If there was a revelation that Tahlia Faith Meyers had had very early on in life, it was that mirrors are wicked good liars.

She wished with all her heart that she'd forget, but she couldn't.

Time was not powerful enough an eraser, to make her forget the vivid manner in which her mother sat in front of the broken vanity mirror, and brushed her sienna tresses with a wooden hairbrush.

Tahlia was merely a little girl who could do nothing but watch as the speckled mirror reflected back a pale but beautiful visage with big hazel doe-eyes and lipstick tinted red lips.

The mirror encapsulated a struggling single mother with two daughters, who worked her heart off to provide for her family and keep them safe.

But then, the mirror was wrong.

It failed to capture the malice that brewed in the woman's heart, the bruised knuckles that came from thrashing her children like rag dolls, and of course, the various strains of cocaine and heroin coursing in her veins.

The mirror only showed what Deborah Lilith Meyers wanted everyone to see.

With that memory fresh in her head, she wondered whether the world itself was a giant mirror. Whether we saw only what other people want us to see.

Tahlia stood tacitly in front of the place that had started it all. The root of her ruination.

Westerly Sanatorium for the Clinically Insane.

Very few things had changed about the place since the last time she'd been there.

The heavy air that surrounded the institution, the silence that perpetuated its vicinity, all of it remained intact.

Except the fact that it was now all shut down, of course.

The entry to the asylum was sealed close with yellow caution tape, and thus she presumed the back gate to have met the same fate too.

The patients had all been transferred to other institutions since Westerly was permanently closed, the general public being told that it was due to maintenance issues.

They only saw what they were being made to see.

"Michelle." Tahlia spoke as she spotted her walking up towards herself.

Michelle stood beside her with a solemn look on her face. Tahlia could tell that being here wasn't easy for her.

That makes the two of us, she thought to herself.

She looked straight ahead, her lip imperceptibly quivering,

"It's been 80 days since Jordy..."

She couldn't finish her sentence, instead dropping her gaze down to the ground as she shook her head in despair.

Tahlia could do nothing but offer her a sympathetic sorry.

And that she was.

She was sorry that she'd foolishly let the beast out of it's cage.

She was sorry that she could do nothing but watch as the beast devoured everything around her.

Tahlia Faith Meyers was really fucking sorry.

"You didn't call me here just to reminisce, did you?" Michelle began softly.

Stifling a slight sniffle, she shook her head.

"Log-" She cut herself off, realizing she didn't possess the might to even say his name out loud, "He once showed me some letters he received. He called them fan mail."

"I wouldn't know much about that, I didn't handle letters. Although yes, I can tell you patients did receive letters every now and then, but they were usually from family." She sighed, "But considering the fact that he's an infamous serial killer, I wouldn't be surprised if he did have crazy fans."

"There's something I've been thinking about." Tahlia looked at her, "The cops talked to me, and they suspect he had an accomplice. What if one of these fans sent him a copy of the key to the back gate?"

Michelle instantly shook her head at that, "That's impossible. Like I said, I didn't handle letters, but everyone knows that the letters get checked for foreign objects before being handed over to the patients."

Her voice was composed, yet Tahlia could tell she was trying to reassure herself too, "Besides, how would they even get the key? I mean, I get it, the staff and administration is a joke, but still, the keys are not just laying around in plain sight. Only a few people have access to it, including me. And trust me, the police has obviously hounded all our asses several times."

Tahlia couldn't help but frown, partly annoyed as yet another piece of the puzzle seemed to have gone conveniently missing.

With a tinge of frustration, she asked, "Where are the letters now?"

"The police have it, probably locked down in some rotting evidence pile."

Of course.

She let out a vexed exhale.

It was then that she felt Michelle's hand around her shoulders, wrapped in a comforting half-embrace. "Look Sweetie, I know you want to help, and you talked to him for a while, so you feel like you have to play a part in this." She brushed her fingers against Tahlia's cheek, as she gazed into her eyes, "But you don't have to involve yourself in this mess. You're young, you have a whole life ahead of you, focus on your education, don't let this get in the way." She spoke earnestly.

Too late for that.

Tahlia knew she had ruined every chance of her going back to her normal life. All she desperately wanted, was to look in the mirror and see a happy girl, but she couldn't. Not with this dangerous burden she was carrying.

"Michelle.." She sobbed, filled to the brim with sudden emotions, waiting to burst out of this vessel.

She had to. She needed to.

"I want to tell you something. That night when—"

She halted.

"What is that?" Her finger pointed towards Michelle's other hand, in which was a zip file she had suddenly noticed.

Michelle's gaze followed Tahlia's hand, then widening, "Oh, almost forgot about these."

She handed over the file to Tahlia, motioning for her to open it.

And there they were.

His paintings.

She flicked through all the various pages inked with color, her lips parted.

Here it all was. His art.

'Look around you Natalia, It's all art.'

A shiver moved down her back.

"They took all of his things, more evidence I suppose. But they returned these today, I picked them up on my way here." Michelle stated plainly.

Tahlia was still in a stupor as if, yet, managed to croak out the next four words clearly.

"Can I keep these?"

The look of surprise on Michelle's face served as no surprise, "Oh, okay I guess? But hun, why would you want them?"

"I-I.." She looked for the right word in her head, breathing deeply when she found it,

"Closure."

Michelle only nodded her head, giving her an understanding look. She then looked away, fixing her gaze towards the main building.

"You know, Jordy was such a good man. I know he came off a little grumpy, but he had a good heart. He was there when you needed him to be. Someone wants coffee? He got it. Someone needs their shift covered? Not a problem" She smiled,

"He even took over Rachel Tucker's mail duty while she was on a maternity leave."

The smile that had spread on Tahlia's face listening to Michelle talk, evaporated within a millisecond.

"Wait what?" She sputtered. "Jordy handled the mail?"

"Yeah, like I said, Rachel Tucker went on a maternity leave not too long ago. Being short on staff means we had to multitask." She chuckled with nostalgia, completely missing the look of spook on Tahlia's face.

"Was Jordy one of the people to have access to the back gate keys?"

She asked, the urgency in her voice drowning out the fear.

"Yeah," Michelle replied, hints of perplexity starting to register in her tone, "Why do you ask that?"

And it was precisely that moment that Tahlia got the answer to her question from earlier.

The world, indeed, was a giant mirror.

All this time, she was seeing only what Logan Hunt had wanted her to see.

All this while, everyone believed that Jordy Miller had died a heroic death, trying to prevent a mad serial killer from escaping.

But now, the fog was starting to clear up, and Tahlia had only just begun to see the reflection for what it truly was.

✴✴✴

"We are now on scene with the County Arson Squad where the body of the victim was discovered four days ago."

The woman whose hair was blow dried to perfection, her face spotless as the camera panned in on her, then cutting to the crime scene marked with yellow caution tape.

"The body was burnt beyond recognition, but in twisted set of fate, her wallet with an identity card has been recovered from near the body.

The woman has been identified as Elise Moreau, a 22 year old french exchange student, whose parents have been reportedly alerted of the tragedy through the Embassy."

The crowd that had gathered on the other side of the road, beyond which they weren't allowed to go over, had all looks of pure horror and concern as they chatted among themselves.

Except one man.

He stood there indistinguishably with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a look of calmness spread on his face, quite in contrast to those of chaos all around him.

"The body was found by 18 year old Ricky Hart, a self-proclaimed 'social media influencer', looking for an isolated place to shoot a video, who then posted about the incident on all his social media platforms immediately. Hart claims he had been 'severely threatened' by the local police to take down his posts, but it was too late by then. It had already garnered considerable attention."

The man continued to remain quiet, watching as all those silly people tried their best to unravel his masterpiece.

"The squad confirms the traces of the fire accelerant found on the body to be that of gasoline. With the set of identity information found nearby, the case bears a strong, undeniable resemblance to the set of murders that rocked the entirety of Westfield 5 years ago."

A covert grin formed on his lips.

"The Westfield Ripper murders."

The crowd around him broke into hushed chatter at the mere mention of his name.

It was laughable really,

They feared the Devil, yet they didn't even know what he looked like.

He could be standing among them, and they'd never know.

Oh, that's right. They don't.

Out of nowhere, his mind went to the girl who was caught in the middle of it all, a girl who knew his face too well.

Natalia.

He'd have to do something about her soon.

He smiled.

✴✴✴