Memories in Mirrors

I studied the man in front of me. He was the representation of how he viewed himself, and this man thought very highly of himself.

He wore pleated gray dress pants that looked like they cost as much as half of my entire wardrobe and a pale blue sweater to match. Under the sweater, he was wearing a white dress shirt with a darker blue tie, the knot peeking out from over the top of the sweater.

His silver glasses seemed to sparkle in the darkness of his mind.

Clearly, this man considered his image to be very important.

"You look familiar," murmured the man as he cocked his head to the side. "Where have I seen you before?"

Raising my eyebrows, I looked at the man. "Besides right now? I have no idea." If he didn't want me to finish healing him, couldn't I just move on, get my guys, and leave? Why did we need to have a whole conversation?