{~This chapter takes place before the first chapter. Inspired by the song 'Echo'. Thanks for your kind words, faves, and follows ^-^. Also, the first chapter was translated into Spanish by the lovely Estefy Tsukino, which is absolutely incredible!~}
A few days after Henry rescues Sammy from the studio...
His eyes stared forward as his reflection stared back at him. Was this... was this really him? This figure was so thin, which if what little memory he had served him well, he was fairly skinny before the studio so it made sense but... this was far too thin. He could see his bones where the much-to-big clothing he was given didn't cover.
Thin fingers reached up and pulled a stringy lock of inky black hair out of his pale face, allowing him to stare further at himself. His eyes looked so tired, like he hadn't slept in forever. Had he slept? Did humans need sleep? Of course they did... what else though?
The man who rescued him from the studio walked past the bathroom, stopping to peer through the open door at him. "Sammy?" he asked. "You okay?"
He didn't answer, he simply continued to watch his reflection as he moved his hand towards and away from his face. This was so jarring to him, seeing someone he didn't recognize repeating his every move back to him. He knew how mirrors worked, so he knew this had to be himself, but that didn't mean he really knew the man who stared back at him.
Master Henry sighed and walked over to him, smiling lightly as he pulled the rest of his hair out of his face. "I'm sure Linda won't mind," he stated, reaching into the drawer to the right of the sink and pulling out a small loop. His hands were careful as he wrapped the loop around Sammy's hair a few times, pulling it back in a small pony tail. "There," he said with a brighter smile.
Sammy's hand reached back to touch the pony tail in confusion still, his eyes never moving from the man in the mirror. "So strange," he stated, absentmindedly.
"Yeah, it'll feel a little odd since it's so oily, but it'll feel better once you wash it," Henry explained. "I'll buy you some shampoo and conditioner tomorrow when I go to the store," he paused to look him over again. "And maybe some clothing, too. I doubt any of my clothes will fit you."
.~.~.~
Sure enough, the next day Sammy was staring at himself in the mirror again, this time looking at yet another man he didn't know. His hair was still black, even though he was pretty sure that wasn't its natural color, but now it was softer and not so... oily. And instead of falling over a shoulder, the collar of his shirt hung loosly around his neck like a normal shirt. The man staring back at him looked like a more put together man, which meant that wasn't him at all.
His life was still a mess, the only thing holding it together was Henry now. He didn't remember his past, he barely remembered his own name most days, all he knew was the Hell that the studio had become and that he lived in it for a long time. The only feeling he knew was the perpetual pain that racked his body day in day out, but that pain was now gone. The world of black and white was gone as well, replaced with bright colors that he had never seen before.
Finally, he left the bathroom and went to the living room to see if he could find Henry. He saw the man sitting in front of what seemed like a pile of newspapers with four wooden legs coming off. It appeared that Henry had strewn newspapers all over the coffee table, the reasoning behind that remained unclear.
He walked over to the man and looked at the papers. All of them were just the old obituaries from the late 30's to mid 40's, the general time when the studio shut down. He said nothing, though Henry had started talking to him, simply watched as Henry shifted through the papers like he was looking for something. Soon enough, he seemed to have found it as he let out a pleased "ah-ha!"
Sammy peered at the paper to see... 'obituary of Sammy Lawrence'. His own obituary. Henry had been looking for that? Apparently so as the man had taken out a notepad and was writing down the names of relatives listed.
His eyes zeroed in on the photograph of the male under his name and date of birth to date of disappearance. Though black and yellowing white, the man looked nothing like him or the man in the mirror. He was thin but not deadly so, his cheeks were not so set in, nor were his eyes, and his hair looked soft and well groomed as well as a lighter color.
He wasn't that man, he was sure of it. He wasn't the man in the mirror either. Who was he?
Henry caught his staring and stood up, getting his full attention again. "I know what you're thinking," he said calmly. "I promise you, this picture and the reflection you see in the mirror are the same person, just thirty years in an inky Hell apart. And I can promise you that you'll look at least closer to how you did before again, it just takes time. Okay?"
Sammy stared at him then at the picture again. There was no way he'd ever look exactly like him but... maybe he could look a little like that someday. He looked back at Henry and offered a weak smile, nodding ever so gently.
Henry smiled back at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a quick hug. "Good. Now would you mind helping me find the coffee table? I seem to have lost it a while ago."
Sammy's smile widened as he laughed slightly. He nodded again.
{~I swear, Sammy in this is literally how I "talk" to people. I originally just wrote this story because I was bored, but I came up with more (back in January... I hate editing and that's my only excuse), which I'm super excited about! Thanks again for your kind reviews and thanks for reading ^-^~}