John Miller looked at his watch. It was exactly 8:00 in the evening, the time when he usually poured himself a whiskey and sat down in the chair in front of the fireplace. This ritual hadn’t changed in 10 years. 10 years of freedom. 10 years without fear. 10 years since he’d buried his wife, Anna, in a vacant lot outside of town. His house in suburban Portland looked luxurious but lonely. After Anna disappeared, he’d sold their old apartment and bought this house. A new place, a new life, no ghosts of the past, no guilt, no memories of the night she’d said she wanted a divorce, and the way his hands had clenched on her throat. The investigation closed after a year with no results.
Detective Tom Brown continued to stare at him with ill-concealed hatred in rare meetings, but could prove nothing. The body was never found. John took a sip of whiskey and closed his eyes. Business was going well. His investment company was thriving. He was a respected man in the community, a generous donor to charity, a role model. No one knew what went on behind the closed doors of his previous marriage. No one knew the truth about how Anna had died.
The doorbell rang abruptly and unexpectedly. Jon opened his eyes. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Rare friends always warned of a visit. Must be some courier with a late delivery. He set his glass on the table and went to the door, opened it without looking through the peephole, and the world stopped. Anna stood on the doorstep. His wife, Anna, the woman he’d killed 10 years ago. John felt the blood drain from his face. His legs felt woozy. His head rattled as if someone had turned up the white noise at full volume.
“Hi, John,” she said in Anna’s voice. The same voice he’d had nightmares about. “What took you so long to open up?“
She stood on his doorstep just as she had been the day she died. The same shoulder-length brown hair, the same green eyes, the same small mole at the right corner of her lips. Only there were more wrinkles, and there was gray in her hair, as if she’d really lived those 10 years somewhere. But that was impossible.
“Anna… you?” John couldn’t say a word.
“Can I come in?” Anna asked, smiling her usual smile. “It’s cold outside.“
She walked past him into the house as if she did it everyday. She threw off her coat and hung it on the coat rack. The same coat rack where their clothes used to hang in the old apartment.
“You’ve changed the furniture,” she said, looking around the living room. “I like it. I’d put the couch against the other wall, though.“
John stood leaning against the wall, unable to move. This is impossible. This is some kind of nightmare, a hallucination, or he’s completely lost his mind.
“You can’t be here,” he finally squeezed out.
Anna turned around and looked at him in bewilderment.
“Why not? I told you I’d be back tonight. I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic.“
John swayed and grabbed the door jamb.
“You uh you’re dead 10 years ago.“
Anna laughed. Her laughter sounded exactly as he remembered it.
“John, what is this nonsense? I’ve been to the doctor. You drove me yourself this morning, remember?” She came closer. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.“
She smelled of the same perfume. Dior. Anna always wore it.
“You can’t be here,” Jon repeated, backing away. “I buried you.“
Anna frowned, put her palm on his forehead.
“Do you have a fever? Maybe you’re sick. Let me make you some tea.“
She turned and walked to the kitchen as if she knew exactly where she was in this new house. John followed her slowly, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. “This is a dream,” he thought. “I’m going to wake up now.” But he didn’t wake up. Anna opened the cupboard, took out the cups exactly where they stood, turned on the kettle, and turned to him.
“John, you seem strange today. Did something happen at work?“
Jon stared at her, not believing his eyes. He remembered that night exactly. He remembered her telling him she was leaving him, how they’d argued, how his hands had clenched around her throat, how the light had gone out in her eyes, how he wrapped her body in a rug and drove her out of town, how he dug her grave in the frozen ground.
“You can’t be here,” he said for the third time, feeling nausea coming up his throat.
Anna walked over to him and took his hand. Her palm was warm, alive.
“John, you’re scaring me. Should we call a doctor?“
He yanked his hand away and backed up against the wall.
“Who are you?” he asked, panic rising inside him. “You can’t be Anna. Anna is dead.“
The woman in front of him sighed and shook her head.
“John, that’s enough. This isn’t funny. I’m tired after my doctor’s appointment, and you’re playing some weird game.“
The kettle boiled. She turned away to make tea. Jon watched her every move. She moved exactly like Anna, holding the cup with the same hand, added sugar the same way, two spoonfuls, and stir clockwise.
“Let’s sit down,” she said, holding out the cup to him. “You’re clearly not yourself.“
John took the cup. The hot porcelain burned his fingers, and the sensation convinced him that he was awake. Everything was happening.
“How is this possible?” he whispered.
“What is it?” she asked, sitting down at the table. “John, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?“
He set the cup on the table without taking a sip.
“It’s been 10 years,” he said. “It’s the year 2025 now.“
It was her turn to look surprised, but it lasted only a moment. She smiled with slight concern.
“John, it’s 2015. Today is the 28th of March. I was at Dr. Harrison’s for a checkup, remember?“
John shook his head, trying desperately to gather his thoughts.
“No, that’s impossible. It’s been 10 years. You… You’re dead.“
“Why do you keep saying that?” There was irritation in her voice. “I’m alive, John. I’m here in front of you.“
He stared at her, trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe he really had lost his mind. Maybe all those 10 years had been a hallucination. Or or had he buried the wrong woman? But no, it was Anna. He remembered her face exactly at that moment.
“I can prove it,” he said, jumping up. “I’ll show you.“
He rushed to his office and returned with a laptop, opened it, logged in, and showed her the date.
“Look, March 28th, 2025. 10 years have passed, Anna.“
She looked at the screen, and then at him with pity.
“John, I don’t know what you did to the computer, but is this some kind of joke, or are you sick?“
He closed the laptop and shook his head.
“It’s not a joke. And I’m not sick. You can’t be here. You died 10 years ago.” He uh he stammered, realizing he’d almost confessed to murder.
“I’m what, John?” she asked, tilting her head. “What did you do?“
He stepped back, feeling the room begin to spin around him.
“Nothing.“
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on.” She stood up and walked over to him, put her hands on his shoulders. “John, you need to rest. Come on, I’ll walk you to the bedroom.“
She took his hand and led him upstairs. He followed her as if in a trance. She knew exactly where the bedroom was in this house he had bought a year after her death. When they entered the room, she turned on the light and began to make the bed. Jon stood at the door watching her.
“How did you know where the bedroom was?” he asked.
She turned around with a smile.
“What kind of stupid question is that? We’ve lived here for 5 years.“
John felt panic rising to his throat.
“No,” he said, “I bought this house after you disappeared. You were never here.“
Anna sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
“John, you’re really scaring me. Maybe I should call the doctor.“
He shook his head, unable to utter a word. What’s going on? Is he going crazy? Or is this some kind of elaborate prank? But who could have known? Who could have known he’d killed his wife?
“Lie down,” she said softly. “You need to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.“
He walked slowly to the bed and sat down beside her. She smelled so familiar, so real.
“Oh, Anna,” he whispered. “If this is really you. Forgive me.“
She smiled and stroked his cheek.
“What for, silly? It’s all right. Now, lie down.“
She stood up to give him a seat. Jon lay down without taking off his clothes. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but fatigue and shock did their work, and soon he fell into a restless sleep. When Jon awoke in the morning, the bed beside him was empty. He sat up abruptly, looking around. Could it really have been a dream? Maybe everything from last night had just been a dream. But then he heard sounds from the kitchen, the clinking of dishes, footsteps. He got up slowly and went downstairs. Anna was standing at the stove making breakfast. She turned around when he came in.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “How are you feeling?“
John Miller looked at her and for the first time in 10 years was truly afraid.
The third day of Anna’s presence in his house had turned John Miller’s life into a nightmare for real. Every morning he woke up hoping it was just a dream. And every morning she was here making breakfast, smiling, asking about the day’s plans as if these 10 years had never happened. As if he hadn’t killed her that cold March night. Jon sat at the kitchen table watching her wash the dishes, doing it just like the real Anna did. First the glasses, then the plates, then the utensils. Wipes her wet hands on the kitchen towel slung over her shoulder.
“You’re looking at me again,” she said without turning around. “Is something wrong?“
Jon flinched. Even that, her ability to feel his gaze was completely like Anna’s.
“Everything’s fine,” he replied.
She turned and smiled, but her eyes remained serious.
“John, you’ve been acting strange since the other night. Shouldn’t you see a doctor?“
“No,” he said sharply. “There’s no need to see a doctor.“
If he went to a doctor, he would inevitably have to explain why he believed his wife was dead while she was standing in front of him. And that will definitely end up in a mental institution or jail.
“Okay,” she shrugged. “Whatever you say, but know that I’m worried about you.“
Jon felt something tighten in his chest. That concern was just like the real Anna’s. Even in the last few months, when their marriage had been cracking at the seams, when he’d started raising his hand to her, she’d still worried about him. It drove him crazy then, and it drove him crazy now. A phone call interrupted his thoughts. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and the name Mike, his business partner, popped up on the screen.
“I need to take this,” John said, standing up.
“Sure,” Anna nodded. “I’ll go upstairs and get my things organized.“
John went out into the living room and took the call.
“Hey, Mike.“
“John, where are you? We agreed to meet at 10:00. It’s almost 11:00 now.“
John glanced at his watch. [ __ ] He’d completely forgotten about the meeting.
“Sorry, I got held up at home. Family emergency.“
Mike chuckled. “Family? Since when do you have a family?“
“Uh, just misspoke. Domestic stuff. I’ll be right there.“
“Uh-huh. Okay. The client has agreed to wait another half hour. Try to make it.“
John ended the call and turned toward the stairs.
“Anna,” he called out. “I have to go to a meeting right away. I forgot.“
He fell silent. It was quiet upstairs. He quickly climbed the stairs and looked into the bedroom. It was empty. The bathroom was empty, too. He checked all the rooms upstairs. No one.
“Anna?” he called again, coming downstairs.
Silence. He went all around the first floor, even looked in the basement. She was nowhere to be found. Jon felt a cold sweat break out on his back. Where could she have disappeared to? And was she even here? Could it all be a figment of his sick imagination? He went outside, looked around the yard, the garage. No sign of Anna. And then it hit him. He took out his phone, and flipped through the photos he’d taken over the last 3 days. Here it was. Proof. He’d photographed Anna several times when she wasn’t in sight. In the morning sun in the garden, making dinner, reading a book in the living room. But when he opened the gallery, he froze with horror. In all the pictures where Anna should have been, he saw only a blurred spot or a void. It was as if someone had deliberately ruined the pictures.
“It’s impossible,” he whispered, flipping through the photos with trembling fingers.
He was interrupted by another call from Mike. John took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
“Yeah, Mike, I’m on my way out.“
“Make it quick and take the files on the Greenwood project with you. You picked them up yesterday.“
John nodded, though Mike couldn’t see him.
“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.“
He went back into the house, grabbed the file folder from the office, and headed for the exit. Maybe it was for the best that Anna had disappeared. He needed time to think, to make sense of what was going on. Jon spent the entire day as if in a fog. He mechanically performed his work, answered questions, signed documents, but his thoughts kept returning to Anna… what she’d said at breakfast, the way she’d disappeared to the ruined photographs. When he finally got home that evening, the house was empty and dark. No sign of Anna’s presence. John exhaled a sigh of relief. Maybe it was over. Maybe it really was just a nervous breakdown, a hallucination brought on by stress and guilt. He poured himself a whiskey and sat in the chair in front of the fireplace. The familiar ritual calmed him down a bit. He took a sip and closed his eyes.
“Rough day?“
John jumped up, sputtering his whiskey. Anna stood in the living room doorway, smiling at him.
“Where have you been?” he asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
“Where? At home, of course. Sorting out my things, cleaning up a little. Didn’t you notice that the bathroom was cleaner?“
John shook his head.
“I called for you before I left. You were nowhere to be found.“
Anna frowned.
“You must not have looked hard enough. I was in the dressing room sorting out my winter clothes.” She stepped closer. “John, what’s going on? You keep acting weird.“
He put the glass on the table and took out his phone.
“I want to show you something.” He opened the gallery and held out the phone to her. “These are pictures I’ve taken over the last few days. You should be in them, but you’re not. How do you explain that?“
Anna took the phone and started looking at the pictures.
“John, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here I am in all the pictures.“
She handed the phone back to him, and Jon was amazed to see that Anna was now clearly visible in the pictures, exactly where he’d photographed her. No blurs, no voids.
“It’s… It’s impossible,” he whispered. “I remember exactly that there were only blurs.“
Anna gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
“John, please talk to me. What’s going on? You’re scaring me.“
He looked at her so real, so alive, and suddenly felt an urgent need to make sure she was real. He pulled her sharply to him and hugged her tightly, almost to the point of pain. She was warm, real, alive.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, letting her go. “I don’t know what came over me.“
Anna looked at him carefully.
“It’s all right. Just talk to me if something’s wrong.“
She kissed him on the cheek and went into the kitchen. John remained seated, still feeling the warmth of her touch. Could this be the real Anna? Maybe he hadn’t killed her that night after all. But no, he definitely remembered her breathless body, her lifeless eyes. He remembered digging the grave in the frozen ground, remembered the weight of her body as he lowered her into the hole. He shook his head, pushing the memories away, and followed her into the kitchen.
They hardly spoke at dinner. Jon watched her every move, trying to find anything that would give away the deception. But she was a perfect copy of Anna, from the way she held her fork to the way she tucked her hair behind her right ear. After dinner, they sat down to watch television. Anna had chosen a movie, the same one they’d watched together the week before she disappeared. Jon felt a chill run down his spine.
“How could she have known? Why that particular movie?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
“Wasn’t that the last movie we saw?” she wondered. “I don’t think we ever finished it.“
Jon nodded silently. They hadn’t really finished it because they started fighting because Anna had said she was leaving him because he had killed her. During the movie, the doorbell rang. Jon flinched and looked at Anna.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
“No,” she shook her head. “Are you?“
Jon stood up and went to the door. Detective Tom Brown stood on the threshold.
“Good evening, Mr. Miller,” he said with the same distaste in his voice that Jon remembered from an investigation 10 years ago. “May I come in?“
“What are you doing here, detective?” Jon asked, not moving from his seat.
“Routine inspection. We periodically visit people connected to unsolved cases.“
Jon knew that was a lie. In 10 years, Brown had never once come in for a routine check, but he stepped aside, letting the detective inside.
“Please,” he said. “Only I’m not alone.“
Brown walked in and looked around.
“Oh, yeah. You have company.“
John turned around to the living room. The couch was empty. The movie kept running, but Anna was nowhere to be seen.
“She was here just now,” John said, feeling the panic rising again.
“My friend,” Brown hummed. “Maybe she doesn’t want to face the police. Some people get nervous in our presence, especially those with something to hide.“
“Yeah, I don’t see where she could have gone.” Jon headed for the stairs. “Anna,” he called, forgetting his caution.
Brown tensed. “Anna? Did you say Anna?“
Jon froze, realizing his mistake.
“Uh, yes. That’s the name of an acquaintance of mine.“
“An interesting coincidence,” Brown said, squinting. “Considering the circumstances.“
Jon felt a cold sweat run down his back.
“What can I do for you, detective? I’ve had a long day, and I’d like to rest.“
Brown nodded, but was in no hurry to leave.
“Have you noticed anything unusual lately, Mr. Miller? Strange calls, letters, visitors.“
John forced himself to look surprised.
“No, nothing like that. Why do you ask?“
“Just wondering. Sometimes new circumstances appear in old cases.” Brown paused. “You do remember that the case of your wife’s disappearance is still open, don’t you?“
“Of course I remember,” John replied, trying to keep his composure. “But what could have changed after 10 years?“
Brown shrugged.
“Stuff happens. People start talking. New witnesses come forward. New evidence comes to light.” He glared at Jon. “The bodies are being found.“
Jon felt his heart skip a beat.
“What do you mean you found uh Anna’s body?“
“No,” Brown shook his head. “Not yet, but we’re not stopping looking. And you know what, Mr. Miller? I believe that sooner or later the truth will come out.“
With those words, he headed for the exit.
“I’ll see you around, Mr. Miller. Give my regards to your uh friend Anna.“
As the door closed behind the detective, Jon leaned against the wall, feeling his legs refuse to hold him up. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. Was he gone? Jon flinched and opened his eyes. Anna was standing on the stairs, looking down at him.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Upstairs,” she answered. “I heard the bell ring and decided it was better not to show myself. She didn’t want to attract attention.“
“Why?“
Anna slowly came down and approached him.
“Because I sense something’s wrong, John. You’re acting strange. You say I’m dead. And now the police.” She looked him straight in the eye. “What’s going on?“
Jon looked away.
“Nothing. It’s just a routine check like he said.“
“Are you sure?” There was concern in her voice. “Because it seemed to me that I was the one he was looking for.“
John didn’t know what to say. He didn’t understand what was going on. If it really was Anna, how could she have survived? And if not, who was this woman? And why would she pretend to be his late wife?
“I’m tired,” he finally said. “Let’s go to bed.“
Anna nodded, but there was still worry in her eyes.
And during the night, Jon could not sleep. He lay beside Anna, listening to her steady breathing, and tried to figure out what was real and what was a figment of his imagination. He was sure he had killed his wife, but he was also sure that she was lying next to him now, alive and warm. Careful not to wake her, he got out of bed and went down to the study. He turned on his computer and opened a hidden folder he hadn’t touched in years. It held pictures of Anna, the real Anna, before she disappeared. He compared them to the woman sleeping upstairs. Same facial features, same eyes, even a mole on her neck in the same place, a perfect copy, or the original? What if he really didn’t kill her? What if it was a nightmare? An obsessive fantasy born of guilt over the fights and the abuse? What if Anna had just left him for a while and now she was back? No, he definitely remembered burying the body. It wasn’t a fantasy. John sighed and closed the folder, then picked up his phone and opened the gallery. The photos of Anna from the last few days were still there, crisp and clear. But he remembered exactly what he’d seen this morning, only blurs. He decided to check.
Took a new photo of his computer screen with the old photo of Anna open and emailed it to himself, then deleted it from his phone. “I’ll check in the morning,” he thought. If the photo stayed in the mail in its original form, then there was nothing wrong with the phone or his memory.
In the morning, when Jon woke up, Anna was already making breakfast. She smiled at him as he entered the kitchen.
“You look better,” she said. “Sleep must have helped.“
Jon nodded without saying a word. He sat down at the table and picked up his phone. He opened his email. The email with the photo attached was there. He clicked on the attachment and the photo opened, but instead of a computer screen with an old picture of Anna, he saw a blurry blur. John felt the blood rush from his face. He remembered exactly taking a picture of the computer screen. How could it have changed?
“Is something wrong?” Anna asked, setting a plate of breakfast in front of him.
“No,” he replied, putting his phone away. “Everything’s fine,” she sat down across from him, looking him carefully in the eyes.
“John, I think we need to talk about yesterday, about that policeman and what you told him about me.“
Jon swallowed. “What was that?“
“You called me your girlfriend, not wife. Why?“
Jon didn’t know what to answer. He couldn’t tell her the truth… that to the world his wife had disappeared 10 years ago and was presumed dead.
“I uh didn’t want to get you into trouble,” he said at last.
“What trouble, John?” There was tension in her voice. “What’s going on? Why are the police interested in me?“
Jon pushed his plate away, his appetite gone.
“It’s hard to explain.“
“Try it,” she said without averting her gaze.
At that moment, the doorbell rang. John breathed a sigh of relief. Saved, at least for the time being.
“I’ll get it,” he said, standing up.
On the doorstep stood a courier with a package.
“Delivery for John Miller,” the young man said, holding out a small box and a clipboard for his signature.
Jon signed and took the package. He didn’t remember ordering anything, but right now he was grateful for any distraction from his conversation with Anna. When he returned to the kitchen, she was gone again.
“Anna,” he called out, looking around. “Where are you?“
Silence. Jon walked through the house, looking in every room, but she was nowhere to be found. It was as if she had vanished into thin air the moment the witness appeared. Jon sat down on the couch, holding the unopened package in his hands. Something was definitely wrong here. Real people don’t disappear without a trace. Real people don’t appear out of nowhere 10 years after they die. He decided he needed to get some hard evidence. He took out his phone and recorded a video message looking directly into the camera.
“Today is March 29th, 2025. 3 days ago, a woman appeared on my doorstep claiming to be my wife, Anna. This is impossible because my wife died 10 years ago. I don’t know who this woman is or what she wants, but she looks exactly like Anna and knows things that only she could know. I’m recording this video to prove to myself that I’m not crazy. If anything happens to me, it’s because of her.“
He saved the video and sent it to his email and copied it to his computer. He would monitor to see if the video changed the same way the pictures changed.
Jon didn’t realize that at the very moment he was uploading the video to his computer, Kate was watching him through a hidden camera set up in his office. She smiled as she stared at the laptop screen in her temporary hideout, a secret room in the attic of Jon’s house that he didn’t even know existed. It was a room Kate had discovered and set up a month before her appearance, sneaking into the house when the owner was at work. She wasn’t smiling like Kate. She was smiling like Anna. Because even in private, Kate remained in the character of her friend. So deeply embedded in the role over the years of preparation that the line between her and the real Anna was sometimes blurred in her own mind.
“You’re getting nervous, John,” she whispered. “That’s good. Very good.“
She opened the remote access program she’d secretly installed on J’s computer the week before and quickly found the video she’d just downloaded, copied it to herself, then opened the program to edit it. In the years of preparing for her revenge, Kate had learned a lot. She’d studied computer programming, video editing, even the basics of hacking, all for one purpose, to get John Miller to confess to Anna’s murder. Anna, who saved her life in that dark alley when they were 16. Anna, who distracted the maniac on her own, giving Kate a chance to escape. Anna, who came back into her life after months of rehab, scarred physically but not broken in spirit. And John Miller took her away, killed her, and thought he’d gotten away with it. But Kate won’t let that happen. She’ll get him to confess no matter what it costs her. She quickly edited the video, making it blurry with distorted sound. What Jon would see would be like a jammed recording where you couldn’t make out a word. Saving the changes, she uploaded the video back to Jon’s computer, replacing the original, then leaned back in her chair, looking at the picture of Anna on the table.
“I’m almost there,” she said, touching her fingers to the face in the photo. “It’s going to break soon. I can feel it.“
On the seventh day of Anna’s presence in the house, John Miller realized he was teetering on the brink of insanity. Every time he checked his video message, it became increasingly blurry and distorted. It was as if someone or something was systematically erasing evidence of his sanity. In the morning, he awoke to the smell of fresh coffee. Anna was standing at the bedroom window holding two cups.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling the same smile he’d remembered for 10 years. “I thought you might need some coffee.“
John sat up on the bed trying to gather his thoughts. He’d barely slept at night, pondering his predicament. What if this is all part of an elaborate plan? What if someone is deliberately driving him crazy?
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the cup. “Can’t sleep?“
Anna sat down next to him.
“I’ve been having nightmares,” she said quietly.
Jon took a sip of coffee, not knowing what to say.
“About what?” he finally asked.
Anna turned back to the window.
“About graves,” she said simply. “About people who think they can bury their problems deep underground. But the dead don’t always stay dead, John. Sometimes they come back.“
Her words sent a chill down J’s spine. It was a hint, direct and unmistakable.
“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Nothing much,” she smiled. “Just thinking out loud.” She got up and went to the door. “I’ll make breakfast. Come down when you’re ready.“
When she left, Jon sat looking at the closed door. Something in her words made him truly afraid, like she knew, as if she saw through his lies, his crime. At breakfast, Anna was unusually silent. She moved through the kitchen with the same grace she always did. But in her silence, Jon sensed an accusation.
“I’m going to be late at work today,” he said, breaking the silence. “It’s an important meeting.“
“Sure,” she nodded. “I think I’ll go to the cemetery, see some old friends.“
John froze with his fork in his hand.
“The cemetery?“
“Yeah, it’s been a while. I’m going to put some flowers.“
The grave John was thinking of an empty plot of land in an abandoned vacant lot outside of town wasn’t marked on the map. No one knew about it except for him.
“Okay,” he said, feeling his mouth go dry. “I’ll meet you tonight.“
All day at work, Jon couldn’t concentrate. Anna’s words about the cemetery wouldn’t leave his mind. What if she knows? What if this is all part of some plan to expose his crime? At 5:00 that evening, he canceled his remaining appointments and got in his car. He needed to be sure. He needed to see with his own eyes that Anna’s grave had not been disturbed, that her body was still there, deep underground. The place where he buried his wife was an hour’s drive from the city. An abandoned vacant lot that had been prepared for construction, but the project had never been started. 10 years ago, there had been nothing but bare earth. Now there were trees, shrubs, and tall grass. John parked at the curb and walked through the thicket, trying to remember the exact spot. It wasn’t easy. The landscape had changed a lot, but he oriented himself to an old oak tree that stood nearby. The grave had to be 50 paces east of the tree. He counted off the steps, looking around. His heart was pounding in his chest. What if someone had dug up the grave? What if a body had been found? 48, 49, 50. John stopped and looked around. The ground here looked pristine. Tall grass, small bushes, no signs of digging. He exhaled a sigh of relief. It was all right. The grave hadn’t been disturbed. Anna’s body was still here.
Suddenly, it hit him. If Anna’s body is here, who is the woman in his house? Who is the one who looks exactly like his wife, knows all her habits, her past, the visions, the hallucinations? None of it made sense. You couldn’t feel the touch of a hallucination. You couldn’t hear her footsteps on the stairs. You couldn’t feel the warmth of her body next to him in bed. This woman was real, but she couldn’t be Anna. Anna had been lying here under a layer of earth and grass for 10 years.
Jon returned home late at night, exhausted and confused. The house greeted him with silence and darkness.
“Anna,” he called out, turning on the light.
No one answered. He checked the kitchen, the living room, went upstairs. No sign of the woman who had called herself his wife. Perhaps she had left. Perhaps it was all over. The thought brought both relief and a strange longing at the same time. He poured himself a whiskey and sat in the chair in front of the fireplace. A familiar ritual that always calmed him. But not today. Today he felt something looming, something inescapable and terrifying.
“Been to the grave?“
John shuddered, sputtering his whiskey. Anna stood in the living room doorway, looking at him with a cold smile.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“The grave, John?” she said, coming closer. “The one you dug for me 10 years ago in the vacant lot behind the old oak tree.“
Jon’s heart skipped a beat.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, standing up.
“Come on, John.” Her voice was calm, but there was fire in her eyes. “No more lies. I know what you did. I know how you strangled me. I know how you wrapped me in a rug. I know how you took the body out and buried it.” She came close. And Jon stepped back, bumping into the chair.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I am your conscience, John.” She smiled. “Your past that has come back to foot the bill.“
Jon shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts.
“That’s not possible. I was there today. The grave is untouched. The body is still there.“
“Oh, John.” Her smile grew wider. “Do you really think I’m the one lying in the ground? That I rose from the dead to come after you?“
“If not, who are you?” he asked, feeling fear give way to anger. “Who the hell are you?“
She took a step back and suddenly did something strange. She ran her hand over her face as if removing a mask. Of course, nothing had changed. She still looked exactly like Anna.
“Don’t you recognize her?” she asked. “Think hard, John. Who would know everything about Anna? Who could look exactly like her with the help of a good surgeon? Who could hate you enough to spend 10 years seeking revenge?“
And then it hit him.
“Kate,” he whispered, feeling the ground go from under his feet. “Kate Wilson.“
She clapped her hands together slowly.
“Bingo, John. Your brains are finally working.“
Jon sank into the chair, unable to stand. Kate Wilson, Anna’s best friend, the woman who disappeared from town shortly after his wife disappeared.
“But why?” he asked. “Why all this?“
“Why?” Her voice shook. “You killed the only person I ever really cared about. The only one who ever sacrificed himself for me.” She stepped closer. And now Jon saw in her eyes not Anna, but someone else. Someone full of rage and pain. “Do you know what happened to us when we were teenagers? Did Anna tell you?“
John shook his head.
“We were 16,” Kate said, looking through him. “We were coming home late at night. We took a shortcut through an alley. That’s where we were attacked by a man, a local maniac who had already raped and killed two women.” She paused, gathering her strength. “He grabbed us both. He had a knife. We couldn’t escape. And then Anna Anna pushed me and shouted, ‘Run! Get help!‘ She stayed with him alone so I could save myself.“
Kate turned away and Jon saw her shoulders tense.
“I ran, but there was no one, no help. By the time I got back with the police, it was too late.” She turned to him, tears in her eyes. “He’d kept her for 3 days in the basement of an abandoned house. 3 days, John? Can you imagine what 3 days means in the hands of a psychopath? He beat her, stabbed her, raped her, broke bones, burned her with cigarettes. Every inch of her body was covered in bruises, cuts, burns.“
Kate came closer, hovering over him.
“You know what he said in court? That he wanted to get even for two. That he was disappointed that one of us got away. So, he tortured Anna twice as much for me.“
Jon sat stunned by this story. Anna had never told him about it, never mentioned that she had lived through a similar nightmare.
“She survived.” Kate continued incredibly. “She survived 6 months in the hospital, a year of therapy. You know what she said when I asked her how she got through all that horror? She said, ‘I thought about you, that you were safe, that you weren’t affected.‘”
Kate brushed away a tear and straightened up.
“And then you showed up and everything was fine. At first, she loved you, trusted you, and then you started hitting her.“
John flinched. No one knew about it. No one but him and Anna.
“She called me crying. I begged her to leave you, but she kept putting it off. And then then she just disappeared. And you told the police you didn’t know where she’d gone. That maybe she left on her own.” Kate clenched her fists. “But I knew knew you’d done something to her. Detective Brown knew it, too. But there was no proof. And you got away with it.“
She walked over to the fireplace and picked up a framed photograph from the shelf. An old picture of John and Anna.
“I swore I’d make you confess, make you pay for what you did, and here I am.“
Jon stared at her, not believing his eyes. How could she have changed so much? How could she become an exact replica of Anna?
“10 plastic surgeries,” Kate said as if reading his mind. “10 years of preparation. I studied every detail of her appearance, every habit, every memory she shared with me. I became her, John, for you.“
She put the photograph back in its place and it worked.
“You believed. You began to question your sanity, your memories, the whole thing.“
John couldn’t find the words. “All this for revenge?“
“For justice,” Kate corrected him. “Anna saved me twice. first in that alley and then when she helped me believe in people again after everything that had happened and I couldn’t save her from you.“
John shook his head.
“You’re crazy.” He said, “you spent 10 years mutilated your face your life for what? For a man who’s long dead.“
Kate smiled. And that smile wasn’t Anna’s. It was the cold hard smile of a man who had waited a long time for his time.
“Not for the sake of a dead man, John. For the truth. for the sake of you admitting what you’ve done so you don’t walk away from your responsibility.“
She pulled a small device out of her pocket and pressed a button.
“And you know what? It worked.“
“If Anna’s body is here, who is the woman in my house?” John’s voice echoed through the room. His own voice recorded today in the vacant lot.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Proof,” Kate said. “The first of many. I’ve recorded every conversation we’ve had. Every word you’ve said since the moment I arrived.” She took a step back. “But I want a full confession, John. I want to hear you say it. How you confess to killing Anna.“
Jon stood up, feeling the rage building inside.
“You’re not going to get anywhere,” he said. “No record is enough. It’s still your word against mine.“
“You’re wrong.” Kate said, “I have a witness. Someone who always believed you were guilty.“
And as if on cue, the living room door opened. Detective Tom Brown stood on the doorstep.
“Good evening, Mr. Miller,” he said with the same distaste in his voice. “It seems we finally have some evidence.“
John felt the ground go from under his feet. He shifted his gaze from the detective to the woman he thought was his dead wife.
“You worked together,” he said. “All this time?“
“Not all of it.” Brown shook his head. “Kate came to me a month ago, told me her plan. I couldn’t pass up a chance like that.“
John sank into his chair, realizing he was cornered.
“What now?” he asked.
“Now,” Kate said, “You tell the truth, the whole truth about what happened to Anna, or we keep playing this game. I can disappear and reappear for a long time, John. I can drive you crazy for months, years.“
Jon looked at her, a woman with his wife’s face, but with eyes full of someone else’s rage and pain, and suddenly felt a strange relief. Maybe it was time to come clean. Time to end this nightmare.
“I killed her,” he said quietly.
“Louder,” Kate demanded. “I want to hear every word clearly.“
“I killed Anna,” John repeated louder. “We had a fight. She said she was leaving me. She was filing for divorce. Yeah, I couldn’t let that happen. I grabbed her by the throat, choked her until she stopped moving.”
He lowered his head, feeling the tears running down his cheeks.
“I wrapped her body in a rug, took her out of town, buried her in a vacant lot 50 paces east of the old oak tree.”
Kate stood still, staring at him. Tears were streaming down her face, too, but she didn’t wipe them away.
“Did you hear that?” She asked, turning to Brown.
“Every word,” the detective nodded, pulling out his handcuffs. “John Miller, you’re under arrest for the murder of Anna Miller. You have the right to remain silent.”
John barely listened. He stared at the woman with his wife’s face. The woman who had spent 10 years trying to avenge her friend who had changed her face, her identity, her life for this moment.
“Was it worth it?” he asked as Brown snapped the handcuffs on his wrists. “These 10 years, the surgeries, all that pain?”
Kate looked at him for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I know I couldn’t have done it any other way. Anna deserved justice and now she had it.”
As Brown led Jon out of the house, Kate was left standing in the middle of the living room. 10 years of preparation, 10 years of transformation, 10 years of obsession. It was all over in one evening. She walked over to the mirror and looked at her reflection. The face that was no longer her own. The face of the woman who had once shrouded her in terror. What is left for the Avenger when vengeance is accomplished? Where does a ghost go when his work is done? Kate touched her face. Someone else’s face with her fingertips. Every scar beneath the flawless skin, every rebuilt bone was a monument to her obsession. She wasn’t just pretending to be Anna. She had become her, and that was her curse.
“I avenged you,” she whispered to the reflection. “But I lost myself.”
She stepped back from the mirror and resolutely removed from her neck the locket with the picture of young Anna… her talisman all these years placed it on the table scrutinizing it one last time. Justice had been done but there was no release. A sudden thought made her freeze. She slowly walked back to the mirror and took another look at the reflection. In that face was her future, the only possible future.
The next morning, she walked into the police station. Detective Brown was waiting for her in his office. When she sat down across from him, his face showed a complex combination of admiration and anxiety.
“So,” he said, looking at her carefully. “What now?”
“Now,” she answered calmly. “Anna Miller wants her papers restored. She’s been reported missing, hasn’t she? Not dead, just missing.”
The detective leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes on her.
“Kate,” he began quietly. “Do you realize that it’s Anna?”
She interrupted him firmly. “My name is Anna Miller. Kate Wilson disappeared a week ago on a roadside highway. And I came home.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. The woman with the stranger’s face and the detective who knew the truth.
“Are you sure?” he finally asked.
“Absolutely,” she answered without a shadow of doubt.
Kate had given everything to get justice. “Now it’s my turn to live.”
The detective nodded slowly, realizing the inevitability of that decision. They both knew there was no turning back. The mask had become the face, the role, the essence, and maybe that was the only way the ghost of vengeance could find peace. He slid the application form over to her.
“Welcome home, Anna.”
