Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Mirror
The truck came to a halt sideways across both lanes of the abandoned highway. The engine idled with a low, rumbling growl.
Roger stared out the passenger window at the mangled wreckage in the ravine. It was an expensive, late-model SUV, completely crushed like an aluminum soda can.
He looked back at the dashboard. The silver bracelet sat there, reflecting the green glow of the console. He looked at Thomas.
"Where did you get this?" Roger’s voice was dangerously low, trembling with a volatile mix of grief and escalating fury. "This belonged to my wife. She died five years ago in a hospital bed. Where did you get this?!"
Thomas didn't flinch. "We found it in the house, Roger. The house we bought four years ago. The one you abandoned."
Roger stared at him, his mind struggling to process the information. "You... you bought my house?"
"We wanted a quiet place," Sarah’s voice came from the darkness of the sleeper berth. It was the first time she had spoken, and her tone was flat, devoid of human inflection. "A place with a garden. A place where nobody would look for us."
"Look for you? Who the hell is looking for you?" Roger demanded, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I don't care what kind of game you're playing. I'm calling the state police."
"No!" Thomas lunged across the seat, grabbing Roger’s wrist.
This time, the illusion broke. Thomas’s hand wasn't just cold—it was wet with a sticky, dark fluid. Roger looked down. Fresh, thick blood was pouring from Thomas’s shredded fingers, staining Roger’s jacket. But Thomas didn't seem to feel the pain.
"If the police come, they will look in the trunk of that car," Thomas whispered, pointing a trembling finger toward the wreckage in the ravine. "And if they look in the trunk, they will find the real us."
Roger’s breath caught in his throat. He looked from Thomas to the little boy, Leo, who was staring at him with wide, dead eyes.
Suddenly, the truck’s CB radio hissed to life, static cutting through the tension like a knife.
“...break... break... anyone on Route 9... watch out for... male suspect... armed and dangerous... escaped custody...”
Through the static, a second voice broke through the radio frequency—a voice that made Roger’s entire body go numb. It was soft, scratchy, and unmistakably female.
“Roger? Roger, honey, are you there? You need to get out of the truck, Roger. They aren't who you think they are.”
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It was Helen.
The Hook: Before Roger could even scream, the headlights of a vehicle appeared in his rearview mirror. A lone black police cruiser was driving slowly down the closed highway, its red and blue lights silent, dark, and predatory. And the man sitting in the driver's seat of that cruiser had the exact same face as Thomas.
