Reflections of the Damned

The Keeper of Secrets

The walk back to the apartment building felt heavier than before. The city's warped streets pressed in on Lara like a suffocating labyrinth, the echo of the man's voice still lingering in her ears: "You'll regret that. But I'm patient. I'll wait."

She entered the building, its lobby dimmer than she remembered, the shadows stretching unnaturally along the cracked marble tiles. Her eyes flicked to the staircase. She wasn't ready to go back to her apartment yet—not after the smudged handprints and the voice pretending to be Victor.

Instead, she turned to the second floor.

Margot's door was cracked open, just enough to reveal a sliver of the dark apartment beyond. The faint scent of jasmine incense wafted out, mingling with the metallic tang that seemed to permeate the entire building.

"Margot?" Lara called softly, pushing the door open further.

Inside, Margot sat cross-legged on a velvet chaise lounge, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. Her dark green eyes snapped to Lara, sharp and expectant.

"You saw him," Margot said, exhaling a plume of smoke. It wasn't a question.

Lara froze in the doorway. "How did you—"

"Sit," Margot interrupted, gesturing to the chair across from her. "We have a lot to discuss."

Lara hesitated before stepping into the apartment, shutting the door softly behind her. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly over the windows. Candles flickered on the shelves, casting dancing shadows across walls lined with books and strange trinkets.

"He was in the park," Lara began, her voice trembling as she sat down. "He knew my name. He… he wanted me to let him in."

Margot's expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That wasn't a man," she said flatly. "That was the City's envoy."

"The City?" Lara repeated, confusion and fear swirling in her chest.

Margot leaned forward, her voice low. "This place, this city—it isn't like other places. It's alive, in its own way. It feeds on people like you, like me. People who notice too much."

Lara's mind raced. "You've said that before, but what does it mean? Why does it care if I notice things?"

Margot stubbed out her cigarette, her movements sharp. "Because noticing makes you dangerous. It starts small—seeing faces that aren't quite right, hearing whispers in the dark. But the more you notice, the more cracks you find. And the more cracks you find, the harder it is for the City to hold its shape."

"So, it replaces people," Lara murmured, piecing together the fragments of Margot's earlier warnings.

Margot nodded. "Yes. It uses reflections—fractured, twisted versions of us—to maintain control. And the envoy is the one who decides when it's time to replace you."

Lara shivered, her fingers gripping the edges of her chair. "He said he'd wait. What does that mean?"

Margot's gaze softened slightly. "It means you still have time. But not much."

Lara leaned forward, her voice urgent. "And what about Victor? I called him this morning, but… it wasn't him. At least, not completely. He said things that didn't make sense, like he was trying to mimic him but didn't know enough."

Margot's eyes narrowed. "You called him? After I warned you not to trust anyone?"

"I had to know!" Lara snapped. "What if it was him? What if he needed help?"

Margot sighed, rubbing her temples. "Lara, the reflections don't just take over all at once. They're cunning. They mimic us, learn our routines, our speech patterns. They get closer and closer until they're indistinguishable. By the time you realize what's happened, it's already too late."

Lara's stomach churned. "So you're saying he's… he's becoming one of them?"

"Maybe," Margot admitted. "Maybe not. But if the cracks are showing in him, you need to be careful. Even if he's still himself now, he won't be for long."

Lara's mind swirled with questions, but one stood out above the rest. "How do I stop it? How do I stop any of this?"

Margot stood, moving to a small cabinet in the corner of the room. She opened it carefully, revealing an assortment of strange objects: vials of dark liquid, dried herbs, a pocket mirror with its glass shattered. She pulled out a small, tarnished key and handed it to Lara.

"This won't solve everything," Margot said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "But it's a start."

Lara turned the key over in her hand. It felt cold, heavier than it should have been. "What does it open?"

Margot's lips curled into a faint smile. "That depends on where you use it. It's not meant for just any door—it's meant for the right one."

"What does that even mean?" Lara asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

"You'll know when you see it," Margot replied cryptically. "But be warned: using it will bring you closer to the City's heart. The envoy will try to stop you. And once you open that door, there's no going back."

Lara stared at the key, her thoughts a tangled mess of fear and determination. She didn't know if she trusted Margot, but at this point, she didn't have much of a choice.

Lara stood outside Victor's apartment door, the air in the hallway heavy and charged. Beside her, Margot leaned casually against the wall, but her sharp green eyes betrayed a tension that matched Lara's own.

"You're sure about this?" Margot asked, her voice low and steady.

Lara clutched the tarnished key Margot had given her, its cold weight grounding her. "I have to know. If it's really him, he deserves a chance. If it's not…"

Margot smirked faintly. "Then we'll deal with it."

Lara wasn't sure what "deal with it" meant, but the thought sent a chill through her. Taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked on Victor's door.

The door opened almost immediately, and Victor stood before them, his sandy blond hair slightly mussed, his hoodie unzipped over a plain T-shirt. His expression flickered between confusion and warmth as he saw Lara.

"Lara," he said, his voice laced with surprise. "What are you doing here? And…" His eyes shifted to Margot, narrowing slightly. "You brought company."

"Hi, Victor," Lara said cautiously. "Can we come in? There's something we need to talk about."

Victor hesitated, glancing between the two women. "Uh, yeah, sure. Come on in."

The apartment looked normal enough—Victor's usual mess of half-read books, empty coffee mugs, and the faint smell of pine air freshener. But there was something off, something Lara couldn't put her finger on.

Margot stepped in behind her, her movements fluid and deliberate. Her gaze swept the room, lingering on the shadows in the corners and the faint smudges on the windows.

"So, what's this about?" Victor asked, sitting on the edge of his couch and leaning forward. His eyes met Lara's, and for a moment, she almost believed everything was fine.

Almost.

Lara took a step closer, her fingers tightening around the key in her pocket. "Victor… can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said easily, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Last week," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "at the diner. What did we talk about?"

Victor's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second. "Lara, we already went over this on the phone. We talked about work stuff. Why are you asking me again?"

"That's not what happened," Lara said firmly. "We didn't go to the diner last week. We haven't been there in months."

Victor's expression shifted, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about? Of course we went to the diner. You're just… you're just tired, Lara. You're not thinking straight."

Lara's heart raced. His words were smooth, rehearsed, but the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

Margot stepped forward, her presence sharp and commanding. "Lara, ask him something only Victor would know. Something personal."

Lara swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Victor," she said carefully, "what's the name of the dog you had as a kid? The one you told me about?"

Victor's face went blank for a moment, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. "Uh… it was… Max, right? Or, no, Rex? Something like that."

Lara's stomach dropped. "It was Charlie," she whispered.

Victor's face twisted, his features flickering unnaturally for the briefest moment. His smile returned, wider and more forced than before. "Lara, this is ridiculous. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you're not him," Lara said, her voice shaking but resolute.

Margot moved closer, her sharp gaze fixed on Victor. "Whatever you are," she said coldly, "you're not going to keep pretending. Show us your real face."

Victor laughed, the sound low and distorted. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" he said, his voice deepening unnaturally. "But it doesn't matter. You can't stop this."

His body began to change. His features blurred and twisted, his form stretching and contorting as though his skin were melting. His eyes grew dark, void-like, and his mouth split into an impossibly wide grin.

Lara stumbled backward, her heart pounding as the creature that had once been Victor stood before her, its elongated limbs quivering with unnatural energy.

Margot didn't flinch. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with a dark liquid. "Lara," she said calmly, "get behind me."

Lara obeyed, her entire body trembling as she clutched the key tightly. The creature hissed, its voice a warped mockery of Victor's. "You can't fight me," it snarled. "This place belongs to us. You belong to us."

"Not today," Margot shot back. She hurled the vial at the creature, the glass shattering against its chest. The liquid inside hissed and sizzled as it made contact, and the creature let out an ear-piercing shriek.

It stumbled backward, its form flickering and writhing before collapsing into a dark, smoky mass that dissipated into the shadows.

The room fell silent.

Lara stared at the empty space where Victor—or whatever it had become—had stood. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her hands shaking violently.

Margot turned to her, her expression unreadable. "That wasn't Victor," she said softly. "Not anymore."

Lara felt tears prick at her eyes. "What happened to him?"

Margot placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's gone, Lara. The reflection took his place."

"But I talked to him just yesterday," Lara said, her voice cracking. "He was still him then."

Margot nodded grimly. "That's how it works. It happens slowly, piece by piece, until there's nothing left of the original."

Lara sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. The key in her pocket felt heavier than ever.