Ben knew something was off about his life.
The first clue Ben found was the fact that he knew how to fix a car. Nobody had ever shown him, not that he could remember. But one time when his car died at the side of road he pulled up the hood and just knew that it was the alternator on the fritz again. He was able to tinker around for a few minutes and it was fixed. The engine purred like a kitten.
The second clue was the car itself. He'd bought it on a whim one day, when he went to the second-hand car yard to pick his birthday gift. He wanted a sort of pick up truck, he'd thought, something to carry all of his things in without exploding or making him look like a soccer mom.
But he took one look at the green Impala and bought it. It was like he'd seen it somewhere before, even though it wasn't the most common car. It almost seemed too familiar. Deja vu. It made him uneasy.
His third clue was his mother's reaction to the car. When she heard the engine rumbling up the drive, she'd run to the front door like a woman possessed, tears streaking down her cheeks. When she saw it, green glory shining, she pressed a hand to her chest and hid in her room for an hour. When she came out, she claimed no memory of the events.
But Ben did. And he knew something was off.