Double Deception

Chapter 13: Echoes of the Past

 

The night hadn't really ended.

I must have drifted off sometime before dawn, but even in sleep, the knocks kept echoing—three deliberate raps that seemed to come from inside the walls rather than the hallway. When I jolted awake, the room was quiet again. No movement. No reflection in the glass. Just the faint, metallic taste of dread clinging to my tongue.

Then, the sound came again—softer this time. A faint scraping, like paper sliding against wood.

I froze.

Something had been pushed under the door.

The Envelope

For a long moment, I didn't move. My mind replayed the reflection's whisper from the night before:

"Who do you think you'll be sitting across from when you get there?"

I forced myself to approach. On the floor, half in shadow, lay a plain white envelope. No return address. No handwriting I recognized—just my name printed in block letters, heavy and deliberate.

I crouched, heart thudding, and picked it up. The paper felt faintly warm, as if it had been touched only seconds ago.

Inside was a single sheet, folded twice.

The message was short:

You think you know her secrets? Think again. Emma has been playing this game for years. Look deeper.

No signature. No clue who sent it. But the phrasing—the same tone of taunt that Emma had used before—hit me like an electric current.

I turned the paper over. On the back, faint impressions bled through, like someone had pressed too hard when writing. The indentations looked almost like fingerprints.

I checked the peephole. The hallway was empty.

The Echo of 3:17

When I sat at the kitchen table, dawn light just beginning to edge through the blinds, I noticed the timestamp blinking on the stove clock. 3:17 a.m. The power must've flickered during the night, resetting everything.

The same time the reflection had appeared two nights ago.

Coincidence? I didn't believe in those anymore.

The letter lay in front of me like a trap I'd already sprung. My mind cycled through possibilities—Emily? Dr. Reiss? Marcus trying to scare me straight? Or Emma, leaving breadcrumbs from somewhere between the real and the imagined?

Either way, the message was clear: there was more to find.

And I wasn't done digging.

Rachel's Return

Rachel had warned me to stop looking after our last conversation. She'd even deleted her profile—at least that's what she claimed. But desperation outweighs reason, and I needed answers.

I sent her a message through a new account. Just a few words:

"I got a letter about Emma. It says she's been doing this for years. You were right."

Hours passed. No reply.

Then, around noon, my phone buzzed.

"Thought I told you I was done with this," she wrote. "But if that letter's real, then maybe it's starting again."

"Starting again?" I typed back. "What do you mean?"

Her response came instantly.

"Emma doesn't just appear. She cycles. Every few years, she shows up somewhere new—different name, same face. Same game. You should look at old profiles. Search 'EmmaWanders.' That's where I found her before I deleted everything."