The Voice Inside His Skin
1416 Words
Ryan felt the change before he heard it.
He was halfway up the basement stairs when his left hand curled into a fist on its own. Not a spasm—a deliberate movement, slow and controlled, like someone else was testing his fingers.
He stopped. Stared at his hand.
"Ryan?" Nelson called from the top of the stairs. "You coming?"
Ryan forced his fingers open. They obeyed.
"Yeah. Coming."
He climbed the rest of the way, but his hand kept twitching. And deep in his chest, something that wasn't his heartbeat pulsed once.
Then stopped.
---
The warehouse was full of new arrivals.
The translucent figures—the survivors from the antique shop mirror—huddled in one corner, their soft light casting pale shadows on the walls. Sarah moved among them, her silver-lined hands gentle.
"They're scared," she said when Ryan approached. "They've been trapped for years. Decades. Some of them don't remember their names."
"Can they speak?"
"A few. Most just... hum. The sound you heard in the shop."
Ryan walked to the nearest figure—a woman, maybe thirty, her face frozen in an expression of confusion. She looked at him with eyes that weren't quite solid.
"Can you hear me?"
The woman nodded.
"Do you remember your name?"
She opened her mouth. A hum came out—not words, but emotion. Fear. Hope. Gratitude.
"She's trying," Sarah said. "Give her time."
"We don't have time. The remnant is still inside me. And now there's something else."
Sarah's eyes widened. "What?"
Ryan held up his left hand. The fingers twitched again.
"Something is moving in my body. Not the remnant. Something older."
---
Thorne ran scans for three hours.
The monitors showed Ryan's brain activity—normal, for him. His heart rate—elevated. His silver lines—stable.
But there was something else. A second pulse, faint but present, running parallel to his own.
"It's not in your brain," Thorne said. "It's in your nervous system. Your peripheral nerves."
"What does that mean?"
"It means whatever is inside you isn't trying to control your mind. It's trying to control your body."
Ryan looked at his left hand. The fingers were still now.
"The first anchor bearer. He said he refused to fade. What if he didn't just leave a memory? What if he left a piece of himself?"
"The old man in the void?"
"Yes."
Thorne leaned back. "If that's true, he's been dormant in your nervous system for months. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for you to be strong enough to host him."
---
The ancient woman appeared in the lab mirror.
Her face was tight, her dark eyes flickering. "You figured it out."
"The first anchor bearer is inside me."
"He's been inside every anchor bearer since he died. He's the reason the bloodline survived. He's the reason you exist."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you weren't ready. And now he's waking up."
Ryan pressed his palm against the glass. "Can I talk to him?"
"He can hear you. Whether he answers is up to him."
Ryan closed his eyes.
"Old man. I know you're in there. Come out."
Silence.
Then his left hand raised itself—slowly, deliberately—and pressed against the mirror next to his right.
"I'm here," a voice said. Not out loud. Inside his skull. Old. Tired. "I've always been here."
"Why now?"
"Because the remnant almost killed you. I couldn't let that happen. You're the last anchor bearer. If you die, the bloodline ends."
"Then help me."
"I am helping you. I'm keeping your body alive while your mind fights."
Ryan opened his eyes. His left hand was still pressed against the mirror.
"Can you control me?"
"Only when you let me. Only when you're too weak to fight."
"Then stay dormant. I don't need a puppet master."
The old man laughed—a dry, brittle sound.
"You need something. The remnant is still inside you. It's just hiding."
"I know."
"When it comes back—and it will—you'll need me."
"I'll take that risk."
Ryan pulled his left hand away from the mirror.
The presence retreated.
---
Nelson found Ryan in the warehouse that evening, standing among the translucent figures.
"You're different again."
"I'm always different."
"You know what I mean." Nelson walked up beside him. "The old man. Can you feel him?"
"Sometimes. When I'm tired. When I let my guard down."
"Does he want to take over?"
"No. He wants to help. But his idea of helping isn't the same as mine."
"What does he want?"
Ryan looked at his hands. "He wants to destroy the echo dimension. Permanently. Every reflection. Every mirror. Every surface."
"That would kill the echoes."
"And the survivors. The ones without bodies. The ones hiding in mirrors." Ryan pointed at the translucent figures. "Them."
Nelson was quiet for a moment. "That's not help. That's genocide."
"Tell him that."
---
Elena approached Ryan in the main room.
Mira was awake, her silver eyes fixed on Ryan's face. The baby didn't cry when she looked at him—just stared, like she was reading something written on his skin.
"She knows you're different," Elena said.
"Everyone knows."
"Not like this." Elena shifted Mira to her other arm. "The baby can see things we can't. She's been looking at your left hand for days."
Ryan looked at his hand. It was still.
"What does she see?"
"Another hand. Inside yours. Older. Greyer." Elena's voice dropped. "Ryan, is someone else living in your body?"
Ryan didn't answer.
---
The basement mirror stayed dark for three days.
Ryan checked it every hour, but the glass showed only his own tired face. No cracks. No silver light. No whispers.
The remnant was hiding.
That made it more dangerous.
Thorne increased his medication—the amber suppressant that kept the anchor stable. The side effects were worse now. Hallucinations. Memory loss. He'd forgotten Isabel's name twice.
Nelson started sleeping in the same room, watching for seizures.
"You're burning out," Nelson said.
"I'm surviving."
"That's not the same thing."
Ryan sat on his cot, his silver-lined hands folded in his lap. "The old man wants me to destroy the echo dimension. Every reflection. Every mirror."
"That would kill the echoes. Sarah. The survivors."
"I know."
"Are you considering it?"
Ryan looked at his hands. "I'm considering everything."
---
The translucent figures learned to speak.
One of them—the woman who couldn't remember her name—formed her first word that morning. Her mouth moved, her throat hummed, and then: "Mary."
Ryan knelt in front of her. "Mary?"
She nodded. Tears—real tears, translucent but real—ran down her cheeks.
"I remember," she whispered.
Sarah touched Mary's shoulder. "You're real again."
"I was always real. I just forgot."
The other figures gathered around, their soft lights brightening. They started humming together—not a mournful sound, but a hopeful one. A song.
Ryan stood and walked to the corner of the warehouse. His eyes burned.
"Ryan?" Nelson followed him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything." Ryan wiped his eyes. "They're becoming people again. And I'm becoming a monster."
"You're not a monster."
"The old man wants me to kill them."
"You're not going to."
"I don't know what I'm going to do."
---
The basement mirror cracked at 3:17 AM.
Ryan was already there, sitting on the floor, watching the glass. The crack spread slowly, silver light leaking through.
"You're still afraid," the remnant whispered.
"I'm always afraid."
"Good. Fear feeds me."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you running?"
Ryan stood up. He pressed his palm against the glass.
"Because I'm done running. And I'm done fighting. I'm going to sit here, in front of you, every night, until you starve."
"You'll starve first."
"Maybe. But I'm stubborn."
The remnant was silent.
Ryan sat back down.
---
Nelson found him there at dawn.
"You've been down here all night."
"The remnant was talking."
"What did it say?"
"That I'm going to starve before it does."
Nelson sat beside him. "Is it right?"
Ryan looked at his hands. The silver lines were thinner now—fading from lack of use.
"Maybe. But I'm not giving up."
The basement mirror was dark.
Behind them, the stairs creaked.
Ryan turned.
No one was there.
But his reflection in the dark glass—the one that should have been sitting beside him—was standing at the top of the stairs.
Watching.
Waiting.
And smiling.
- Writer
