Part One: The Arrival
The two-lane road into West Virginia wound like a long exhale through the forested ridges, carving a slow, deliberate path between shadowed pines and bone-bare oaks. Fog clung to the treetops like old breath that hadn’t fully left the lungs of the land. It was the kind of place that held its silence like a threat. It didn’t welcome you. It tolerated your presence until you proved you belonged.
Matt Kane kept his hands at ten and two, his fingers tight against the steering wheel’s worn leather. His gaze was steady, almost unnervingly fixed on the road ahead. Every so often, he blinked as if remembering he had eyes. The hum of the engine, the rhythmic thud of tires over weather-warped asphalt—none of it pierced the cocoon of thought he was wrapped inside.
He wasn’t running from something. Not exactly. He was driving toward an idea. A version of himself that had taken root inside his mind and refused to let go. It had grown slowly, like ivy—twisting around his bones, his identity, his very sense of self. Now it had wrapped around his spine and pulled him to this place, to this moment.
In the rearview mirror, the man looking back at him barely felt real. The beard was shorter now, just a shadow clinging to his jaw. The moustache had been shaped with deliberate care. Not quite the style he used to wear—but close to someone else’s. Someone he had never met in person but knew more intimately than most people knew themselves.
Jake Bennett.
The name wasn’t just a name anymore. It had become a blueprint.
Matt had first seen him in a tiny news blurb months ago. A local human-interest story about troopers running a food drive. Jake had been in the background of a photo, standing next to a cruiser, hand casually resting near his belt. There had been something unnerving about the resemblance. Same build. Same eyes. Same posture, even. But where Matt’s presence was muted, Jake’s was sharpened. Defined. Assertive. Commanding without trying.
It had taken Matt hours to pull himself away from that single photo. He had stared at it in a diner booth, laptop glowing, barely touching his coffee. That night, he started digging.
Jake had no social media presence. No visible family. No real digital footprint beyond official reports and public records. Everything about him was clean and minimal, like a freshly pressed uniform. There was something magnetic in that blankness. Jake wasn’t just a person—he was a role. A structure. A mold.
And Matt wanted to step inside it.
The months that followed were not impulsive. They were methodical. Matt began shaping his body and life like clay. He changed his name legally, first and last, erasing the old ones as if they never existed. He moved frequently, disappearing from places before anyone could ask questions. He shaved his beard, let it grow again, then reshaped it. He studied Jake’s photos, matching the angle of his jawline, the curve of his smile, the way his shoulders rested beneath the seams of a uniform.
He downloaded footage from community access videos where Jake could be seen in the background. He looped them obsessively, slowing down to watch how Jake turned corners, how he nodded when others spoke, how he carried silence like a second badge.
It wasn’t mimicry.
It was rehearsal.
By the time Matt crossed the state line into Elkins, West Virginia, the man he used to be felt distant. Not gone—but fading. He touched his face briefly, fingertips running along his jaw, feeling the firmness he’d carved through exercise and restraint. He had dropped ten pounds, leaned into a new posture. Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Voice lower. Measured.
Elkins appeared out of the mist like a forgotten idea. Quiet houses. Narrow streets. Utility poles with old staples from long-dead posters. It was a town that didn’t update itself unless it absolutely had to. That suited Matt just fine.
He pulled into a gravel lot behind a row of aging storefronts. The sign for a bait shop flickered half-lit, and a laundromat sat dark with a CLOSED sign hanging like an afterthought. Rain started to fall—soft, steady, whispering. He didn’t reach for the wipers. He watched it blur the windshield, distort the world in a way that made everything seem less sharp. Less real.
He finally stepped out, grabbing his duffel from the trunk and slipping a dark ballcap over his damp hair. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and wet pavement. As he stood there, breathing in slow and steady, the cold sliced through his clothes like teeth. He welcomed it.
It kept it real.
The community center wasn’t far. Just a couple of blocks. The glow of its old sodium lights pulsed faintly through the mist. He started walking, each step deliberate. He moved like someone who had already practiced arriving. Each gesture was calm. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders squared against the cold.
Inside that building was the real beginning.
He was going to meet Jake.
Part Two: The First Glance
The Elkins Community Center was the kind of place that hadn’t been remodeled in decades. Its faded linoleum floors bore the scuff marks of generations of town meetings and dance classes. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, lending a cold, pale tint to the faces in the room. The smell of old coats, over-brewed coffee, and dry radiator heat filled the air like a second skin.
Matt walked in with a quiet presence, his boots leaving a faint trail of rain on the floor. He carried his duffel slung low and wore the same dark field jacket that now seemed like an extension of his body. He moved like someone used to taking up just the right amount of space—no more, no less.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Jake Bennett was standing near the back of the room, talking to an older man in a John Deere cap about something trivial. His hands moved sparingly, his posture relaxed but unmistakably attentive. He wasn’t performing. He was just present, and that made him stand out more than anyone else in the room. His uniform was immaculate—pressed shirt, duty belt hanging with weight, name tag polished to a dull shine.
Matt felt the familiar jolt. The resemblance was sharper in person. More than just shared bone structure—it was something deeper. Jake was what Matt could have been if his life had followed the rules instead of pulling away from them. He had that calm, solid air. Like gravity. Like law.
Matt didn’t approach immediately. He wandered to the snack table, eyes skimming the untouched oatmeal cookies and the steaming coffee pot. He didn’t pour himself a cup. He just waited.
And sure enough, Jake noticed him.
The first glance was subtle. A flick of the eyes. A pause in the conversation. Then another look—longer this time. Curious.
Matt held his gaze just long enough to make it clear it wasn’t an accident. Then he walked over, slow and steady.
“Trooper Bennett?” His voice was smooth, practiced, a few shades deeper than it used to be.
Jake turned fully now. “Yeah?”
“Matt Kane. Just moved to town. Figured I’d say hello.”
Jake studied him, openly and without apology. “You new to West Virginia?”
Matt nodded. “From Ohio originally. Been all over the place, really. But Elkins has the right kind of quiet.”
Jake’s gaze dropped briefly to Matt’s boots, then to the scuffed duffel at his side. “Photographer?”
Matt smiled. “That obvious?”
“Your boots say fieldwork. The bag says you don’t like relying on cloud storage.”
Matt gave a soft chuckle. “You’ve got a sharp eye.”
Jake shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”
There was a pause—one of those deliberate silences Jake seemed comfortable with.
Matt let it stretch, then added, “You ever get told you’ve got a twin?”
Jake raised one eyebrow, amused but wary. “You?”
“Not saying it’s perfect,” Matt said, his gaze steady. “But enough to make people look twice.”
Jake looked again. This time he didn’t rush it. His eyes moved across Matt’s face, down to his shoulders, and back up.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I see it.”
Matt lifted his phone slightly. “Mind if I take a shot? For reference.”
Jake gave a small nod. “Keep it casual.”
Matt took a quick photo. Just one. “Thanks. I might pitch a piece. Faces of Elkins. That sort of thing.”
Jake gave a faint smirk. “Let’s hope there’s only one of mine.”
Matt grinned. “That might depend on how convincing I get.”
Jake tilted his head slightly, the line between curiosity and discomfort thinning. “You serious?”
“Half-joking,” Matt said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Mostly fascinated.”
Jake’s voice was even. “People around here like authenticity. It matters.”
Matt leaned in, just a fraction. “Then I’ll be authentic about what interests me.”
Jake held his gaze for a long moment, then gave a short nod—neither approval nor warning, but something in between. “Welcome to Elkins, Kane.”
“Appreciate it, Trooper.”
They didn’t shake hands. They didn’t need to.
As Matt turned to walk away, he felt Jake’s eyes follow him across the room. He didn’t look back.
But he smiled.
Part Three: Patterns
Matt had always been good at routines—at slipping into the rhythms of a place until he became part of its scenery. Elkins was small enough that it only took him a few days to learn the town’s pulse. Where people gathered. Who spoke loud and who listened quietly. And most importantly, when and where Jake Bennett moved.
Each morning, Matt walked past the trooper barracks, casual and unhurried. He didn’t linger. Just passed by as if he had nowhere important to be. But he always timed it right—just close enough to see Jake getting into his cruiser or heading inside, uniform sharp and jaw set with that quiet authority.
It wasn’t stalking. Not in the way most people understood it. It was study.
In the afternoons, Matt set up in the diner with a spiral notebook and a cup of black coffee. He didn’t pretend to write a novel. Instead, he made notes. Jake’s route through town. The people he stopped to talk to. The way his hand rested near his belt when he stood still, or how his weight shifted from foot to foot during conversations. The tilt of his campaign hat. The pace of his stride.
Matt was learning Jake’s architecture.
Two weeks in, he shaved the beard. Left the moustache. Cleaned it up with precision. When he looked in the mirror that morning, he didn’t flinch. He stared for a long time, then stepped closer. Turned his head side to side. The likeness was getting stronger. Still subtle. Still unfinished. But the illusion was beginning to settle over him like fabric.
He ran into Jake again on a rainy Wednesday, just outside a gas station on the edge of town.
Jake was climbing out of his cruiser when he spotted Matt at the pump.
“You following me now?” Jake’s tone wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t friendly either.
Matt shrugged. “Small town. Bound to cross paths.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “You here for a reason?”
Matt didn’t answer right away. He leaned against the pump, his posture relaxed. “I saw something in you. And I think I needed to meet the version of me who followed through.”
Jake let out a slow breath. “That’s a strange way to compliment someone.”
Matt smiled faintly. “Ever wonder what it would’ve been like if you’d been handed the same starting point, but a different route?”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “I’ve worked for everything I have.”
“I know,” Matt said quietly. “That’s why I’m here. I want to understand what that feels like.”
Jake turned and walked toward his cruiser. “Understanding doesn’t come from watching. It comes from living it.”
Matt’s voice followed him. “Then let me live beside it.”
Jake didn’t look back.
But he didn’t tell him to stop, either.
Part Four: Tension
Their exchanges became more frequent. First a nod at the grocery store. Then a brief conversation outside the hardware shop. Eventually, longer talks by Jake’s porch, where Matt would jog past at just the right time to catch him standing out front with a cup of coffee in hand.
Jake never invited him, but he didn’t ignore him either. That was its own kind of permission.
One evening, after a particularly quiet sunset, Jake looked at him and said, “You want a beer?”
Matt followed him inside without hesitation.
Jake’s living room was as sparse as Matt expected. A dark couch. A lamp. A small TV. A framed badge certificate sat on a lone side table like a shrine. There were no personal photos. No signs of family or past lovers. The space felt curated. Intentionally blank.
“You travel light,” Matt said, accepting the cold bottle Jake handed him.
“Don’t need more than this,” Jake replied.
They sat in silence, the kind that pressed against the walls. It wasn’t awkward. It was dense. Charged.
Matt finally leaned forward. “You ever think about what you’d be if you hadn’t become a trooper?”
Jake shook his head. “This was always the plan. Since I was eighteen. Nothing else ever stuck.”
Matt nodded slowly. “That’s why I respect you.”
Jake’s voice was low. “Respect and fixation aren’t the same thing.”
Matt didn’t blink. “You think I’m fixated?”
Jake looked at him. Long. Hard.
Then said nothing.
The silence between them stretched again. Not a crack. Not a break.
A tether.
Part Five: The Mirror
It was a small gesture, but it shifted everything.
One morning, the air had turned colder than expected. Jake and Matt were standing on the porch with coffee, watching the wind scatter dead leaves across the yard. Without a word, Jake reached into the hall closet and pulled out a jacket. Plain black softshell. No patches. No badge.
“Take this,” he said.
Matt slid it on slowly, almost reverently. The material hugged his arms like it had been made for him. He zipped it halfway and caught his reflection in the glass of the sliding door.
He froze.
Jake watched him stare. “Jacket suits you.”
Matt didn’t look away. “Fits like it was already mine.”
Jake didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask for it back.
Matt wore the jacket home.
He returned it two days later, neatly folded. Jake didn’t comment.
From then on, Matt started showing up to help around the property. Fixing a broken fence panel. Cleaning the gutters. Raking the leaves that wouldn’t stop falling. Jake let him. More than that, he expected him. It became routine.
That night, Jake leaned against the porch railing, studying Matt’s face in the dim light.
“You’re starting to really look like me.”
Matt didn’t flinch. “I know.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You’re okay with that?”
Matt smiled, soft and sure. “I’m better than okay.”
Jake didn’t respond.
But he didn’t stop it either.
