The receiver slipped from my fingers, clattering against the polished wood of the nightstand. I didn’t bother grabbing my shoes. I sprinted down the hallway, my socks sliding on the plush carpet, and slammed my hand against the elevator button. When it didn’t immediately arrive, I threw open the heavy fire door and took the stairs three at a time.
My pulse hammered in my ears. They aren’t who they came in with. What did that even mean? The resort was a heavily secured, family-friendly oasis. They had only been out of my sight for four minutes.
I burst through the stairwell doors into the expansive, marble-floored lobby. My eyes darted past the luggage carts, the indoor fountain, and the grand piano, finally landing on the front desk.
There they were. My ten-year-old twins, Leo and Maya. They were standing perfectly still, holding their rolled-up pool towels.
But it was the man standing between them, holding each of their small hands, that made the air evaporate from my lungs.
He was wearing the exact same charcoal half-zip sweater I had on. He had the same slight slouch in his shoulders, the same prematurely graying temples, and the exact same silver watch on his left wrist.
He was me.
Behind the desk, the young receptionist was completely frozen, her hand hovering over the panic button. She looked from me, panting and wild-eyed near the stairwell, to the man standing calmly at the counter.
“Leo? Maya?” I choked out, taking a slow step forward.
The twins turned their heads. Their eyes were vacant, glassy, completely devoid of the chaotic, buzzing energy they’d possessed just minutes prior. They looked at me as if I were a stranger asking for directions.
“Kids, step away from him,” I commanded, my voice cracking. I looked at the receptionist. “Call security. Now!”
The other man—the thing wearing my face—turned to look at me. He didn’t look malicious. He looked mildly annoyed, the way I did when someone cut me off in traffic.
“Is there a problem, sir?” his voice echoed through the lobby. It was my voice. The exact timber, the same slight rasp from a cold I’d fought off the week prior.
“Those are my children,” I snarled, closing the distance. “Get your hands off them.”
“Your children?” The man chuckled, a terrifyingly familiar sound. He looked down at Leo and Maya. “Kids, do you know this man?”
Maya blinked slowly. “No, Daddy. He looks scary.”
The room spun. Daddy. She had said it with complete conviction. I reached out to grab her arm, but two heavy hands clamped down on my shoulders. Security had arrived, but they weren’t grabbing the imposter. They were grabbing me.
“Sir, you need to calm down and step away from this family,” a burly guard ordered, twisting my arm behind my back.
“Check the cameras!” I screamed, thrashing against their grip. “Check the check-in logs! I walked in with them ten minutes ago! My luggage is in Room 412!”
The imposter sighed, reaching into his pocket and casually tossing a room key onto the marble counter. It had the number 412 stamped into the plastic.
“I think this man is unwell,” the imposter said to the guards, his tone dripping with fake, paternal sympathy. “Please make sure he gets the help he needs. Come on, kids. Let’s go hit the pool before dinner.”
As the guards dragged me backward toward the resort’s holding office, I watched my children walk away, their small hands enveloped in his. Just before they disappeared around the corner toward the indoor pool, the man looked back over his shoulder.
He smiled. And for a fraction of a second, his eyes weren’t human at all.
