Chapter 6: Threads of the Past

The abandoned warehouse on the east side of town looked like every other derelict building in the industrial district—broken windows, graffiti-covered walls, and the lingering smell of rust and decay. But according to Kael, it had been one of Liam's favorite places, a sanctuary where he could escape the suffocating perfection of his suburban life.

"He brought me here on our second date," Kael said, his voice soft with memory as he led me through a gap in the chain-link fence. "Said it was the only place in the city where he felt like he could breathe."

The interior was a maze of shadows and abandoned machinery, lit by shafts of afternoon sunlight filtering through holes in the roof. Kael moved through the space with familiar confidence, leading me to a corner where someone had set up a makeshift living area—old couches, battery-powered lanterns, and walls covered with photographs and artwork.

"His hideaway," Kael explained, switching on one of the lanterns. "He'd come here when his family got too overwhelming, when the pressure of being their perfect son became too much."

I studied the photographs taped to the concrete walls. Most showed Liam with friends I didn't recognize—laughing at parties, hiking in the mountains, living a life completely separate from the sanitized suburban existence I'd inherited. But it was the artwork that caught my attention—sketches and paintings that revealed a depth of emotion I'd never seen in the family photos.

"He was talented," I said, touching the edge of a watercolor that showed a figure dissolving into mist.

"He was brilliant. Could have been a professional artist if his father hadn't pushed him into business." Kael's voice carried a bitter edge. "Robert Henderson had very specific ideas about what constituted a 'respectable' career."

I picked up a sketchbook from one of the couches, flipping through pages filled with Liam's artwork. The images grew progressively darker as I moved through the book—hopeful landscapes giving way to twisted figures and shadowy forms that seemed to writhe on the page.

"He was struggling with something," I observed.

"The last few months were hard for him. He'd been having nightmares, panic attacks. Said he felt like someone was watching him, following him." Kael settled onto one of the couches, his expression distant. "I thought it was just stress from hiding our relationship, but now..."

"Now you think he was right to be afraid."

"I think someone in his family knew about us. I think they were planning to deal with the 'problem' before it became public."

I turned the page and found a sketch that made my blood run cold. It showed a family dinner scene—the Henderson dining room rendered in precise detail, complete with the faces of his parents and sister. But there was something wrong with the image. The faces were too perfect, too carefully composed, like masks hiding something monstrous underneath.

"When did he draw this?"

Kael leaned over to look. "About two weeks before he died. He brought it here one night, said he'd been having dreams about his family. Said they felt like strangers wearing familiar faces."

The irony wasn't lost on me. Liam had been dreaming about imposters in his family while an actual imposter was preparing to take his place.

"I need to touch something of his," I said suddenly. "Something he used often, something that might still carry his impressions."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"When I'm around his family, sometimes I get flashes—brief glimpses of memories that aren't mine. If I can find something with a strong enough connection..."

Understanding dawned in Kael's expression. "You think you can access his memories directly."

"I don't know. But it's worth trying."

Kael stood and moved to a battered wooden crate in the corner. He pulled out a leather jacket, worn and soft with age, and handed it to me reverently.

"This was his favorite. He wore it everywhere—to our first date, to art shows, whenever he needed to feel brave." His voice caught slightly. "He was wearing it the night he told me he loved me."

I took the jacket, feeling the weight of years and memories woven into the leather. The moment my fingers made contact, the world exploded into sensation.

Liam's memories hit me like a tsunami—not the gentle glimpses I'd experienced with his family, but a full immersion into another person's consciousness. I was nineteen years old, standing in this same warehouse, heart pounding as I waited for Kael to arrive. The excitement, the terror, the overwhelming joy of finally finding someone who understood—it all flooded through me with devastating clarity.

Then the scene shifted. I was at the family dinner table, but this time I could feel what Liam had felt—the crushing weight of expectation, the constant fear of discovery, the love for his family twisted into something that felt like chains. And underneath it all, a growing sense of dread, as if something terrible was approaching.

Another shift. I was in his bedroom, late at night, on the phone with Kael. "I found something," I was saying, my voice shaking. "About my father. About the money. God, Kael, what do I do?" The fear in my own voice was palpable, but there was something else—a determination to do the right thing, no matter the cost.

The final memory was the worst. I was back in the apartment, but someone else was there. A figure in shadow, their face hidden, but their presence radiating menace. "You should have kept your mouth shut," they said, and I knew with absolute certainty that I was about to die.

I gasped and dropped the jacket, my borrowed form trembling with the aftershock of Liam's terror. The memories were already fading, becoming fragments and impressions, but I'd seen enough.

"He discovered something about your father," I said, my voice hoarse. "Something about money problems, debts. He was going to confront the family about it."

Kael leaned forward intently. "What kind of money problems?"

"I don't know. The memory was too fragmented. But he was scared, and he was torn between protecting his family and doing what he thought was right."

"And the killer?"

I closed my eyes, trying to hold onto the fading impression of that final memory. "I couldn't see their face. But they knew him. They were close enough to get into his apartment, trusted enough that he let them in."

"Family member."

"Had to be."

Kael began pacing, his movements sharp and agitated. "Robert Henderson is the obvious choice. If Liam discovered his father was in debt to dangerous people, confrontation could have turned violent."

"But you said he wasn't the type for murder."

"Desperate people do desperate things. And if the debt was serious enough, if the consequences were severe enough..." He stopped pacing and turned to face me. "We need to get closer to him. Find out what kind of trouble he's in."

I nodded, but something nagged at me about the memory. The voice in that final scene had been muffled, indistinct, but there had been something familiar about it. Not the words themselves, but the rhythm, the cadence. I'd heard that voice before, but not from Robert Henderson.

"There's something else," I said slowly. "In that last memory, when the killer spoke—it wasn't his father."

"How can you be sure?"

"The voice was wrong. Too high, too... I don't know, different. It was someone else."

Kael's expression darkened. "Then we expand our investigation. If not the father, then who? His mother? His sister?"

The idea of sweet, maternal Mrs. Henderson as a killer seemed absurd. But Chloe... I thought about the way she'd been watching me at dinner, the intensity in her eyes, the questions that felt more like interrogations.

"We start with the father," I said. "Follow the money trail. But we keep our eyes open for other possibilities."

"Agreed. But first, you need to learn more about being Liam. These memory flashes are useful, but they're not enough. You need to understand his mannerisms, his speech patterns, his relationships." Kael moved to another crate and began pulling out items—books, CDs, more photographs. "The family is starting to notice inconsistencies. Your mother mentioned to a neighbor that you've been acting strange lately."

That sent a chill through me. "How do you know what she told a neighbor?"

His smile was sharp. "I've been watching them as carefully as I've been watching you. The Hendersons are creatures of habit—same grocery store, same coffee shop, same social circles. It's not hard to keep tabs on their conversations."

The implications of that statement were disturbing. Kael wasn't just investigating Liam's murder—he was stalking his family, cataloging their movements, their words, their suspicions. The line between justice and obsession was blurring.

"What else have you heard?"

"Your sister is the most suspicious. She's been asking questions about your childhood, trying to catch you in inconsistencies. She knows something is wrong, but she can't figure out what." He paused, studying my expression. "She's also been asking about your relationship history. Specifically, whether you've been seeing anyone recently."

My stomach clenched. "She suspects about you and Liam?"

"She suspects something. Whether it's about our relationship or something else entirely, I can't say. But she's definitely the one to watch."

I thought about Chloe's bright smile, her cheerful demeanor, her genuine affection for the brother she thought I was. Could someone who radiated such warmth be capable of murder? Or was that warmth itself a mask, as carefully constructed as my own?

"We need to be careful," I said. "If she's already suspicious, pushing too hard could expose us both."

"Agreed. But we also can't afford to move too slowly. The longer you wear Liam's face, the more chance someone will figure out what you are." Kael's eyes glittered in the lantern light. "And then we'll have bigger problems than just finding a killer."

As we prepared to leave the warehouse, I took one last look around Liam's sanctuary. This place had been his escape, his refuge from the suffocating perfection of his suburban life. Now it was a crime scene, a repository of evidence that might help us find his killer.

But it was also a reminder of what I'd lost—or rather, what I'd never had. Liam Henderson had been a real person with real dreams, real fears, real love. I was just an echo wearing his face, a parasite feeding on the emotions meant for him.

The thought should have filled me with guilt, but instead, it only strengthened my resolve. I might not be Liam, but I was all that was left of him. And if I was going to exist in his place, I was going to make sure his death wasn't in vain.

"Ready?" Kael asked, switching off the lantern.

I nodded, pulling Liam's jacket tighter around my shoulders. The leather still carried traces of his memories, fragments of a life cut short by someone who thought they could get away with murder.

They were about to learn otherwise.

We walked back through the abandoned warehouse, two predators united by grief and purpose. Behind us, the shadows closed in, hiding the evidence of a life that had been stolen and a love that had been destroyed.

But ahead of us lay the hunt.

And this time, we would be ready.