Chapter 1: The Legend of Jack Williams (Jack's POV)

I'm still here in the dimmed light of my office at eight in the evening. The others left hours ago, but this place is my sanctuary, with the soft sound of footsteps echoing from faraway passageways and the hum of the air conditioner. Files, case notes, and coffee-stained cups litter my desk, traces of late nights spent looking for solutions that only I could see. They used to call me a hero. The man with the perfect memory, Jack Williams. My coworkers would be in awe of my ability to remember even the smallest detail from a case weeks or even months after it had happened.

However, I've found that legends have their breaking moments.

I peek at the wall-mounted board. It is jam-packed with case images and supporting documentation from earlier successes. I feel almost connected as I run my fingertips along the borders of the pinned pictures because of the scratchy paper against my flesh. I'm drawn to the Danzig case. That was one for the books, and three years ago, I figured it out. A clean case, carefully sealed. The deceased person's corpse was found sprawled out on the ground, appearing to be in a hideous gesture of capitulation. I can still clearly remember every single detail, as if I were back at the crime scene, exploring the room, observing the bloodstains, and observing how the murderer had positioned the body. I can see it all well in my thoughts.

My type of memory has the peculiarity of never being fully passive. It is dynamic, breathing, and living. I don't even need to reach for the details; they just keep playing over in my mind. Some consider it to be a gift. It feels more like a burden most of the time.

With my seat reclined, I look out the enormous windows that let in a wealth of natural light. Since the sun has gone, the city is immersed in the orange gleam of streetlamps, making a colossal, ceaseless labyrinth of light and shade. It's tranquil up here, yet I can hear the weak buzz of traffic underneath. It was almost too quiet. Nobody is left to chat to or share this space with, not that I would want to. Silence has always been a nice place for me.

I jolt out of my daydream as the phone on my desk buzzes. Sarah's name shows on the screen as I pick it up. She hasn't called in a long time. Neither of us has spoken as much as we once did since she transferred to a different station. Still, she occasionally checks in.

I hit the answer button. "Sarah," I say while keeping a calm tone. "What's happening?"

"Have you been following the news, Jack?"

There's something in her tone. Something that makes me sit up straight. "No, I've been mired in papers. What's going on?"

"Channel 6. Right now."

I don't question her. Since Sarah doesn't get spooked easily, there must be a problem if she's calling to check me the news. I grab the remote and turn on the television. A spooky glow fills the room as the screen flickers to life. It's the night news, just your typical crime report. However, it quickly switches to a moment that gives me the chills.

A crime. A lady killed in her own house. The scene and the body are too familiar. My thoughts are racing, skimming over the limitless file of cases I have saved there. The staging and body placement are nearly perfect replicas of the Danzig case.

My gut constricts. I say to myself, just loud enough for no one to hear, "The Danzig case." Sarah, though, hears it.

"Jack, what did you say?"

"It seems like something I've seen before. Sarah, this seems just like Danzig. similar MO and placement. It's not by chance, either."

My heart is racing in my chest as I get out of my chair. I don't care that the cold coffee mug clatters to the ground. I dash to my file cabinet and grab the three-year-old case files. The anchor's voice continues to echo in the background, but all I can think about are the pictures that are now ingrained in my mind. This is unlikely to take place once more.

"Jack, please speak with me. What do you think we're seeing?" Sarah's voice crackles.

"The lady... she's in the same exact scenario. like Danzig. identical signature. I..." I stop and fumble with shaky fingers through the old files. "It seems like someone is exactly replicating the details. Sarah, I've closed this case. It's finished. Over."

"well, looks like it's not." Although Sarah seems relaxed in her speech, I can sense she's nervous. "Hey, let's meet at the station. We should discuss this. I'm going over right now."

Even though she can't see me, I nod. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

I end the call and tuck the case files into my bag. However, something grabs my attention before I can move. The crime scene image stays on the TV, which is still turned on. The woman's body, her arms outstretched, her eyes looking blank.

A rush of confusion sweeps over me and my fingers tighten their grip on the edge of my desk. I'm not only bothered by the similarity. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but there's something more. It feels like something I've seen previously, and not just in the Danzig case. Somewhere else. I can't get rid of the comfortable but twisted feeling I have.

I shut my eyes, allowing the details to come back to me. The shots. The notes on the case. Tonight's crime scene. All the info swirls about in my head, yet something doesn't seem right. Something seems to be missing from me, as though an important detail is just out of reach. Normally so clear-cut, my memory seems foggy. fragmented.

I looked at the clock in the entryway. 8:30 p.m. There's simply no time left, and considerations are twirling in my mind. Were we wrong three years ago? Have we found the wrong guy guilty? Or even worse, is a copycat trying to enter my head through some sort of bizarre game?

I go for the door, grabbing my jacket, but something stops me. I look back at the case file on the desk. The board has a single picture of the Danzig crime scene connected to it, looking back at me. The victim took the same stance as tonight.

That's not what bothers me, though.

It's the feeling. the feeling that I've been here already. The sensation that I witnessed this precise moment, this precise crime... not three years before, but rather recently. It feels almost like a dream. or lived it.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the mental haze. This is nothing new to me. I assume that I have.

But why am I unable to recall?