Withering Reflection

The city was drowning in rain. Streetlights flickered like distant memories, casting dim pools of gold onto the slick, wet pavement. Eve Calloway stood alone in the alley, staring down at the body of a woman in her twenties. The victim's pale skin was a stark contrast to the dark smear of blood pooling beneath her, painting the concrete a deep, sinister red. A shallow cut ran across the woman's throat, the kind that could’ve been done with surgical precision, swift and practiced. The message carved into her chest made Eve’s stomach drop. "We see what we are made to see." She squatted down, inspecting the lines, her fingers twitching, just barely touching the skin. There was something about this particular crime scene that gnawed at her—something in the air that felt… wrong. Her heartbeat thrummed against her ribs, louder than the pattering of the rain. She couldn’t place it. Something about the wound, the meticulousness of the cut, felt familiar. Jonah, her partner, jogged into the scene, his heavy boots slapping against the wet ground. He cursed under his breath, standing next to her. "Third victim this month, same signature. Looks like our guy." She nodded, but her mind was somewhere else. She couldn’t shake the sensation that she knew this. That she had seen it before. The cool bite of dread coiled around her neck like an invisible hand, tightening. Jonah squatted next to her, inspecting the body, before meeting her eyes. "Something’s bothering you?" Her fingers hovered over the incision in the woman’s throat, but she quickly pulled away, the sensation of blood still tingling under her skin. "No," she whispered, though the word felt hollow in her mouth. "Just… the message." Before Jonah could say anything, a figure appeared behind them—tall, precise, like a shadow that moved too deliberately in the night. Victor Hale, the forensic psychologist, arrived at the scene. He barely glanced at the body. Instead, his dark eyes found Eve’s, locking onto her with unsettling intensity. "This unsettles you more than the others," he said softly, his voice low but firm, cutting through the rain-soaked silence. Eve straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze, but the words felt strange on her tongue. "Every murder unsettles me." Victor’s lips twitched into the slightest smile. "No," he murmured, his gaze trailing from her face to the victim’s body, before returning to her. "Not like this." His words slithered through her, crawling under her skin in a way she couldn’t explain. Eve swallowed hard, blinking away a flash of discomfort. There was something about him—the way he watched her, the way he spoke—that made her feel… exposed. Not just to him, but to everything around her. His gaze felt invasive, peeling back layers of her mind she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see. "Have you ever wondered," he continued, taking a slow step forward, "whether we are truly in control of our actions?" She frowned. "What are you talking about?" Victor took another step, closing the distance between them. The rain continued to fall, but it felt colder now, like the air had thickened. He was too close. Eve instinctively took a half-step back, but he moved with her, his presence looming over her. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "we think we’re the ones making decisions. But I wonder... what if we’re simply moved by something else? Something older. Something that doesn’t belong to us." His words sank into the air, heavy and dark, leaving an unsettling silence in their wake. Eve wanted to dismiss him, to brush off his cryptic nonsense. But she couldn’t. Not when the feeling in her chest was tightening, not when her pulse was hammering in her ears. Jonah shot a look at her, clearly uncomfortable with Victor’s closeness. He shifted on his feet, but Victor didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at Eve, his gaze piercing her like a needle. "Do you believe in fate, Detective Calloway?" he asked, his voice quiet, as if he were speaking only to her. "Or do you think you choose the path you walk?" Eve swallowed, her throat dry. "I believe in choices." Victor tilted his head, as though savoring her answer. "Interesting," he said softly. "You may want to rethink that." She felt a shiver run down her spine as he turned, his attention now fully on the body. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from him—his deliberate movements, the way his fingers almost caressed the edges of the victim’s wound, like he was savoring the tragedy of it. The sound of his voice pulled her back into reality. "You know, Detective… I don’t think this killer is as far removed from us as we think." Eve opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The flash of memory hit her again—sharp, violent. Blood under her nails, the sensation of something heavy in her hand. She blinked, shaking her head as if the memory would disappear. It was there, and then it wasn’t. Jonah, sensing her distraction, nudged her. "You okay?" "Yeah," she muttered, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to her own ears. She glanced at Victor, but he was already walking away. "I’ll… take a closer look at the evidence," she said, her voice tight. Victor’s smile lingered on his lips as he glanced back over his shoulder. "Of course," he said, his voice soft, almost too soft. "But be careful, Eve. The truth can be more dangerous than the lies." Eve stood there for a moment, the words sinking deep. What was he playing at? As the rain continued to pour, she turned back to the body. The message carved into the chest caught her eye again. "We see what we are made to see." Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t remember seeing that message before, but somehow… it felt as if it had always been there.