Chapter 3: Where the Mirage Waits

I couldn’t see much through it. Desperate, I stuck my phone’s camera through and snapped a few shots—thinking I’d need them for the police. My hands shook as I fumbled with the camera. The flash went off, illuminating a blur of motion.

"You’re seriously taking pictures right now?" Mikey didn’t wait—he yanked me aside again and kicked the door a final time, busting it open. Mikey rushed out first, and I followed, heart pounding.

We stumbled into the hallway, adrenaline surging. I could hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, fading fast. Whoever was out there must’ve expected this. As soon as we forced the door, he bolted. It was too dark to see, so we chased the sound of footsteps down the stairs. But I started to feel dizzy, like maybe we shouldn’t be following. At first, we could hear him ahead, but just as we thought we were catching up, the sound vanished. Mikey and I stopped, surrounded by the pitch-black stairwell, completely lost.

I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Mikey scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of the intruder.

"Damn, that guy can run!" Mikey panted.

He wiped sweat from his brow, glancing over his shoulder like he expected someone to jump out at us.

Worried the thief had a buddy waiting in the shadows, we didn’t stick around and hurried back. We took the stairs two at a time, not stopping until we were back in the apartment. I slammed the door behind us, locking it this time.

Breathless, we returned to the apartment, and I remembered to check my phone. My fingers fumbled with the screen, scrolling through the photos. Most were a blur of movement and shadows.

I’d used burst mode, but the lighting was so bad and my phone so ancient that the pictures were a blurry mess. You could just barely make out a figure rifling through the living room by the glow of a phone. He clearly hadn’t expected us to break out so fast—or maybe he saw my camera flash—because he hesitated for a second, then ran for the door without looking back.

I zoomed in, trying to make out any details—a logo on his jacket, the color of his shoes. Nothing stood out.

From his build, it looked like a man. He probably saw we’d left the door open and took his chance.

He was tall, maybe six feet, moving with a purpose. I wondered if he was just a junkie, or if he was after something specific.

The living room was trashed—books and knickknacks scattered everywhere. We used our phone lights to pick everything up, one by one.

I cursed under my breath, picking up a broken picture frame. Mikey helped me set the furniture upright. The place looked like a tornado had hit it.

Cursing the thief, Mikey and I checked to see if anything else was missing. We made a quick inventory—TV, laptop, old camera gear. Everything was still there. It didn’t make sense.

When my eyes hit the wall, I froze. A cold chill ran down my spine. The wall of photos looked different—emptier, somehow.

"Where are the photos?" Mikey noticed too.

He pointed to a bare spot on the wall, where a cluster of pictures used to hang. I felt my stomach drop.

Some of the pictures were gone. It didn’t add up. Why take family photos and leave the valuables?

At first, I thought they’d just fallen, but we’d already picked everything up, and there were no photos among the mess. I checked under the couch, behind the TV—nothing. The missing photos were just…gone.

"Damn, he even stole the pictures!" Mikey swore, not realizing how weird that was.

He shook his head, baffled. I could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to make sense of it.

A burglar wouldn’t care about photos. I realized that instantly, and cold sweat broke out on my back. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. Whoever broke in wasn’t after cash or electronics—they wanted something else.

That shadow might not have been a thief at all, but someone after the same thing I was. The thought made my skin crawl. I looked at Mikey, and he seemed to realize it too.

I told Mikey my theory. He listened, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. He didn’t argue—he just nodded, grim.

"Someone else digging into Travis’s disappearance?" Mikey frowned.

He looked around the room, as if expecting the intruder to reappear at any second. "No clue—Travis was hiding something from me too," I admitted. I hated to say it, but it was true. There were pieces missing, and I was starting to think I’d never get the full picture.

Things were getting complicated. My head started pounding again, so I thumped it, trying to clear my thoughts. The pain helped, just a little. I closed my eyes, counting to ten, trying to slow my racing thoughts.

"You still haven’t kicked that habit?" Mikey looked at me. He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I shrugged, feeling sheepish.

I shook my head, thinking about the scene in the photo—when we busted the door open, the shadow paused for a second, clearly hesitating, then decided to run. I replayed the moment in my mind, wondering what he was looking for. There had to be a reason he risked getting caught.

I tried to put myself in his shoes—if I were him, why not bolt the second you heard someone break in?

Unless he was looking for more than just photos. There weren’t that many on the wall—if he didn’t find the one he wanted, he could’ve just grabbed them all and sorted through them later. It made sense, in a twisted way. He was searching for something specific, something important.

There had to be something else in this living room he wanted. I scanned the room, searching for anything out of place. My eyes landed on the old coffee table—the one I’d given Travis when he moved in.

I started searching the whole room again, and finally, my eyes landed on the old coffee table I’d given Travis when he moved in. The handle of the drawer underneath showed clear signs of being forced. There were fresh scratches on the wood, like someone had tried to pry it open. I knelt down, running my fingers over the marks.

The coffee table drawer was weird—no keyhole on the front. That’s probably why the intruder spent so long trying to open it. I remembered the hidden keyhole underneath—a trick Travis and I came up with back in college, just to keep our stash safe from nosy roommates.

Suddenly, I remembered—there was a round keyhole underneath the table. That matched the smaller brass key. I reached for the key, my hands trembling. Mikey hovered behind me, flashlight steady, ready for anything.

I fumbled with the key and couldn’t get it in at first. I thought I was wrong, but after a few tries, I realized my hands were shaking. I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. Mikey put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his grip steady and warm.

Mikey patted my shoulder. I took a few deep breaths, forced myself to calm down, and as the key slid in, my heart skipped a beat. With a click, the drawer opened.

The sound was louder than I expected, echoing in the silent apartment. I held my breath as I pulled the drawer open.

Inside was a battered old Nokia slider phone. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories—Travis texting me about baseball games, Lila sending silly emojis. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

It was Travis’s phone. After Lila disappeared, I’d never seen him use it again. I remembered the day he switched to a new phone, leaving this one in a drawer like he couldn’t bear to throw it away.

To save power, the phone was turned off. I didn’t hesitate—I pressed the power button. In the darkness, the phone glowed faintly. Miraculously, it still had a third of its battery left.

The Nokia’s screen flickered to life, the familiar chime sounding impossibly loud in the silence. All the call logs and texts were wiped—only a single video remained in the gallery.

I stared at the tiny icon, my finger hovering over it. Mikey leaned in, eyes wide.

I knew right away this was what Travis wanted me to see. My heart pounded as I hit play, the screen filling with static before the video began.

The video, shot with a grainy old camera, was shaky—the person filming was clearly anxious. The image wobbled, the lens darting back and forth. I recognized Travis’s voice, muffled but unmistakable.

It was dusk in the video. The camera was probably in a park, surrounded by trees and flower beds. The lens kept panning the sky, back and forth, with occasional flickers of static.

I could hear birds chirping, the distant hum of traffic. The world looked ordinary, except for the tension in Travis’s voice.

This went on for about thirty seconds. The cameraman was obviously searching for something. Just as I was about to fast-forward, there was another big flash of static, and then a man’s voice—lowered, like he was trying to contain his shock—came from the phone:

"Found it!"

The words were shaky, almost whispered. I felt a chill run down my spine. The voice was distorted, but after all these years, I recognized it instantly.

It was Travis, no doubt about it. The fear and excitement in his voice were unmistakable.

The video paused for a second. After a few deep breaths, Travis spoke again: "I found it, Ben!" He sounded like a man on the edge—half terrified, half triumphant. I felt my own breath catch, waiting for what came next.

Then the camera panned slowly, as if he was carefully adjusting the shot. After a series of tiny movements, I finally saw what he wanted to film: A massive bronze gate. It filled the screen, impossibly large and out of place. The sight of it made my heart race. I felt Mikey tense beside me.

A huge bronze gate appeared suddenly in the video. It shimmered in the fading light, the metal catching the last rays of the sun. I could see strange symbols etched into its surface, swirling patterns that seemed to move when I wasn’t looking directly at them.

It looked almost exactly like the one in the photo. And because it was video, I could see its color for the first time—a pale blue-green gate, just hanging in the air, like it belonged there.

It didn’t look real, but the camera didn’t lie. I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck.

Travis was probably too excited—the camera started to shake again, making the gate blur. His voice trembled, the excitement barely contained. I could hear his breath, quick and shallow, on the audio.

"See it?" Travis tried to keep his voice steady. "This is the mirage from the paper!" He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as me. The camera zoomed in, the image growing fuzzier.

The camera turned to show Travis’s face, twisted with emotion. He looked scared, but determined. His eyes were wide, his jaw set. For a moment, he stared directly into the lens, like he was trying to reach through the screen.

"Can you see it, Ben?" he stared at me through the lens. "I’m going in!" His voice broke on the last word. The image shook as he started walking toward the gate. I held my breath, waiting for something to happen.

The video cut off abruptly. I finished watching in silence, my mind spinning. The screen went black, leaving me with nothing but questions. I looked at Mikey, searching for answers I knew he didn’t have.

Mikey looked at me, baffled—he clearly didn’t get what he’d just seen. He shook his head, rubbing his temples. I could see the fear in his eyes, the way his hands trembled.

I collapsed onto the couch, rubbing my forehead, trying to shake off this string of bizarre events. But every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Travis’s face at the end of the video. His expression was burned into my memory—hope, fear, and something else I couldn’t name.

"Is the gate in the photo the same as the one in the video?" Mikey stammered. He looked at me, searching for confirmation. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I took a deep breath and nodded.

My hands were shaking. I tried to steady them, but it was no use. The world felt unreal, like I’d slipped into someone else’s nightmare.

"How’s that possible?" Mikey looked shaken. "How can the same mirage show up at different times?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. I could see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of the impossible.

My heart hammered. I opened my phone and checked the video’s details. I scrolled through the metadata, searching for a timestamp. My hands were slick with sweat.

The video was shot three days before the last time Travis and I met. That meant Travis had already seen the gate before he came to the diner. He’d been sitting on this secret, carrying it like a weight. The video was recorded before we met—Travis hadn’t gone back to film it just for me.

I wondered what else he was hiding. Why keep this to himself? What was he afraid of? That was strange. After shooting the video, why didn’t he call me right away? Why wait three days? What happened in those three days? The questions piled up, each one heavier than the last. I tried to piece together a timeline, but nothing fit.

He had plenty of chances to tell me—what made him stay silent when we met? Was he protecting me? Or was he scared I’d think he was crazy? The summer night felt chilly. Mikey and I glanced at the dark doorway at the same time, and a wave of fear swept over us.

I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter. The shadows seemed to press in, thicker than before.

That night, I had a series of weird, fragmented dreams. In one, Travis stood in front of the old storage shed, pointed at my hand, and I looked down to see the Nokia phone I was holding. The dream felt too real—Travis’s eyes boring into mine, his face half-hidden in shadow. I tried to speak, but no words came out.

"Is this what you want?" I asked, holding up the phone. My voice echoed, tinny and distant. Travis just smiled, a sad, knowing smile that made my chest ache. He didn’t answer—just stared at me and smiled.

I woke up at noon, Mikey snoring on the couch. I rubbed my neck and sat on the bed, dazed. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, dust dancing in the beams. For a second, I forgot where I was, what had happened.

After the old apartment was torn down, I hadn’t been back in years. I thought about all the memories buried under that Walmart parking lot—birthday parties, summer nights, secrets whispered in the dark.

Science explains mirages pretty well. But is there really a mirage you can only see through a camera, at a certain angle? Even if it is a mirage, it should correspond to a real building somewhere. But the weird shape and color of the gate in the video didn’t match anything real.

I tried to reason it out, but every answer led to more questions. The world felt off-kilter, like I was missing something crucial.

But if it wasn’t a mirage, then what was it? I stared at the ceiling, searching for answers. My mind raced, but the only thing I knew for sure was that I had to keep looking.

I was overwhelmed by curiosity—a curiosity that overpowered my fear, making me ignore the warning bells about Travis and Lila’s disappearance, and forget that this whole thing might be way out of my league. I tried to tell myself to walk away, but I couldn’t. The mystery was too big, too strange to let go.

I woke Mikey up and decided we should check out the old neighborhood together. He groaned, rubbing his eyes, but didn’t argue. We packed our things, grabbed coffee from the corner store, and headed out.

At the time, I didn’t realize that this seemingly ordinary decision was the first domino—that everything that collapsed after was because of it. Looking back, I wish I’d stayed home. But fate has a way of dragging you along, whether you’re ready or not.

Or maybe, the moment I decided to look for the truth, the gears of fate had already started turning. I wondered if Travis had felt the same pull, the same sense that something bigger was at work.

If I could do it all again, I wouldn’t go on this adventure. I would’ve done anything to keep Travis from leaving that night. But there’s no such thing as a do-over.

Regret is a heavy thing. I carried it with me as we left the apartment, locking the door behind us for the last time.

We didn’t drive, just took the subway to the old side of town. The ride was quiet, the train rattling through tunnels. I stared out the window, watching the city blur by. Mikey tapped his foot, lost in thought.

After the apartments were demolished, the area became Maple Heights Park. Standing at the entrance, I couldn’t help but think of that story about the last emperor buying a ticket to the Forbidden City. At least the park was free—we had that going for us! The irony wasn’t lost on me. Our childhood home was gone, replaced by jogging trails and playgrounds. Progress, they called it.

"You sure this is the place he meant?" Mikey asked. He squinted at the map, trying to match old memories to new landmarks. I nodded, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

I nodded. Actually, the moment I saw the video, I knew what Travis meant. The place in the video was where the old storage shed had been, but everything from back then was long gone. We stood there, lost in the bustle of the park.

Joggers passed by, kids played on the swings, and we stood there, two grown men searching for ghosts. Luckily, we had the video. By matching the trees and paths in the video—and with over a decade of memories—we finally found the approximate spot.

We paced the grass, comparing the tree line to the footage. Mikey pointed out a few landmarks—a fountain, a row of benches—that matched the background. The storage shed’s spot was now just a patch of grass. We must’ve looked crazy, standing on the grass fiddling with a camera. Maybe my expression was too serious—otherwise, the old lady with the volunteer badge might’ve run us off right away.

She watched us from a distance, arms crossed, lips pursed. I gave her a sheepish smile, hoping she’d leave us alone.

I tried to mimic Travis’s angle from the video, but I couldn’t see any mirage through the camera. Not even the static from Travis’s recording. I held my phone up, spinning in a slow circle. Nothing happened—no gate, no flicker, just the ordinary world.

The old lady eventually got annoyed. She marched over, her sneakers crunching on the gravel. I braced myself for a scolding.

"Young man, can’t you read the sign? ‘Keep Off the Grass!’" she snapped. "What is it with you kids—always wandering where you shouldn’t!"

I felt a little embarrassed and gave her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, ma’am. We’re just trying to get a good angle for a photo project," I lied.

"Someone else was here taking pictures with their phone earlier, too. What are you trying to photograph?" the old lady asked.

She eyed us suspiciously, as if we were planning to dig up the park. "Really? What’d he look like?" Mikey jumped in. He stepped forward, eager for any clue.

"Young guy, about your size. I don’t know what’s so interesting here!" she muttered.

She waved us off, muttering about "kids these days." Mikey shot me a look, and I realized she was probably talking about Travis.

That gate hadn’t moved in decades. If Travis could capture it, there was no reason we couldn’t! The only explanation was we’d missed something. I looked at the sky again.

Clouds drifted across the sun, casting shifting shadows on the grass. I checked the video again, looking for any detail we’d missed.

"It’s the timing!" Mikey realized. "Travis’s video was shot at dusk!" He snapped his fingers, excitement lighting up his face. I pulled out my phone, checking the timestamp on the video.

I checked the video—the timestamp was 7:10 p.m. It was only noon. We had hours to kill before dusk. I felt a mix of frustration and anticipation.

"So what now?" I asked. It was only noon—we still had a while to kill. I kicked at a loose stone, wishing time would move faster. Mikey shrugged, settling onto a bench.

"Wait. What else can we do?" Mikey said, stretching out on a bench. He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. I paced the path, restless.

I was too antsy to sit, so I started making conversation. I needed a distraction—anything to keep my mind off the creeping sense of dread.

"Why’d you and Travis stop talking?" I asked. "That summer I went to visit my folks, and when I got back, you two weren’t speaking." Mikey stared at the sky, thinking. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"Some dumb fight," Mikey chuckled. "Kids always fall out over stupid stuff, but we were both too stubborn to apologize." He shrugged, a rueful smile on his lips. I could tell it still bothered him, even after all these years.

I nodded. Two mules, both too proud. It was a classic Maple Heights standoff—neither willing to back down, both too stubborn for their own good.

"Funny thing is, I can’t even remember what we fought about," Mikey scratched his head. "I just remember it had something to do with his dad." He frowned, searching his memory. I waited, hoping he’d remember something useful.

"Travis’s dad?" I asked. I tried to sound casual, but my curiosity was piqued. Travis never talked much about his dad.

Mikey nodded. "Something about his dad’s stuff, then we got into it." He shrugged again, like the details were just out of reach.

"That’s pretty dumb," I teased. I nudged him with my elbow, trying to lighten the mood. He grinned, shaking his head.

"Kids are dumb like that!" Mikey laughed, then suddenly looked at me like he remembered something. "How did Lila disappear?" His tone shifted, serious now. I felt a knot form in my stomach.

"She just vanished," I said, a little lost. The words sounded hollow, even to me. I could still see Travis’s face that night, twisted with fear and disbelief.

"No, I mean, how did it actually happen?" Mikey pressed. "Was there anything weird about the day Lila went missing?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. I tried to remember every detail, searching for something I’d missed.

"Travis said she went out to play…" I tried to remember. The memory was fuzzy around the edges. I remembered the phone call, the panic in Travis’s voice, but not much else.

"How old was Lila when she got lost?" Mikey gestured. "Eleven, right?" He held up his hands, as if measuring her height in his mind.

"Twelve," I said. I corrected him automatically, the number burned into my memory.

"A kid that age isn’t easy to snatch," Mikey mused. "She told Travis she was going to your place, but did she say why?" He looked at me, searching for a reason. I frowned, trying to remember the last conversation I had with Lila.

"She said she was coming over," I remembered. I could still hear her voice on the phone, cheerful and bright. She’d promised to show me her latest art project.

"What would she do at your apartment? You’re a grown man, no kids, no games—what’s there for her to do?" Mikey looked at me. He raised an eyebrow, and I realized he had a point. Lila usually came over with Travis, not on her own.

"You think Travis was lying?" I asked, confused. The idea made my stomach churn. I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility.

Mikey nodded. "He knew where she went that afternoon, but didn’t want to tell anyone." He spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on the ground. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead.

"Why?" I was puzzled. "Didn’t he want to find his daughter?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. I tried to imagine what would make Travis keep a secret like that.

"There’s more to it," Mikey said. He glanced at me, his expression serious. I could tell he was working through something in his mind.

I remembered Travis’s wild-eyed look outside my door that day. That pain didn’t look fake. He’d been desperate, terrified—no way he was faking that.

"What if he knew about the mirage from the start?" Mikey frowned. His words sent a chill through me. I thought back to everything Travis had said, every strange detail I’d brushed off.

I thought hard about his words, and a chill ran down my spine. The pieces started to fit together, forming a picture I didn’t want to see.

"You said he started seeing psychics after the cops struck out," Mikey said. "Travis never struck me as the type to believe in that stuff." He was right. Travis was always the rational one, the skeptic. The idea of him turning to psychics was almost laughable—except it wasn’t.

"Maybe he was just desperate?" I offered. I wanted to believe it was that simple, but deep down, I knew better.

"We’re both rational types," Mikey said. "You might try that stuff once out of desperation, but you wouldn’t blow all your money on it. Guys like us would rather spend it printing more flyers than trusting a psychic." He was right. I remembered Travis’s face, gaunt and haunted, after months of dead ends. The desperation in his eyes was real.

"But if you saw what was in that video, wouldn’t your worldview start to crack?" I looked at Mikey. I met his gaze, searching for understanding. He looked away, rubbing his hands together.

"That’s why I’m starting to wonder," Mikey frowned. "He must’ve run into something supernatural before." He sounded scared, like he was only just realizing how deep this went.

"So that’s why Travis’s logical side started to break, and he began to believe this—"