Chapter 24: The Family Curse
985 Words
The silence between Camille and Marcus was louder than the storm outside.
Rain clawed at the windows of his apartment, and thunder rolled like a warning. She sat on the edge of his couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, gaze unreadable.
“You saw her?” Camille’s voice was hollow, trembling. “The same woman? My face, my body... but not me?”
Marcus nodded slowly. “Yes. In the mirror, at first. Then in reflections. She’s always there, when you’re not. Watching.”
Camille swallowed, her pulse thudding in her ears. “How long?”
“Since before you came back.” He met her eyes. “But I didn’t say anything. I thought it was stress. Grief. I thought I was losing it.”
“You let me think I was losing it alone.”
“I didn’t know how to help,” he said, his voice cracking with regret. “And I didn’t want to scare you.”
“But you knew,” Camille whispered. “You knew something wasn’t right.”
Marcus turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s more than that, Cam. I think it’s... connected to Mom.”
That name felt like a punch to the gut.
Camille hadn’t spoken about their mother in years. Not since the accident. Not since the fire. She’d buried it, like Marcus had. Or tried to.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was barely a breath.
He opened a drawer and pulled out an old photo album—worn leather, stained edges. He flipped through the pages with shaking fingers until he reached one, and held it out to her.
It was a photograph from the 90s. Their mother stood in the garden, smiling with her head tilted slightly. Camille took the photo, and her breath stopped.
In the glass door behind their mother... there was a shadow. A blurred shape. A woman. Her outline eerily similar to Camille’s now.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s just a trick of the light—”
“It isn’t.” Marcus’s voice was quiet. “She used to say someone was watching her too. Said she had a double. A mirror woman. We thought she was sick. But maybe she wasn’t.”
Camille stood, her legs unsteady.
“She said it ran in the family. That obsession breeds it. That when you love too much, want too much, the mirror opens. And something looks back.”
The words sank into her like cold poison.
All her life, Camille had loved deeply. Obsessively. From her husband to Damien, Julian, Archer... each man had consumed her. Controlled her. She had tried to control them in return, feeding the hunger that now threatened to swallow her.
A hunger that maybe wasn’t just hers.
“What if she’s not just a hallucination?” Camille whispered. “What if she’s me... but without a soul?”
Marcus nodded. “Or worse. What if she’s everything you’ve denied? Everything you’ve hidden? And she wants your life?”
A knock on the door made them both freeze.
Three soft taps.
Then silence.
Marcus moved to the peephole and looked. His eyes widened. “No one’s there.”
Camille stood, her breath shallow, as the doorknob jiggled—slowly. Deliberately.
She grabbed Marcus’s wrist. “Don’t open it.”
He didn’t.
But a slip of paper slid under the door.
Camille picked it up with trembling fingers.
It was a photograph.
One she hadn’t taken.
It showed her—sleeping in her own bed last night. Alone.
Except... in the reflection of the mirror, she was standing up. Staring at herself.
“No,” she breathed. “This isn’t possible.”
Marcus took the photo and scanned it. “Whoever this is, she’s real.”
Camille’s stomach twisted. “Damien, Julian, and Archer... do you think any of them—”
“No,” Marcus said. “I checked. They were all in different places last night. I watched them.”
“You what?”
“I’ve been watching them for weeks, Camille. Ever since I saw her. I thought one of them might be triggering it. Maybe it’s tied to them. Maybe they’re feeding her.”
Camille staggered back.
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“Protecting you,” Marcus said darkly. “They’re dangerous. Every one of them. And you let them into your bed, into your mind—”
“You don’t get to judge me!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel hollow, to be discarded like garbage—”
“I know exactly what it’s like,” Marcus said, his voice hard. “But I don’t invite monsters into my life and call it love.”
Camille turned away, her hands shaking. The photo fell from her grasp.
“She’s inside now,” she whispered. “I feel her. In the corners of my eyes, in my dreams.”
“Then we find a way to stop her,” Marcus said.
“How?”
He reached into the photo album again and pulled out a page with an address written in their mother’s handwriting. Dorothy Lynn – Mirror Therapist.
“She went to see this woman. I found her notes, her appointment slips. This woman might know something.”
Camille took the address. Her fingers brushed Marcus’s, and for the first time in days, she felt grounded.
“I’ll go,” she said. “I need answers.”
“I’m coming with you.”
She nodded.
But as they stepped away from the door, Camille felt a chill on the back of her neck.
She turned.
The mirror across the room was cracked.
And in the sliver of glass that remained, her reflection smiled.
But she hadn’t.
- Writer
