Chapter 2: The Mirror Case (Jack’s POV)

I ran across the streets, my thoughts racing as I tried to make sense of the new case. The details were too perfect to be coincidental. I had finished the Danzig case with careful accuracy three years ago. It was closed. The murderer, Richard Quinn, was apprehended and sentenced to life in jail. For it, I earned awards. The media and the city praised me as a hero for putting an end to a monster.

And yet, here I was, watching the exact identical sequence, down to the last detail, being repeated. As I drove toward the precinct, every image from the crime scene replayed in my thoughts. How? How could someone so perfectly recreate the murders?

My thoughts racing through all the options, I tightened my hold on the steering wheel and scarcely noticed the engine's hum. Were we mistaken? Was Quinn not guilty all along? But that was absurd. Quinn had made a clear statement, and the proof was unquestionable. I was certain of his guilt.

No. Quinn was not at issue here. This was something else, something far more dangerous. Whoever was responsible for this was sending a message in addition to just replicating the killings. That message was meant for me, too.

I was thinking so fast that the streets outside the precinct flew by as I got closer to the precinct. Sarah's name was on the screen when my phone buzzed once again.

I answered the phone without saying "I'm five minutes away."

"Alright. This is bad, Jack. Whoever it was, they were highly skilled at what they were doing. The stance, the setup it's identical to Danzig. They appeared to have your notes. It feels as though they were inside your brain."

There was no hiding the stress in her voice. Since Sarah didn't give up quickly, her comment showed that I wasn't the only one experiencing it. This case concerned me more than it did the killings. It became personal as a result.

"I'll be there shortly," I ended the call. A gnawing sense of urgency rose in my chest, and my heart raced.

As I parked, my tires made a little screech sound as I reached the precinct. I grabbed the old Danzig case files and my jacket and ran through the doors into the station's well-known chaos. With their voices humming, the officers entered and left the room, but I was unable to give any of it any attention. I wanted clarification, and I needed it quickly.

Sarah yelled out to me from behind her desk, "Jack, come on over here." Her usually serene expression had been replaced with a pale, uneasy one. My stomach fell the instant I noticed the most current crime scene images strewn across her desk.

The pictures were too real.

Like in Danzig's first slaughter, the victim was positioned with their arms spread and their eyes wide open, staring into the abyss.

I shook my head and said, "There's no way that this is real."

"It is the same. Everything is alike."

Sarah's jaw tightened. "I am aware. Jack, it seems like they're copying you. emulating your way of solving it. The arrangement and the method are both evident."

Feeling the weight of the case rest on my shoulders, I gazed at the pictures. The faces of Quinn's victims passed through my mind, but this time, they were superimposed with the fresh crime scene images. The differences between the past and present started to get hazy.

I mumbled, "They had to know about the details." But all of this was kept hidden. How could anyone be aware of this? Just a few of us were able to see the details because the files were sealed.

My mind raced, trying to connect the dots, but there was nothing. How someone could recreate these killings with such accuracy defies sense. It seemed as though they had been watching me for all those years, seeing me piece the case together piece by piece.

"This is something you have to see in person," Sarah said, startling me out of my thoughts. "Jack, even though we've secured the crime scene, it feels strange."

We walked out of the station and toward the scene without saying another word.

The property was hidden away from the busy city on a peaceful residential street. I tried to steady myself as I breathed in the cool night air that touched my face as soon as I got out of the car. The house stood quietly before me, a shadow ready to devour all in its path. It was dark.

From the front door, Sarah yelled, "Jack, come on over here." She brought me inside, to a still-fresh scene untouched by anything but the cops guarding the area.

I felt it as soon as I entered the room. That same chill I'd felt while exploring the Danzig case. The room had an unsettling familiarity. Everything about the building felt like it was from another era: the furnishings, the arrangements of things, even the smell of the air.

There she stood, the unfortunate one. stretched her arms wide, lying in the middle of the space with her eyes closed. the exact position. the same expression. Everything stayed the same.

I crouched near the body, my hands shaking a little, my mind racing. This was something I had already seen. This was not the first time I had experienced it. However, that was not possible. It is not possible.

I muttered, more to myself than to anybody else, "This is a message." This is not a copy. It is the same"

Before I could continue, I was shocked back into the present by the sound of glass breaking behind me. With my heart racing, I quickly turned around and noticed someone quickly scuttling out of the back window of a close by house.

"Hey!" Stop! I screamed and ran towards the window, but they were moving too fast.

I launched myself through the broken frame without thinking, rolling to my feet and slamming hard into the ground. Halfway down the lane, the suspect's black figure was already lost in the shadows. With my lungs burning and adrenaline propelling me further, I chased them.

They scurried around corners and squeezed through tight places, but I followed behind, getting closer to them with every step.

Then it happened.

I hardly noticed the pipe swinging in my direction. The forceful strike to the side of my skull was followed by a painful snap. A blaze of anguish shot through my brain, and as I hit the floor, everything was a blur of lights and shadows.

I tried to get up and defend myself, but my body would not move. My senses, my memory, and my vision were all leaving me.

And all of a sudden, everything went dark.

The hospital room's harsh fluorescent lights met me when I woke up. I tried to sit up, but my head throbbed so strongly that I winced. Everything seemed strange and broken, like mismatched puzzle pieces.

"Jack?"

The voice was familiar and soft. I blinked and my eyes gradually cleared to see Sarah standing next to the bed. Her eyes were worried, and her face was pale.

"You're awake," she stated with a voice full of relief. "It's been weeks."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words got stuck halfway between my mouth and my throat. I could only muster a feeble nod, my head throbbing too much to focus.

"What the heck happened?" I croaked, sounding strained and rough.

With a worried tone, Sarah mutely stated, "You were attacked. The suspect caught you off guard. He escaped our grasp. Since then, you've been unconscious."

I tried to make sense of her words, the memories of the chase flashing through my mind in fragmented pieces. Everything came flooding back, including the alley, the figure, and the pipe, but something was missing. Something important.

Sarah stepped closer, her voice low and serious. "Jack... there's more. The doctors... they're saying you might have suffered some memory loss. It's... it's not just the injury."

Her comments struck me like a ton of bricks, but before I could process her meaning, the doctor entered the room with a gloomy expression on his clipboard.

"Mr. Williams," he began, his tone formal yet distant. "You've sustained a traumatic brain injury. We're concerned about possible long-term memory complications. You might experience difficulty forming new memories."

Amnesia antegrade. The words felt like a kick to the stomach.

I looked at the doctor, my thoughts racing as the gravity of what was happening dawned on me.

My memory, my most treasured asset, was broken.

But even as the weight of this new reality fell over me, one thing kept gnawing at the back of my mind: the killer was still out there. And suddenly, I felt more fragile than ever.

As I lay in the hospital bed, the dull ache in my head pounding like a drum, I could hardly put together what happened that got me here, but I know it was horrible.