Reflections of Me
It was 10:43 a.m. when my phone buzzed against the kitchen counter, a number I didn’t recognize. I almost ignored it, thinking it was just another telemarketer. But the vibration seemed… urgent, insistent. Something about it made me stop folding laundry and pick up.
“Mrs. Collins?” The voice on the line was calm, professional, but there was a tension beneath it, like a wire pulled too tight. “I… I don’t think that’s you.”
I chuckled nervously. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a man here. Your husband. But he’s with a woman—someone who looks exactly like you,” the voice said.
I froze. “That’s impossible. Jason’s in Seattle. He’s on a business trip.”
There was a pause. Then she whispered, “Please… come to the bank immediately.”
Before I could ask another question, the line went dead.
I stood there, my heart hammering, trying to reason it out. Identity theft? A clerical mistake? Maybe it was a prank. But the urgency in her tone, the fear… it felt real.
I grabbed my keys and drove to the bank, my mind racing. Every scenario I imagined was worse than the last.
When I arrived, a security guard met me at the door, eyes flicking nervously between me and the lobby. “Right this way,” he said, and led me past the tellers, down a narrow hallway, into a private office. Two employees waited, both looking strained.
“Thank you for coming,” one said. “They’re still in Conference Room B.”
I didn’t sit. “Who? Who’s there?”
She hesitated. “Your husband—and the woman. She… she has your face. Your hair. Even your voice. She signed everything exactly like you do.”
My stomach tightened. My hands went cold.
The door to Conference Room B opened. Jason walked in first. And then… I saw her.
It was me. Same height, same hair, same coat in a slightly different shade. She smiled slowly, deliberately. My heart slammed against my ribs. Jason’s face drained of color.
The room went silent. I couldn’t breathe.
“Jason…” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. His eyes darted nervously between us.
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. “Who is she?”
“She’s… me,” Jason finally said, voice trembling. “I don’t know how it happened. I thought you were on a business trip.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’ve been here all morning. Folding laundry. Talking to the bank. What’s happening?”
The other me tilted her head, her smile widening unnaturally. “You really don’t know?”
I felt a chill. “Know what?”
She stepped forward. Every movement mirrored mine perfectly. It was like looking into a mirror that could walk and talk.
“I’m not her,” Jason whispered. “I think… I think she’s some kind of copy.”
“A copy?” I asked, my voice shaking. “A what?”
She laughed softly, a sound like ice cracking. “Call me… Veronica.”
Days passed. The bank froze all our accounts while they tried to determine which “me” was real. Media attention was minimal—they called it a security anomaly—but every time I tried to leave the house, Veronica was there, smiling politely, wearing my clothes, using my voice. Even friends were confused, asking me if I’d been traveling or wearing a new haircut.
Jason was collapsing under the stress. He didn’t know how he could tell us apart, and I… I didn’t know how to protect him.
I tried confronting her privately, arranging a meeting in our apartment. I asked her: “Who made you? Why are you here?”
She leaned against the counter, calm, eerily composed. “I’m you. But I’m better. Smarter. Stronger. People respond to me in ways they don’t with you. And I need what’s yours.”
I felt a wave of panic. “What’s mine?”
“Everything. Jason. Your life. Your identity. Your career. All of it.”
It became a twisted game of strategy. Veronica knew my routines, my preferences, even my passwords. She moved silently, subtly undermining me. Friends and colleagues began to question me. Jason’s trust faltered. I felt cornered.
One night, I stayed awake for hours, planning. I realized that I couldn’t confront her directly. I needed a trap, a way to expose her without endangering Jason—or myself.
The next day, I led her to an abandoned warehouse outside the city under the pretense of “showing her a safe place to resolve this.” She followed, confident, smiling. She didn’t suspect it was a trap.
I had set up cameras, trackers, everything I could think of. But when she arrived, she simply smiled and said, “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about location or passwords. You and I… we are connected. Always.”
And then, the warehouse doors slammed shut behind me.
The final twist came unexpectedly. Inside, I found a wall lined with mirrors—not ordinary mirrors, but mirrors that distorted reflections, multiplying us endlessly. My reflection, her reflection, Jason’s reflection, all overlapping. I stumbled backward, realizing the truth: Veronica wasn’t just copying me. She was splitting reality itself, creating a loop where every choice I made was mirrored—and challenged—by her.
Jason’s voice echoed from somewhere deep in the maze of mirrors. “We need to get out. Together.”
I reached for him, and at that exact moment, a hand grabbed mine—Veronica’s hand. But instead of pulling me, she whispered, smiling wickedly: “You can’t win. Not here. Not now. But maybe… someday.”
And just like that, the mirrors shimmered, the warehouse dissolved around me, and I woke up back in my apartment, phone buzzing in my hand. On the screen: a notification I hadn’t sent.
“I’m here. Again.”
I looked up—and froze.
I woke up in my apartment, heart racing, phone vibrating in my hand. The message glowed ominously:
“I’m here. Again.”
The room was silent. Jason was nowhere in sight. Panic surged through me. I ran to his office—but it was empty, desk cleared, laptop gone. The last email he sent me… vanished. My mind spun.
Veronica had been there. And she wasn’t playing small anymore.
I had no choice but to confront her directly. I traced subtle clues she left behind: receipts, text messages, even the tiniest digital footprints. Every lead brought me closer to the same abandoned warehouse where the mirrors had trapped me. But this time, something was different: the streets outside were eerily empty, the air thick, almost electric.
When I arrived, the warehouse doors were wide open. No mirrors in sight—yet I felt a presence behind me. A whisper, soft but cold:
“You can’t escape this, Emily.”
I spun around. Veronica stood there, wearing a black coat this time, her expression unreadable. She held Jason by the arm. He looked dazed, like he had been somewhere he didn’t exist.
“Let him go,” I demanded. My voice shook, but I forced myself to stand tall.
She tilted her head. “Do you even understand what’s happening? I’m not just a copy. I’m… evolution. You’re weak. I’m strong. And Jason… he responds to me. Always.”
I realized then: she wasn’t just duplicating me. She was absorbing the essence of reality around her. Every interaction, every choice, she mimicked and perfected. If I didn’t act, she would replace me completely.
I grabbed a metal pipe from the corner. Veronica’s eyes followed me, unblinking, unafraid. Suddenly, the warehouse walls shimmered. Mirrors appeared—not static this time, but moving. Images of myself, of Jason, of Veronica flickered in impossible angles, looping endlessly.
“I can’t fight her,” Jason murmured from the side, his voice hollow. “She’s everywhere.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s here. And here. And we can corner her.”
The plan was dangerous: I needed to split her attention, make her overextend, force a flaw in her perfect mimicry. I lured her through the maze of mirrors, stepping carefully, leaving traps, reflections of myself in hidden corners to confuse her senses.
It worked—briefly. Veronica hesitated, unsure which reflection was real. But she adapted faster than I expected.
“You’re clever,” she said, voice echoing from all directions. “But clever doesn’t mean strong.”
Before I could respond, the floor beneath me shifted. The warehouse was collapsing—or transforming. Mirrors twisted into walls, floors, even ceilings, reshaping constantly. I realized: she could manipulate space itself. She wasn’t just copying reality—she was rewriting it.
Jason grabbed my hand, pulling me to a hidden doorway I hadn’t noticed. We stumbled into a narrow corridor, the shifting mirrors behind us echoing laughter—hers.
“Emily… you don’t get it,” Veronica’s voice taunted from somewhere deep in the shifting labyrinth. “You can’t win this. You and I are the same. But I am better. I will always return.”
Then, the corridor ended in a dead-end. A mirror stood before us, flawless, reflecting not me—but Jason. His expression was calm. Too calm.
I touched the glass. It rippled like water. Suddenly, Jason stepped forward… but he wasn’t Jason.
It was Veronica, wearing his face.
I screamed. My mind scrambled. Could I trust anyone? Every person, every reflection, was a potential copy.
And then I realized the truth—the horrifying truth: Veronica didn’t just copy identities. She learned them, lived them, became them. And the more I tried to resist, the faster she adapted.
I backed up against the wall, heart racing. A single thought consumed me:
I had to find the original—before she erased me completely.
The mirrors shimmered. Jason—or Veronica in Jason’s form—stepped closer.
“Time’s almost up,” the voice whispered. “Choose… or vanish.”
I clenched my fists, breathing ragged. My reflection, fractured and distorted in every surface around me, stared back with a knowing grin.
The next move had to be mine.
Emily’s eyes darted around the room, every mirror showing another Veronica, another Jason, another her. The air crackled. Somewhere deep in the shifting reflections, she glimpsed a small door, almost invisible, pulsing with faint golden light—the one chance to reach the core of Veronica’s creation.
But the moment she stepped forward, the warehouse trembled violently. Mirrors shattered around her, each shard reflecting a different reality, a different Emily… a different outcome.
And then, a voice, soft and terrifying, echoed from the shards:
“Welcome… to the beginning of the end.”
Emily’s hand froze over the glowing doorknob. Behind her, the echoes of a thousand Veronicas whispered, promising everything she loved… or everything she feared.
