Chapter 3
1618 Words
The wind coming off Lake Michigan felt colder than the rest of the city, sharp enough to sting Daniel’s cheeks as he walked. The air carried that metallic tang of water and concrete—a scent that told him he was close.
Lakeside Storage sat wedged between an old warehouse and a defunct boat-repair shop. The building was three stories of faded teal metal panels, the kind that had once been bright but were now stained by decades of salt, wind, and industrial grime. A row of storage units stretched along the side like boxy ribs.
Daniel stopped across the street and studied the place.
A chain-link fence wrapped the perimeter, topped with the kind of half-rusted barbed wire that looked more threatening by appearance than functionality. A keypad stood at the gate.
“Great,” he muttered. “Please tell me Past Me left a code.”
He dug the sticky note from his pocket.
The yellow square had softened from handling. Ink smudges blurred the corners. But the essentials held steady:
Lakeside Storage – Unit 317
Do NOT call the police.
Trust nothing with a badge.
72 hours missing. Not an accident.
No keypad code. No hint. Nothing helpful.
Daniel rubbed his forehead. “Thanks, Past Me.”
A bus rumbled past behind him, brakes squealing. Pigeons scattered. The city felt normal in every direction except the one he stood facing.
Storage buildings had always unnerved him—something about the rows of metal doors, each one hiding a piece of someone’s life in darkness.
He crossed the street.
A delivery van pulled away from the curb just as he approached, leaving the driveway clear. The gate loomed closer. He paused before the keypad.
A camera was mounted above it.
Black lens.
No red light.
Watching or broken—hard to tell.
If security footage didn’t pick up his presence like the apartment building’s cameras… he might not show up on this one either.
He pressed his fingers onto the metal bars of the gate—no buzz, no shock.
Then, wanting to confirm a suspicion, he stepped directly in front of the camera and waved.
No response. No movement from inside. No alert.
But something far more telling:
The camera cast a faint shadow on the ground from the weak morning sun.
Daniel’s body didn’t block it.
He stepped to the left.
Then right.
The camera’s shadow stayed the same—no interruption where his silhouette should have cut through.
Daniel exhaled shakily.
“Okay. So cameras definitely can’t see me.”
Useful.
Terrifying.
He pressed the keypad buttons at random—4—1—8—9—Enter.
The gate buzzed.
He froze.
“…Seriously?”
He hadn’t expected that. He tried another random code. Buzz.
Another. Buzz.
The keypad wasn’t rejecting anything.
The gate was unlocked.
Or the system was broken.
Or someone had deliberately disabled it.
He pushed the gate inward. It groaned open reluctantly, metal dragging across cold ground.
Inside, the air felt different. Still. Heavy. As if the building exhaled cold storage breath.
Rows of units lined both sides. Numbers stenciled in white: 301… 302… 303…
He walked.
The gravel crunched under his shoes. His breath fogged and drifted behind him. Somewhere above, a seagull screeched—a sound warped by echo until it resembled a woman calling out.
317 sat near the back, tucked into a corner beneath a sagging security light.
The unit’s door was like the others—corrugated metal, painted dull blue. A metal latch bracketed the side where a lock could go, but no lock hung from it.
Daniel stared at the empty bracket.
Unlocked.
He touched the latch gently.
It was cold enough to numb his fingertips.
“Moment of truth,” he murmured.
He pulled.
The door jerked upward with a metallic screech, then rolled open faster than he expected. Dust puffed out in a pale cloud.
Inside was darkness.
Not complete darkness—striped sunlight cut through the door opening and fell across a concrete floor. A single hanging bulb dangled from the ceiling, its cord swaying slightly as if disturbed moments earlier.
Daniel stepped inside.
The unit’s interior smelled faintly of dust, metal, and something else—something chemical and sharp, like disinfectant.
Against the back wall sat:
A folding table.
A plastic storage bin.
A cardboard box.
A duffel bag.
And a laptop.
A laptop.
His laptop.
He recognized the dent in the corner of the lid, the result of dropping it during a coding binge two months earlier. Relief hit him so sharply he felt dizzy.
He crossed the unit and touched it.
Warm.
Not ambiently warm.
Recently used warm.
His stomach tightened.
He glanced toward the entrance. Empty. Still. No footsteps.
He opened the laptop.
It hummed awake instantly—no password screen, no login delay. A single text document occupied the center of the desktop.
Titled: READ ME FIRST
Daniel clicked it.
The document loaded immediately.
There were two lines at the top, bolded:
If you’re reading this, you made it to the right unit.
You don’t have much time.
A chill crawled across Daniel’s skin.
He scrolled.
More text.
All written in his handwriting.
Thursday – 11:46 PM
Someone knocked at the door. I thought it was Travis or a delivery mix-up.
It wasn’t.
I can’t remember what happened after I opened it, but I need to record this now while the memory is still half-intact. Something hit me. Hard. Not a person. A SOUND.
More later.
Friday – 2:10 AM
I’m awake—barely. They didn’t take my laptop. Maybe they didn’t see it.
I heard voices. Not English. Not anything.
Can’t call anyone. If the police show up, they’ll see it. Not me.
There’s something wrong with how I appear on cameras.
Friday – 9:22 PM
I went back to the apartment. Mistake.
They’re cleaning it out.
Not stealing—erasing.
I only got these few things before they returned.
I’m setting up this unit as a fallback location.
Saturday – 4:03 PM
I found something. I don’t understand it yet, but—
…
(the text here was smeared, unreadable)
Sunday – 6:40 AM
If you’re reading this, memory transfer failed.
You don’t remember the last seventy-two hours.
That means the device didn’t hold and the side effect hit.
You MUST get out of Chicago.
They’re tracking anomalies now.
You’re one of them.
Whatever you do:
Don’t let anyone in a black coat get close to you.
DON’T trust your reflection.
DON’T trust the cameras.
DON’T trust your memory.
Go to the duffel bag.
Don’t hesitate this time.
Daniel’s breath hitched.
“Memory transfer… failed?”
He scrolled again, but the document ended there.
He lifted his head slowly.
The storage unit felt smaller.
Tighter.
The shadows in the corners too deep.
A black coat.
He remembered the man outside the office building hours earlier.
Calm voice.
Curious eyes.
And behind his reflection—nothing.
Daniel closed the laptop with a shaky hand.
He turned toward the duffel bag in the corner.
It was old, canvas, gray. The zipper half-open.
He knelt and opened it fully.
Inside:
A prepaid flip phone.
A USB drive.
A roll of cash—twenties, fifties, hundreds.
A train schedule.
And—
A small black device that looked like a cross between a hearing aid and a metal beetle.
He picked it up.
It hummed faintly.
A thin line of text was scratched onto its underside in messy handwriting:
DON’T USE UNTIL YOU’RE OUT.
His vision blurred for a moment. He steadied himself against the concrete.
Every instinct in his body screamed that he needed to leave immediately.
But he forced himself to glance at the cardboard box.
Inside were papers—printouts, maps, photos.
The top photo made his blood halt.
A picture of him.
Standing in a street.
Looking over his shoulder.
Taken from a distance.
Behind him, half-hidden by the blur of motion—
A figure in a black coat.
The same height.
Same build.
Same face.
Daniel stared.
It wasn’t a lookalike.
It wasn’t a trick of the light.
It was him.
Except the other Daniel was looking at the camera.
Directly.
Smiling.
Daniel staggered back and nearly hit the table.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Behind him, something metallic creaked—too quiet to identify but unmistakably nearby.
He spun around.
The storage unit’s doorway was still open.
But the security light above it flickered once.
Twice.
Then switched off.
Plunging everything outside the unit into gray-blue shadow.
Daniel forced air into his lungs.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Time to go. Time to go right now.”
He stuffed the device, the phone, the cash, and the USB drive into the duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, grabbed the laptop under his arm, and moved to the exit.
He stepped out.
The row of storage units stretched silent and still.
The wind had stopped.
A soft tap echoed down the concrete corridor.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Coming closer.
Daniel froze.
Then another sound—
A voice.
Low.
Calm.
Too close.
“Daniel,” it said, as if speaking to an old friend. “You made it.”
His stomach dropped.
He knew that voice.
He had heard it hours earlier outside the office building.
He turned.
A figure in a black coat stepped out from behind unit 315.
Tall.
Composed.
Eyes cold.
And smiling—
exactly the same smile as in the photograph.
Daniel’s breath stopped.
Because the face looking at him…
was his own.
His perfect double tilted his head.
“You’re late,” the other Daniel said softly.
“Let’s go home.”
- Writer
