THE MEMORY HE DOESN’T REMEMBER HAVING
600 Words
Kevin doesn’t remember drifting back to sleep.
One moment he’s standing in front of Detective Rowan, heart clawing at his ribs—
and the next, he’s on the floor of his living room, cheek pressed against cold wood, breath fogging in the early light.
He sits up slowly.
His skull throbs. His vision swims. His throat tastes like copper and old panic.
He checks the time.
9:47 A.M.
He lost hours.
And for a man terrified of his own mind, nothing is worse than missing time.
He pushes himself onto the couch, rubbing the ache in his temples. His phone is buzzing—notifications stacked from Liam, Rowan, his editor… and one unfamiliar number.
But before he can touch the screen, something catches his eye.
The bathroom door.
Open.
He always closes it.
His heartbeat stutters.
He rises, feet dragging, moving as if the air itself is resisting him. The apartment feels wrong again—tilted, stretched, like reality shifted while he slept.
He stops at the bathroom doorway.
And freezes.
The mirror is different.
Not cracked.
Not fogged.
Not rippling.
Just wrong.
A faint shape stains the glass—
like someone pressed their forehead and hands against it from the inside.
Kevin’s breath shudders out.
He lifts his hand and touches the glass.
It’s cold. Too cold.
Like winter trapped under his skin.
And then—
A flash.
Not a vision.
Not a hallucination.
A memory.
Something he hasn’t remembered in years—
He’s small.
Bare feet on a motel floor.
Liam shouting outside the bathroom.
Kevin staring at this same shape on a mirror—
hands, a head, a blurred outline like someone drowning behind the glass.
He gasps and rips his hand away.
“What the hell…”
The memory slips away just as quickly as it came, but it leaves behind a rising nausea—
because his childhood is a puzzle missing half its pieces.
And whatever happened in that motel…
he didn’t forget it.
Someone made him forget.
A soft vibration buzzes in his hand.
His phone.
One new text from the unknown number:
“DID YOU SEE IT AGAIN?”
Kevin’s skin prickles.
His fingers shake as he types back:
Who is this?
The response comes instantly:
“YOU SAW IT BEFORE. YOU JUST DON’T REMEMBER.”
His mouth goes dry.
Another text arrives:
“CHECK THE WINDOW.”
He turns slowly toward the living room window.
For a moment—
nothing.
Just the city.
Cars.
Light.
Normal.
Then his reflection appears.
But it’s not him.
It’s older than him.
Thinner.
Hollow-eyed.
Wearing the same shirt he saw in last night’s vision, the one standing in the hospital corridor.
And the reflection lifts a hand—
not to tap—
not to wave—
but to press one finger against its lips.
A silent command.
Kevin’s lungs lock.
“Why?” he whispers.
Behind him, the phone vibrates again.
“DON’T TELL THE DETECTIVE.”
Kevin looks back at the reflection—
but it’s gone.
Replaced by his own face, pale and trembling.
His stomach drops.
Whoever is texting him…
whoever knows about the motel…
whoever warned him…
They know Rowan.
They know the mirror.
And worst of all—
They know him.
He sinks onto the couch, chest tight, mind spinning.
For the first time, he says the thing he’s been terrified to admit:
“Someone else sees the mirror.”
But the truth hits him harder—
“Someone else remembers what happened to me.”
And maybe…
maybe the reflection isn’t just warning him.
Maybe it’s trying to make him remember.
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