Marcus studied it.
“Where did you take this?””
“Here.””
“Who took it?””
“I swear.””
Marcus stepped closer.
“Look at the photograph.””
Vanessa did.
“There's a reflection in the window.””
Jordan joined her.
A faint reflection appeared in the glass behind Marcus.
A person.
Only a silhouette.
But the shape was unmistakably someone standing near the driver's side.
Jordan whispered, “Who is that?””
“I never saw anyone.””
Marcus looked at the reflection.
Something about the figure felt familiar.
Not the face.
The posture.
The way the shoulders were held.
The angle of the head.
He had seen it somewhere.
Marcus's phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
*LOOK IN THE MIRROR.*
The rearview mirror inside the car had slowly tilted toward him.
Jordan's face went pale.
“Did that just move?””
“Don't go near it.””
Marcus opened the driver's door.
The interior light came on.
He sat down.
Vanessa shouted, “Marcus!””
He ignored her.
“Why are you getting in?””
Marcus looked at the steering wheel.
His fingers hovered above it.
Then he touched it.
He looked at the dashboard.
A digital screen illuminated.
No ignition.
No music.
No warning.
Only one message:
*WELCOME BACK.*
Marcus froze.
“You've seen this before.””
“The last time Marcus came here.””
Marcus turned.
“You saw this screen before?””
“What happened?””
“You sat exactly where you are sitting now.””
“What did I do?””
“You started crying.””
The words landed harder than a shout.
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“I don't cry.””
“You did.””
“You kept saying you couldn't remember.””
Marcus stared at the dashboard.
A small icon appeared.
A microphone.
Then a red recording symbol.
The old key fob in Marcus's pocket suddenly vibrated.
The light was flashing rapidly.
The car speakers crackled.
Static filled the showroom.
Everyone froze.
Then a voice came through.
A man's voice.
Deep.
Calm.
Faintly distorted.
Jordan whispered, “That's the owner.””
“If you're hearing this…”
Static.
A pause.
“…then you came back.””
The recording crackled again.
“You're going to ask Vanessa why she lied.””
Vanessa started shaking her head.
“And she's going to tell you she had no choice.””
Vanessa whispered, “Please.””
Marcus didn't look away from her.
The voice became clearer.
“But that's not the lie.””
The showroom went completely silent.
Jordan whispered, “Then what's the lie?””
The speakers crackled.
The voice answered.
“Vanessa wasn't the person sitting in the driver's seat.””
Vanessa suddenly screamed.
“No!””
Marcus turned toward her.
The recording continued.
“The person driving that night…”
Static swallowed the next words.
Marcus leaned closer to the dashboard.
The voice returned for one final sentence.
“…was standing behind you.””
Jordan's face went white.
Vanessa stared past Marcus.
Her eyes fixed on something behind him.
Marcus followed her gaze.
There was nobody there.
Only the showroom mirror.
And in its reflection, a Black American man stood directly behind Marcus.
Wearing the same dark work shirt.
The same faded jeans.
Marcus slowly looked down at himself.
Then back at the mirror.
The reflection smiled.
Marcus did not.
Chapter 10: The Man in the Mirror
Marcus turned slowly.
The space behind him was empty.
No man.
No movement.
Only the polished marble floor, the reception desk, and the rows of silent luxury cars.
Jordan stood near the rear of the vehicle, staring at Marcus as if he had stopped breathing.
Vanessa was pressed against the reception counter.
Her eyes remained fixed on the mirror.
Marcus looked back.
The reflection was still there.
The other Marcus stood exactly where the mirror had shown him.
Same shirt.
Same jeans.
Same boots.
Same face.
But there was one difference.
The reflection held something in its hand.
A phone.
Marcus slowly raised his own phone.
The reflection did the same.
Marcus lowered his phone.
The reflection didn't.
It stared at him.
Then the mirror flickered.
The image disappeared.
Marcus stood completely still.
Jordan finally whispered, “What did we just see?””
“You saw it too.””
“You know what that was.””
“Don't lie to me.””
Marcus stepped out of the car.
The dashboard immediately went dark.
The recording stopped.
Silence returned.
Then Marcus noticed something beneath the driver's seat.
A small black memory card.
He crouched and picked it up.
Marcus held it between two fingers.
“Maybe the answer.””
“You're afraid of a memory card?””
“I know what's on it.””
“Then tell me.””
She wiped her eyes.
“You came here three months ago because you already knew.””
“Knew what?””
“That the owner wasn't dead.””
“He wasn't dead when you came here.””