The Lost Confession

Chapter 4: The Memory That Wasn't His

The mirror was empty.

Daniel's breath hitched as the last flicker of lightning faded, plunging the chapel back into suffocating darkness. His pulse roared in his ears. He hadn't imagined it. He had seen something.

Not just something. Someone.

A reflection that wasn't his own.

The storm outside raged, but inside, the air remained eerily still. He felt like he was standing in a place that no longer belonged to time—caught between something forgotten and something that refused to stay buried.

Slowly, Daniel stepped away from the mirror, his boots echoing against the cold stone floor. The body behind him lay still—but he could no longer trust that it wouldn't move.

The presence he had felt earlier… was still here. Watching.

He wasn't alone.

And then—

A whisper.

"You were here before."

Daniel stiffened. The voice was too close. Right at his ear.

He turned sharply, scanning the darkened chapel. Nothing. Just the endless stretch of empty pews and broken glass glinting in the dim candlelight.

His fingers curled into his palm. He had to leave. He could return in the morning, when daylight burned away the shadows.

But as he took a step toward the exit—

Something shifted behind him.

A breath of movement.

Then—

Footsteps.

Not his own.

The Past That Follows

Daniel turned, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

Nothing moved.

But he knew better now. Just because he couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there.

The presence lingered. Heavy. Silent. Waiting.

A gust of wind howled through the broken windows, rattling the old wooden beams. Daniel took another step back toward the door.

Then—

Creak.

The sound came from the far side of the chapel. A single pew shifting.

Daniel's breath caught. He turned his gaze slowly—painfully slowly—toward the noise.

And then he saw it.

A shape.

A figure slouched in the pew, partially hidden by shadows.

For a moment, he thought it was the corpse. That somehow, impossibly, it had moved from the floor to the seat.

But no.

The body still lay where he had left it.

Which meant—

Someone else was here.

Someone sitting in the pews, watching him.

The Wrong Memory

Daniel's fingers twitched at his sides.

"Who's there?"

The figure didn't respond.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Daniel's stomach twisted. He took a slow step forward, his instincts screaming at him to run—but he needed to see.

The shadows shifted slightly as the storm rumbled outside.

Then—

A sharp, blinding pain shot through his skull.

Daniel staggered, gripping the nearest pew to steady himself. A sudden rush of images slammed into him, like a film reel spinning too fast—

🔹 A candlelit room.

🔹 A man kneeling before him, whispering a name that wasn't his.

🔹 A gun in his hand. The weight was familiar.

🔹 A voice—his own—saying, "This is necessary."

The pain vanished as suddenly as it came.

Daniel gasped, his vision clearing. His heart pounded.

What the hell was that?

His fingers curled tighter against the wood. That wasn't his memory.

Was it?

The Man Who Shouldn't Exist

A sudden sense of dread filled him as he turned back toward the pew.

The figure was gone.

Daniel's throat went dry.

He scanned the chapel quickly, his muscles coiled, ready to move. But the space where the figure had been was now empty.

Like no one had ever been there at all.

His mind raced. Was he seeing things? Or was something else happening to him?

His gaze flicked toward the body on the floor—still unmoving.

No. He wasn't imagining things. Someone had been there.

And they wanted him to know it.

Cliffhanger: The Note That Shouldn't Exist

A gust of wind tore through the chapel again, sending a few scattered pages fluttering across the floor.

Daniel turned toward the door—and then he saw it.

A slip of paper, half-hidden beneath the corpse's outstretched fingers.

He hadn't seen it before. Had it always been there?

His stomach tightened as he knelt, hesitating for just a second before plucking the paper free.

The ink was smeared, the edges damp from the rain.

But the words were clear.

Three simple words.

"You knew me."

Daniel's hands trembled.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

He turned sharply, scanning the chapel one last time.

No one was there.

But he could still feel them.

Watching.

Waiting.

And suddenly—

Daniel wasn't sure if he had ever been here for the first time.

Or if this was just another version of something that had already happened.