The Reflection

The house was a cage of convenience. Every door slid open with a whisper. Every light obeyed a voice command. Ramps curved elegantly from room to room. It was designed for him, Julian said. A sanctuary for his recovery.

But sanctuaries usually had locks on the inside.

Ezra wheeled himself toward the library. He needed a book, something to distract him from the name *Caspian*.

As he passed the grand hallway, he stopped. The hallway was lined with mirrors.

In the reflection, behind his wheelchair, something moved.

It was a tall, dripping figure. It stood just over his left shoulder, water cascading off its clothes, pooling on the floor.

Ezra spun the chair around.

The hallway was empty. The floor was dry.

"Hello?" Ezra called out.

The house ignored him.

Ezra turned back to the mirror. The figure was gone.

He rubbed his eyes. *Trauma plays tricks,* Julian had said. Maybe he was right. Maybe the isolation was rotting his brain.

He continued to the library. Julian was waiting there. He had set up a gramophone—an antique brass horn that looked out of place amidst the sleek modernism.

"I found this," Julian said, holding up a vinyl record. "1924. *The Midnight Waltz*. I thought it might... trigger something."

"Trigger what?" Ezra asked. "My accounting skills?"

Julian ignored the sarcasm. He placed the needle on the record. A scratchy, haunting violin melody filled the room. The air grew heavy, smelling suddenly of rain and wet earth.

"Close your eyes," Julian commanded. He walked behind Ezra’s chair. He placed his hands on Ezra’s shoulders and began to sway him gently, mimicking a dance.

"Feel the rhythm," Julian whispered into his ear. "You remember this, don't you? The ball at the Ambassador Hotel. You wore the blue velvet suit. You said you’d never felt more alive."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ezra said, pulling away. "I’ve never been to the Ambassador."

"You have," Julian hissed, his grip tightening. "Deep down. Beneath the damage. You are in there. Wake up."

"Stop it!" Ezra shouted. He spun the chair, breaking Julian’s hold. "My name is Ezra! I don't know who Caspian is, but I'm not him!"

Silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.

Julian stared at him. For a second, looking into Julian’s eyes was like looking into a deep, dark well. There was no bottom. Just a hunger that had been starving for a very long time.

Then, the mask slid back into place. Julian straightened his cuffs.

"Forgive me," Julian said smoothly. "I get... overzealous. I just want you back, Ezra. The stress of the accident is hard on both of us."

He walked to the door. "I'll draw your bath."

Ezra watched him go. The record kept playing, the violin screeching like a woman screaming underwater.