ECHOES OF A SIGNATURE

Reflection of a Killer

Chapter 5: Reflections of a Killer

Jason blinked hard, thinking his mind was playing tricks again.

But the figure in front of him—the second Jason—didn’t fade.

Same height. Same build. Same cold, gray eyes.

It was like staring into a mirror with a pulse.

Emily whispered behind him, voice trembling. “Jason… who is that?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The doppelgänger tilted its head, a twisted grin forming on its lips. “You look confused. Don’t worry. You’re not crazy. Not yet.”

Jason raised his gun. “Start talking.”

The other him chuckled. “You’re pointing a gun at yourself. Think about how poetic that is.”

“I’m done playing games,” Jason growled. “Where’s the man in the mask?”

The figure smirked. “What mask?”

Jason blinked—and in that instant, the doppelgänger vanished.

So did the mirror.

So did the blood.

The entire chapel was empty.

Emily clutched his arm. “Jason… it’s gone. Everything is gone.”

Jason stood frozen, his gun still raised at thin air. His heart pounded like a war drum.

He dropped the weapon and looked around.

Had it all been an illusion?

Had any of it been real?

6:12 a.m. – FBI Field Office

Jason sat in the surveillance room, eyes locked on the chapel footage from a drone team that Reyes had dispatched after Jason’s emergency call.

Nothing.

No masked man.

No doppelgänger.

No Emily.

Just Jason entering an empty building, pacing, shouting at air, then collapsing to his knees.

Reyes watched the footage beside him. “Jason... what the hell was that?”

Jason said nothing.

Because he didn’t know.

Was it a breakdown?

A setup?

Or something worse?

Reyes leaned closer. “You need to take a break. You’ve been pushing hard. No sleep. No clarity. Whatever this is—it’s in your head.”

“No,” Jason snapped. “It’s not just in my head. It’s him. He’s inside the cracks. He’s crawling through my memories like a virus.”

Reyes frowned. “Jason—”

“He’s making me doubt myself. Making me see things that aren’t there. Or maybe… maybe I’m finally seeing what’s always been there.”

10:47 a.m. – Therapist’s Office (Confidential)

Jason sat on a couch he hadn’t seen in a decade.

Dr. Genevra Hayes had been his trauma therapist after the murders.

Now she looked older. Tired. But her eyes were still sharp.

“You told me not to come back here,” Jason said.

Dr. Hayes nodded. “You weren’t ready. Are you now?”

Jason leaned forward. “What happened in Session 9?”

She tensed. “Jason—”

“You redacted it. Why?”

Dr. Hayes folded her hands. “Because what you said terrified me.”

Jason’s blood chilled.

“You were in a trance. You said you remembered the man with the handprint. You described him in detail. His face, his eyes, even his voice.”

Jason stared. “And?”

“You also described where he was hiding.”

Jason’s heart pounded. “Where?”

Dr. Hayes took a long breath.

“You said... he was hiding inside you.”

12:02 p.m. – Jason’s Apartment

The walls were covered now—in clippings, crime photos, old drawings from his childhood that he didn’t remember making.

Handprints. Everywhere.

Jason stared at one sketch in particular.

It showed a figure with no face. Just a mask and six fingers on each hand.

In the corner, the drawing was signed: JH – Age 7

His own initials.

But he had no memory of ever drawing it.

The killer’s mark wasn’t new.

It had been with him since he was a child.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed again.

Blocked number.

He answered.

This time, there was no distortion.

Just a calm, controlled voice. Male. Familiar.

“Jason. You’ve made good progress. But the test isn’t over.”

Jason closed his eyes. “Who are you really?”

“Think back. You already know.”

Jason gripped the phone tight. “You’re not real.”

“Then why are you afraid of me?”

A pause.

“Let me remind you.”

Jason’s laptop flickered on by itself.

A video file began playing.

It was security footage from a hospital—dated five years ago.

Jason’s face on the screen.

In a hospital room. Standing over a bed.

Lily’s bed.

She was alive. Bandaged. Weak.

Jason leaned in, whispered something in her ear.

Then he pulled the plug.

Jason recoiled from the screen. “No. That’s fake. I didn’t—”

The voice replied:

“You erased the memory. But I kept it.”

Jason dropped the phone. His breath hitched.

Then behind him—on his mirror—new words appeared, written in blood:

“YOU CHOSE ME.”

Jason turned—and the mirror cracked from the inside out.

Then—

A single hand burst through.