Mismatched mirrors covered the dilapidated shed’s walls, each with a face trapped within its frame. Detective Thomas’ insides squirmed, his flashlight illuminating mirrors even on the ceiling.
Thomas stopped at a larger one, a square bathroom sink mirror that matched others in a home he’d once investigated. The woman inside was striking. There was sadness in her face, etched deep in the lines around her eyes and mouth. The light in her gaze was gone.
He swept the flashlight over each mirror. All contained sad, broken, and forlorn faces. Several crying. A mixture of genders and all ages, except babies. Not one baby to be seen.
Half of the faces were recognizable, snapshots he’d seen in missing person files on his desk. His search for them had been long, some of them decades. Through his obsession to find them, to find their home’s missing mirrors, he’d lost his wife, his kids. All he had left was his search.
In a dusty corner, an empty mirror lay underneath thick cobwebs. He brushed them off and carefully picked up the mirror. The wooden rim was chipped, but the mirror’s smudged reflective surface seemed fine.
Yet, something shifted in his reflection. A catching of the reflections in the darkness behind him. Thomas turned back, checking the room with his light, but all seemed normal.
But he didn’t feel normal. He’d finally found the mirrors, so what was left?
He sighed as he studied the mirror, then disappeared. Another face for the collection.
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