Chapter 14 - The Mirror Between Us

The morning after the revelations in the old townhouse dawned in muted shades of gray. Fog clung to the windows of Ava's apartment, distorting the city beyond into a blurred watercolor. She sat at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a chipped ceramic mug filled with black coffee. The cassette tape lay in front of her, now resting beside the old recorder Caroline had lent her.

She hadn't slept. Not really. Each time she closed her eyes, echoes of the voice on the tape haunted her. Cassandra's voice, fragile and trembling, had described things Ava couldn't begin to rationalize. Ben's voice occasionally chimed in, calm and grounding, asking questions, prompting her to continue. They'd recorded a conversation—a confession—and Ava couldn't shake the feeling that she'd only scratched the surface of something much larger.

"I don't remember the night she disappeared," Cassandra had whispered. "But I know I was the last person she saw."

Now, with the recorder silent and the sun hidden behind a veil of fog, Ava knew what she had to do. There was one person who could give her answers no tape ever could. One person who had vanished from all records, someone Ben had only referred to once, in his last message:

"If anything happens to me, find Thomas Vale."

Thomas Vale.

A former psychiatrist turned recluse. The man who had treated Cassandra during her psychotic breaks. Ben believed he held the key to everything.

Ava set the mug down and opened her laptop. Finding Thomas Vale wouldn't be easy. He had no social media presence, no listed address, and his license had been revoked nearly a decade ago after allegations of malpractice. Still, Ava was tenacious. She cross-referenced old mental health clinic records, city registries, and medical conference attendance lists. It took hours, but she found something: a delivery invoice to a cabin upstate, made out to a "T. Vale."

It was a start.

By midday, Ava was on the road, the rental car humming beneath her. Leaves streaked past her window, fiery and brittle. The highway stretched endlessly, but her thoughts ran faster. Every thread in this tangled mystery pulled her further from certainty. Who was Cassandra really? What happened between her and Ben? And why had Thomas Vale vanished into obscurity?

The cabin sat alone on a wooded ridge, nestled behind a thicket of birch and pine. Moss had grown over the slanted roof. Smoke trailed faintly from the chimney, a sign of life. Ava parked and stepped out. The air was cold and sharp, biting her cheeks as she approached the door.

She knocked.

A moment later, it opened.

He looked older than she expected—pale, wiry, unshaven, with eyes sunken from years of seclusion. He didn't speak right away. He just stared.

"Thomas Vale?" she asked.

He gave a stiff nod. "You shouldn't be here."

"My name is Ava Ward. I was Ben Elridge's friend. He told me to find you."

His eyes narrowed. At the mention of Ben, something flickered behind them.

"He said you knew what really happened to Cassandra."

For a long moment, Vale said nothing. Then he stepped aside.

"Come in."

The inside of the cabin was warmer than expected. Books were stacked everywhere, mingled with boxes of cassette tapes and files. It was a hoarder's den of knowledge, disarrayed and dust-covered.

"Ben should have left it alone," Vale muttered. "That boy didn't understand what he was playing with."

"What was he playing with?"

Vale poured himself a cup of coffee, gesturing for Ava to sit.

"You think Cassandra was just a patient? Just a girl with trauma? No. She was a mirror."

Ava frowned. "A mirror?"

"Not metaphorically. I mean it literally. There are people who reflect back more than what you give them. Psychic resonators, some call them. Cassandra absorbed energy, intent, memory. She didn't just remember things—she lived them, as if she were the person themselves."

Ava felt the hairs on her arms rise. "Is that possible?"

"We don't have the language for what she was. I only know what I observed. And it terrified me."

He pulled a file from one of the boxes. Inside were drawings—charcoal sketches of faces Ava didn't recognize. They were all distorted, anguished. Vale tapped one. "She drew these during our sessions. Faces she claimed belonged to people she never met. Victims."

"Of what?"

"A man named Ezra."

The name struck Ava like a slap.

"She said he followed her through reflections. Through mirrors, windows, puddles. She could see him watching. I thought it was a hallucination. But one day..."

Vale trailed off, hands trembling.

"One day I saw him too."

Ava swallowed. "What did he look like?"

"Not a man. Not exactly. His eyes were human, but his body was... shifting. Like smoke held in skin."

He rubbed his temples. "That's when I quit. That's when I ran."

Ava leaned forward. "Why did Ben think you had answers?"

Vale looked at her gravely. "Because Cassandra told me how it would end."

Silence.

"She said if someone didn't break the mirror, he'd find a new one."

Ava felt her breath catch.

"You think it's me?"

Vale didn't respond.

Instead, he rose and retrieved a box. Inside was another cassette tape. Its label: "Cassandra. Final Session."

"Take it," he said. "But be warned. The more you know, the more he sees you."

The wind outside howled, rattling the windows.

As Ava drove back into the city, the tape burning a hole in her bag, she glanced at the rearview mirror.

For a moment, she thought she saw someone sitting in the back seat.

But when she looked again, the reflection was empty.

The mirror between them was thinning.

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