Kenji didn't stop running until the city lights began thinning behind him.
The cold night air burned his lungs.
His legs ached.
His heart pounded.
But he kept moving.
Every instinct screamed that stopping would be a mistake.
The streets were nearly empty.
A few cars passed.
A drunk couple argued outside a convenience store.
A delivery truck rolled through a red light.
Normal things.
Human things.
Kenji found himself staring at them longer than he should have.
Because after everything that had happened tonight, normal felt unreal.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
You slowed down.
Kenji immediately looked around.
Nobody appeared to be watching him.
No one held a phone.
No one seemed interested.
Yet someone clearly knew where he was.
Who are you?
This time the message sent.
The reply came almost instantly.
Someone who made the same mistake.
Kenji stopped walking.
What mistake?
Several seconds passed.
The answer arrived.
Dying.
A chill crawled through him.
The city suddenly felt colder.
Fifteen years ago.
The boy from the newspaper.
Myers.
The name echoed through his thoughts.
Kenji typed again.
Are you Myers?
The typing indicator appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then vanished.
No answer.
A moment later another message arrived.
Not over text.
Behind you.
Kenji turned.
The street stood empty.
At first.
Then he noticed someone sitting at a bus stop across the road.
A man.
Maybe early thirties.
Dark jacket.
Dark hair.
Hands in his pockets.
Calm.
Too calm.
The man raised one hand.
Not waving.
Just acknowledging him.
Like they'd arranged this meeting beforehand.
Kenji crossed the street.
The closer he got, the stranger the man seemed.
Not because of his appearance.
Because of the way people ignored him.
Three pedestrians walked directly past.
None of them looked at him.
A cyclist nearly hit the bench.
Still didn't react.
It was as if the man existed slightly outside everyone else's attention.
Kenji stopped several feet away.
"You Myers?"
The man's lips twitched.
"Depends who's asking."
"Kenji."
The man laughed.
A short laugh.
Tired.
Amused.
"Yeah. That's what they're calling you."
Kenji's stomach tightened.
"What do you mean they're calling me?"
The man's expression faded.
"You really don't know."
"No."
For several seconds neither spoke.
Cars rolled by.
A traffic light changed.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.
The man finally sighed.
"Then things are worse than I thought."
Kenji folded his arms.
"Start explaining."
The man looked toward the sky.
"As soon as you died, something woke up."
"Everybody keeps saying that."
"Because it's true."
"Then explain it."
The man rubbed his face.
Like someone exhausted from repeating the same story.
"You ever wonder why dead people stay dead?"
Kenji blinked.
"What kind of question is that?"
"The important kind."
The man's eyes settled on him.
"Most people die."
"Some survive."
"Once every few decades somebody slips between the two."
Kenji felt his chest tighten.
The same words.
The same idea.
Just like the old man in the bookstore.
The man continued.
"Usually they come back wrong."
"What does that mean?"
"They forget things."
His gaze sharpened.
"They hear things."
His voice lowered.
"They see things that aren't supposed to exist."
The silhouette immediately flashed through Kenji's mind.
The mirrors.
The reflections.
The smile.
The breathing.
The man noticed.
His expression darkened.
"You've already seen one."
Kenji didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The silence was enough.
The man's jaw tightened.
"Damn."
"What?"
"You saw it this early."
"What is it?"
For the first time, uncertainty appeared on the man's face.
"I don't know."
That answer surprised Kenji.
"You don't know?"
"No."
The man leaned back against the bench.
"I've spent fifteen years trying to figure it out."
The words hit harder than expected.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years of hiding.
Running.
Searching.
And still no answers.
Kenji sat beside him.
For a while neither spoke.
Finally Kenji asked the question that had been bothering him since the hospital.
"When I woke up…"
The man looked over.
"…why did it feel like part of me was missing?"
The question lingered.
The man's expression slowly changed.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Like he'd asked the exact same question once.
"Because something is."
Kenji stared at him.
"What?"
The man looked away.
For the first time all night, he seemed genuinely uncomfortable.
"The part that died."
Silence.
A cold wind drifted through the street.
Kenji waited.
The man continued.
"When people come back, they don't come back complete."
His voice dropped.
"Something stays behind."
Kenji felt his pulse quicken.
"Behind where?"
The man's eyes slowly lifted.
Toward the darkness beyond the streetlights.
Toward the places shadows gathered.
Toward the spaces between reflections.
And when he finally answered, his voice barely rose above a whisper.
"The place that wants you back."
Neither of them noticed the figure standing on the rooftop across the street.
Crimson.
Motionless.
Watching.
Smiling.
And for the first time…
It wasn't looking at Kenji.
It was looking at Myers.
Like it finally remembered him.