like a storm none of them settling, all of them loud.
Sara's death.
The mysterious man.
The mirror.
The police ignoring me.
My own mind collapsing in on itself.
I pulled a blanket over my body and lay on the couch, eyes wide open. The TV played some crime show in the background, but I wasn't listening.
All I could see was that mirror.
And the reflection that didn't belong to me.