The blackouts began the next day.
Tyler would lose hours, entire stretches of time. He woke on the couch with a knife in his hand and no memory of picking it up. Another time, he found the bathroom mirror cracked, as though he'd slammed his head against it.
Jackson grew frantic, hiding the sharp objects, begging Tyler to see a doctor, a priest—anyone. But Tyler refused. It wasn't something medicine could fix. This wasn't in his blood or bones. It was deeper.
The reflection was speaking clearer now. When Tyler dared look into the remaining mirror in his room, the image didn't mimic him. It mouthed words before he spoke to them.
You'll never be whole without me.
You're mine, Tyler. Let me out.
One evening, desperate, Tyler tried speaking back. "What do you want?"
The reflection grinned wider than his face could ever stretch.
To live again.
The world spun. Tyler's vision went black.
When he woke, words were scrawled across the walls in jagged handwriting—his handwriting. The same phrase, over and over again until his hands bled.
THANK YOU~