Chapter 22 : The Man
**Chapter 22: The Man Who Shouldn't Exist**
The church felt different.
Daniel had spent years within these walls, breathing in the scent of old wood and incense, feeling the silent weight of faith pressing down on him. But now—now it felt hollow. The air was stale, like something had been drained from it.
Or maybe that was just him.
The police had let him go, but their eyes had lingered on him as he left the station. They didn't trust him. And why would they?
Even Daniel wasn't sure if he trusted himself anymore.
The murder. The missing diary. The man in the interrogation room.
> He's the one.
Those words haunted him.
Why would the suspect say that? Was he lying? Or did he truly believe it?
Daniel had to know.
He had to find something—anything—to prove that this wasn't just in his head.
He turned toward the confessional booth, hesitating for only a moment before stepping inside.
The wooden walls felt suffocating. The silence wrapped around him.
He ran his fingers along the seat, the grain of the wood rough beneath his touch. There had to be something here. Some proof. Some remnant of what had happened.
And then—his fingers brushed against something.
A slip of paper.
Daniel's pulse quickened as he pulled it free. The edges were crumpled, as if someone had clenched it tightly before shoving it into the corner.
There were only three words, written in his own handwriting.
> Don't trust him.
His breath hitched.
Who had written this? When had he written this?
A soft creak echoed outside.
Daniel tensed.
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured.
Someone was in the church.
And they weren't supposed to be.
---
**The Visitor Who Knows Too Much**
Daniel stepped out of the booth, his eyes scanning the dimly lit church.
The candles flickered, their flames trembling.
A figure stood near the entrance.
A man—tall, dressed in a dark coat. His face was turned slightly away, obscured by the dim lighting.
But something about him felt familiar.
Daniel's throat tightened.
"Who are you?"
The man turned slowly.
His features came into focus.
Daniel's stomach dropped.
He knew this man.
But he didn't know how.
The stranger smiled—a small, knowing smile.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Daniel took a step back. "Should I?"
The man tilted his head slightly. "You should."
The way he said it—the certainty in his voice—it sent a shiver down Daniel's spine.
"I don't have time for riddles," Daniel said, his voice steady despite the unease curling in his chest.
The stranger chuckled softly. "No, I suppose you don't."
He reached into his coat pocket.
Daniel tensed, his body instinctively preparing for the worst.
But the man didn't pull out a weapon.
He pulled out a photograph.
And handed it to Daniel.
Daniel hesitated before taking it.
The moment his eyes landed on the image—his breath stopped.
It was a photo of him.
Standing outside the old chapel.
From three nights ago.
His mind reeled. He had never seen this photo before.
And yet—there he was.
The date was printed in the bottom corner. The timestamp read:
> 03:17 AM
But that was impossible.
At that exact time, Daniel had been asleep in his room.
Hadn't he?
His grip on the photo tightened. "Where did you get this?"
The man's smile didn't fade. "You left it for yourself."
Daniel's pulse thundered in his ears.
"What are you talking about?"
The man stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"They're erasing you, Daniel."
Daniel's blood turned to ice.
"What?"
"They already started," the man continued. "First, it's the small things—missing time, shifting memories. But soon, it'll be everything."
Daniel took a step back, his body screaming at him to run.
This wasn't real.
This couldn't be real.
He looked down at the photograph again.
And this time—his reflection in the photo wasn't looking at the camera.
It was looking at him.
Daniel's breath caught.
His vision blurred for a split second—
And when he looked up—
The man was gone.
---
**The Silence That Follows**
Daniel stood frozen in the empty church.
The photograph still trembled in his grip.
> They're erasing you, Daniel.
The words wouldn't leave his head.
He needed answers.
He needed proof.
His gaze fell to the note in his other hand.
> Don't trust him.
But who?
The man in the coat? The police? Himself?
Daniel exhaled shakily, forcing himself to think.
The diary had disappeared. The confession had changed. The evidence was shifting.
And now—a stranger had just vanished into thin air.
There was only one thing left to do.
He had to go back.
To the chapel.
To the place where the confession had started.
Because whatever was happening—
It had started there.
And it wasn't over.
Not yet.
---
**The Chapel That Doesn't Forget**
The chapel stood in silence.
The night was still, but something in the air felt wrong.
Daniel's shoes crunched against the damp gravel as he approached. The rain from earlier had left the ground soaked, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and old wood.
The door was slightly ajar.
Like someone had left it open for him.
His pulse quickened.
> No turning back now.
Daniel reached out and pushed the door open.
---
**The Chapel That Watches**
The moment he stepped inside, the air changed.
It was subtle—like a shift in pressure, a weight settling onto his shoulders. The candles lining the pews flickered, their flames stretching toward him as if recognizing his presence.
Daniel's gaze swept across the room.
It looked the same.
And yet—something was off.
The wooden pews, the altar, the faint scent of old incense—it was all familiar. But there was an unnatural stillness, as if the chapel were holding its breath.
His fingers tightened around the photograph in his pocket—the one the stranger had given him.
> You left it for yourself.
The timestamp burned into his vision. 03:17 AM.
What had he done at that time?
> Why don't I remember?
His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Slowly, he moved forward, his footsteps muffled against the stone floor. He had to find something. Anything.
And then—
A whisper.
Soft. Faint.
Coming from the confessional booth.
Daniel's breath caught.
> Not again.
But his feet carried him forward.
---
**The Voice That Shouldn't Exist**
The wooden door creaked as Daniel opened it.
The confessional was empty.
At least—at first.
Then—
A shadow.
Not moving. Not breathing.
Sitting in the exact spot where the confessor had been.
Daniel's blood ran cold.
For a split second—just one—he saw himself.
Seated. Hands folded.
Staring right at him.
Then—nothing.
The seat was empty again.
His body tensed, every nerve screaming at him to run.
Instead—he reached forward.
His fingers brushed against the wood of the seat.
Cold. Too cold.
And then—something moved beneath his fingertips.
Daniel yanked his hand back. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.
Slowly—hesitantly—he looked down.
A word had been carved into the seat.
One word.
> "REMEMBER."
Daniel's vision blurred.
Pain shot through his skull—sharp, blinding.
He staggered back, gripping the edge of the booth as his mind splintered.
---
**The Memory That Isn't His**
The world ripped apart.
Suddenly, Daniel wasn't in the chapel anymore.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere cold. Bright.
A hospital room.
The heart monitor beeped steadily. The IV dripped. The scent of antiseptic filled his lungs.
And beside him—
A woman.
Clipboard in hand. Watching him.
A familiar voice.
> "Welcome back, Mr. Wren."
Daniel's breath caught.
> No.
This wasn't happening.
He tried to move, but his limbs were sluggish. The restraints on his wrists and ankles were tight.
The woman's voice was too calm.
> "Let's begin."
The Fractured Eye symbol gleamed on her badge.
Daniel tried to fight it, to pull himself out of this—this hallucination, this lie—
But the room flickered.
And suddenly—he was back.
In the confessional.
Back in the chapel.
Gasping.
His head pounded.
What the hell was that?
Daniel staggered to his feet, gripping the wooden edge for support. His vision swam.
The chapel was still. Silent.
But something had changed.
Something was here.
Watching.
Waiting.
And Daniel wasn't alone anymore.
---
**The Shadow in the Pews**
A figure sat in the first pew.
Daniel's breath stopped.
Not the man from earlier.
Not the police.
Someone else.
Someone he should recognize.
The figure's head tilted slightly. "You don't look well, Father."
Daniel's chest tightened.
That voice.
He knew that voice.
But he didn't know how.
His fingers curled into fists. "Who are you?"
The man's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You tell me."
Daniel's stomach twisted.
> No. No, not again.
His head ached. The pounding behind his skull grew stronger.
A name floated to the surface of his mind.
A name he shouldn't know.
A name that had been buried.
His throat went dry.
"…Elias Wren."
The man's expression didn't change.
But his eyes—his hollow, empty eyes—seemed to darken.
And then—
He stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Stepping forward.
One step. Then another.
The air froze.
Daniel took a step back.
He shouldn't be here.
None of this should be happening.
And yet—
The man stopped inches away from him.
Then, softly, he spoke:
"You remember now."
Daniel's mind splintered.
And then—
Everything went black.
---
**The Fractured Reality**
Daniel awoke on the chapel floor.
His head throbbed. His pulse raced.
The figure was gone.
Had it even been real?
His fingers trembled as he pushed himself upright.
His gaze darted to the confessional.
The word was still there.
Carved into the wood.
> REMEMBER.
Daniel's breath came out shakily.
What was happening to him?
What was real?
He needed answers.
He needed proof.
And there was only one place left to look.
---
**The Decision That Will Change Everything**
Daniel stood, dusting off his coat.
His mind was clearer now.
There was one place left to find the truth.
The hospital.
The real Room 19.
He had to go back.
Because if Mnemosyne was still watching—
Then he wasn't just a witness anymore.
He was the target.
And time was running out.
---