Timelines
(You chose: The Object That Remembers You.)
Part 1: The Last Sitting
“You’re coming.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
You barely glance up from the stack of records in your hand as Mia leans across the counter dramatically. “You literally close in twenty minutes,” she says. “You have no excuse.”
“It’s a ghost tour.”
“And?”
“And ghost tours are where people with microphones and costumes lie for two hours.”
Ethan laughs somewhere behind her, flipping through vinyl in the jazz section. “Honestly… fair.”
Mia points at you triumphantly. “Okay but this one ends with an actual investigation.”
“Oh my God.”
“You get to walk through the house and everything.”
“The murder house,” Ethan adds casually.
You stop mid-alphabetize.
“The what?”
Mia grins. “See? Now you’re interested.”
“No. I’m concerned there’s apparently a murder house ten minutes from my apartment.”
“It’s not ten minutes away,” Ethan says. “It’s like… eight.”
You shake your head and slide the record into place. “Absolutely not.”
Mia groans loudly enough that a customer glances over. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“You said that before drag brunch and someone broke their ankle.”
“That was one time.”
“You said it before the abandoned motel too.”
“That was ALSO one time.”
Ethan walks up holding a record in one hand. “To be fair, you almost got possessed in that motel.”
You stare at him.
“I had food poisoning.”
“Debatable.”
Mia leans closer across the counter. “Look, they let you do a séance in the room where the murders happened.”
You blink slowly.
“They what?”
“It’s gimmicky,” she says quickly. “Like theatrical. They use an old spirit board and tell the story and stuff.”
That somehow made it sound worse.
“You need to leave this store once in a while.”
You glance around the shop instinctively.
The low crackle of vinyl spinning behind the counter.
Rows of records.
Warm amber lights.
The smell of old paper sleeves and dust.
Comforting.
Predictable.
“Maybe a Victorian ghost will finally fall in love with you,” Ethan says.
You point at him without missing a beat. “You’re the first one dying if something happens.”
“You’re probably right.”
Mia claps her hands together. “So we’re going?”
You sigh.
A long one.
While grumbling out a “…fine.”
Mia immediately cheers loud enough to embarrass you.
“You’re all insane!”
“Correct,” Ethan says.
***
Rain follows the city all evening.
Not heavy.
Just enough to leave the streets shining beneath the lights.
The tour group gathers outside a narrow Victorian townhouse tucked between newer brick buildings downtown.
Most people walking by probably wouldn’t notice it if not for the lantern hanging beside the front gate.
Black iron fencing.
Tall windows.
Faded green paint.
The house feels strangely untouched compared to everything around it.
Like time just decided to skip over it.
“Okay,” Mia whispers beside you. “This is already creepy.”
“You’re the one that dragged me here.”
“Well, and now I’m scared.”
A small group gathers beneath the steps while the guide introduces himself.
Late thirties maybe.
Long coat.
Confident smile.
“Welcome,” he says theatrically. “To Blackthorn House.”
Ethan leans toward you slightly.
“Definitely not the real name.”
“Definitely.”
The guide continues.
“In the late 1800s, the Blackthorn family became one of the wealthiest families in the city through shipping and trade.”
He gestures toward the house.
“But they became far more famous for what happened inside these walls.”
A couple people shift closer.
“The lady of the house, Lenora Blackthorn, was known for hosting private spiritual gatherings here during the height of the American Spiritualist movement.”
“Table tipping,” Mia whispers dramatically.
“Shh.”
The guide smiles slightly like he’s heard it before.
“Séances. Automatic writing. Mourning rituals. People traveled from all over the country to attend her sittings.”
The lantern light flickers across the front windows behind him.
“Some believed Lenora could truly communicate with the dead.”
A pause.
“Others believed she was practicing witchcraft.”
You feel Ethan glance toward you.
“Why are stories always so mean to women?” he mutters quietly.
“Because history hates weird women,” Mia whispers back.
You shoot back, “and that’s exactly why I’m ok just being in my record store.”
The guide continues walking toward the front doors.
“Then one evening during what would become known as The Last Sitting… something happened.”
The group follows him inside.
The air changes immediately.
Cooler.
Your footsteps echo softly across old wood floors as you enter the foyer.
Portraits line the walls.
Tall ceilings.
Heavy wallpaper darkened with age.
Everything smells faintly like candle wax and old books.
The guide keeps talking as everyone filters deeper into the house.
“Neighbors reported hearing screaming sometime after midnight,” he says.
“Some claimed they saw lights moving through the windows. Others believed something had gone wrong during the séance itself.”
The group enters a long sitting room.
Velvet curtains.
A grand piano in the corner.
Oil paintings staring down from the walls.
And there, near the center of the room, sits a round table surrounded by old wooden chairs.
You suddenly find yourself feeling a bit anxious.
You don’t know why.
“The following morning,” the guide says, “members of the Blackthorn family were found dead inside the home.”
A girl near the back laughs nervously.
“No signs of forced entry,” he continues. “No confirmed suspect. The town quickly turned against the surviving members of the family, believing they had invited something unnatural into the house.”
You glance toward the table again.
Something about the room feels…
familiar.
Not scary.
Familiar.
Your eyes drift toward a glass case sitting against the far wall.
Inside rests a single dark velvet glove.
You stop walking.
Mia notices immediately. “Oh my God. You’re locked in.”
“What?”
“You have the look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely have a look.”
You barely hear her.
The glove pulls your attention strangely hard.
Elegant.
Old.
Beautiful.
For a second…
you could swear you remember what the fabric feels like against your skin.
Weird.
The guide notices the group staring toward the display.
“That,” he says, “reportedly belonged to Lenora Blackthorn herself.”
Someone near the back jokingly asks if it’s haunted.
The guide grins. “Depends how brave you are.”
A few people laugh.
Then he gestures toward the séance table.
“Now,” he says. “Who’s ready to speak to the dead?”
Mia immediately points at you.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Ethan’s already laughing.
“You’re participating now. You have haunted glove face.”
“I hate both of you.”
The group gathers around the table while the guide places an old spirit board carefully at the center.
Candles flicker softly around the room now.
Some people pull out phones.
Others laugh nervously.
The guide raises both hands dramatically.
“Please refrain from summoning anything demonic,” he says. “The paperwork is exhausting.”
A few people laugh again.
But you barely hear them.
Your eyes drift back toward the velvet glove.
The guide notices.
“You can hold it if you’d like,” he says casually. “Some people say objects carry energy.”
Mia immediately gasps.
“Oh my God DO IT.”
“This is how horror movies start.”
“And yet here we are.”
You hesitate.
Then slowly walk toward the glass case.
The guide opens it carefully.
Up close, the glove somehow feels even older.
Not fragile.
Preserved.
You reach toward it slowly.
The second your fingers touch the velvet…
End of Part 1.
***
Part 2: The Void
(You chose: The room disappears around you.)
The second your fingers touch the velvet…
everything disappears.
Not fades.
The séance room vanishes instantly.
The candles.
The tourists.
The old house.
Gone.
Lights out.
You’re standing somewhere else now.
Somewhere endless.
Pitch black stretches around you in every direction, so dark it doesn’t even feel like a room anymore.
There’s no floor beneath your feet that you can see, yet somehow you’re still standing.
Then a faint glow slowly forms somewhere above you.
Enough to see your hands.
A bit of panic starts to set in.
“What the hell…”
Your voice disappears into the void without echo.
Then…
you hear them.
Muffled at first.
As if on the other side of a wall.
But above you.
“Oh my God, is she okay?”
That was Mia.
Another voice.
“Is this part of the act?”
“She’s fine,” the tour guide says with a nervous laugh. “Some people just really commit to the bit.”
A couple awkward chuckles follow.
You try to answer.
They can’t hear you.
You feel the anxiety building from the pit of your stomach.
Then the guide’s voice comes again. Lower now.
Closer somehow.
“Okay,” he says carefully. “You can stop pretending now.”
Silence.
Your pulse starts pounding.
You turn slowly in the darkness.
Looking for an exit.
Nothing.
No walls.
No ceiling.
No end.
Just black.
Then…
a figure appears.
Far away at first.
Barely visible.
A silhouette standing motionless in the dark.
You stand there frozen.
In shock.
Another shape forms off to your left.
Then another.
And another.
Then you realize what they are.
People.
Dozens of them.
Emerging slowly from every direction.
An older man with hollow tired eyes.
A woman clutching rosary beads.
A young couple holding hands.
A boy no older than ten.
You spin around quickly.
More are appearing behind you now.
Some look frightened.
Some exhausted.
Some simply… lost.
The closer they get, the clearer they become.
Not ghosts in white sheets.
Not monsters.
People.
Real people.
Your heart pounds harder.
You mutter out, “What is this?”
No one answers.
The figures continue slowly approaching through the darkness, not aggressively, not threateningly.
Hopefully.
Like they’ve been waiting for you.
Then suddenly…
a little girl steps forward from the crowd.
Maybe eight years old.
Dark curls.
Pale dress.
Wide nervous eyes.
She looks up at you carefully.
“I was wondering if you could help me.”
Part of you is terrified.
Another part of you is calm.
The girl wrings her hands together.
“There’s something I need to tell my mother.”
A young boy steps beside her quietly.
“Yes,” he says softly. “If you could please get a message to her… we would be very grateful.”
The crowd behind them shifts closer.
Not angry.
Desperate.
You take a small step backward instinctively.
And then more voices begin rising around you all at once.
“Please…”
“I just need her to know…”
“He never found me…”
“Tell my husband I waited…”
“She thinks I left…”
“I know who killed me…”
The darkness suddenly feels impossibly crowded.
The voices swell louder.
Closer.
Closer.
And somewhere far above you…
you still hear Mia screaming your name.
End of Part 2.
***
Part 3: The Light
(You chose: Turn away from Mia’s voice and ask the little girl how you can help.)
The voices above you continue shouting.
Distant now.
Muffled behind some invisible barrier.
Fading.
You make a decision in that moment not to listen to them anymore.
The moment you do, the void changes subtly around you.
The darkness softens.
The figures become clearer.
The faint glow above your head grows warmer.
Almost as if resonating from you.
You turn your attention back toward the little girl.
She’s still standing there patiently beside her brother, both of them watching you carefully.
You swallow hard.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “I’m just… confused.”
The little girl tilts her head slightly.
“You said you wanted to get a message to your mother?”
She nods immediately.
Hope starts to emerge across her face so quickly it almost hurts to look at.
Her brother places a hand gently on her shoulder like he’s encouraging her to keep going.
“She still cries for us,” the little girl says softly.
The boy nods in agreement.
“She thinks we’re gone.”
Your heart goes out to them as they continue.
“We’ve tried everything,” the girl continues. “Butterflies. Flickering lights. Dreams.”
“She doesn’t believe it’s us,” the boy says quietly. “She always explains it away.”
The girl looks down briefly.
“We just want her to know we’re okay.”
Something about the way she says it strips the fear right out of you.
You stare at them for a moment.
Then ask the question that’s been clawing at the inside of your mind since this started.
“How do I even know any of this is real?”
The boy gives a small shrug.
“We can’t prove that to you.”
An older woman from the crowd steps forward slowly now.
Silver hair.
Long dark coat.
Kind tired eyes.
“All we can do,” she says gently, “is give you the message and the information needed to pass it along.”
You glance around at the endless darkness surrounding all of you.
“What is this place?”
The older woman looks upward toward the faint light above.
“All we know is that sometimes the light appears. A map between worlds almost.”
Another figure speaks from somewhere behind you.
“In the past, it gave us the opportunity to communicate. To be seen.”
“This particular light,” the older woman says softly, “has not been on for quite some time.”
The crowd shifts quietly around you.
Whispers in the darkness.
You stare upward at the glow again.
“So what… this is the afterlife?”
A few people exchange amused looks.
The older woman smiles faintly.
“Darling, we’re not looking for you to save us. There needs to be a distinction there. We are not lost souls.”
“We don’t need help in the way you think we do,” another voice says.
“All we’re asking,” the woman says gently, “is to pass on a message. And if you don’t, nothing bad happens.”
“But if you do,” the boy says quietly beside his sister, “you help someone continue their journey.”
Silence settles over you again.
You rub your hands together nervously.
“I honestly don’t believe in any of this,” you admit. “Not really.”
The crowd remains still.
“But if I were to just… set aside my own beliefs for a second and pretend this is real…”
Your voice trails slightly.
“…why me?”
The older woman studies you carefully.
“There’s a version of you,” she says, “that is very familiar with this place.”
A chill crawls slowly up your spine.
“What does that mean?”
“We cannot tell you who you once were,” she says calmly. “Or who you are now. Or who you will become.”
A pause.
“But none of that truly matters.”
The faint light above all of you dulls slightly.
“They are all still you.”
The words hang there strangely in the darkness.
You suddenly feel unsteady.
Almost woozy.
Like your mind is trying to reject something your body already understands.
The little girl steps forward again.
“If you go to our mother,” she says carefully, “tell her to look inside the wall beside my closet.”
Your eyes lower slightly wondering what that means.
“There’s a box there,” the boy says. “We made a time capsule together she doesn’t know about. Some of our favorite things.”
The little girl nods quickly.
“She’ll know it’s really us if you tell her.”
You stare at them speechless.
“How would I even find her?”
The boy gives you an address.
Street.
City.
House number.
Specific.
And then…
POP.
The sound explodes through the void like a gunshot.
The light above you suddenly burns blinding white.
The voices around you stretch and collapse into static.
Your stomach lurches violently.
Everything goes black again.
Then…
streaks of light.
Blurred shapes.
Sound rushing back all at once.
“…hey…”
“Oh my God…”
“…she’s moving….”
Your eyes snap open.
The séance room pieces itself back into focus around you.
Candles.
Velvet curtains.
Every single person in the room is watching you.
Mia rushes toward you immediately.
“Are you okay?”
You realize suddenly…
you’re on the floor.
The ghost tour guide forces an awkward laugh from somewhere nearby.
“Well,” he says nervously, “that was certainly committed.”
Ethan stares at you for a long moment.
Then quietly says:
“Okay… you not only look like you’ve seen a ghost…”
A pause.
“…you look like you could be one.”
You reach your hand out.
“Please,” you blurt out. “Someone get me pen and paper.”
Everyone freezes.
Mia stares at you completely confused.
You look directly at her.
“Please. I need a pen and paper.”
She quickly rummages through her purse and hands you an old receipt and pen.
You scribble the address down frantically.
A man next to you slowly steps forward, watching carefully as you write.
His expression changes the moment he sees the address.
You finish writing and exhale shakily.
Then slowly rise to your feet.
You suddenly become aware of how insane you probably look right now.
Your eyes meet the ghost tour guide.
You attempt the worst joke imaginable.
“Sorry about that,” you say awkwardly. “I think the history of Lady Blackthorn and that second drink earlier got the best of me.”
You flash the cheesiest smile possible.
Mia and Ethan exchange a look.
The ghost tour guide immediately rolls with it.
“Ah yes,” he says theatrically. “The Blackthorns were known for their enormous wine cellar. We’re told the Lady herself still enjoys knocking a few back in apparition form.”
You force out a laugh.
“That must be it.”
The guide claps his hands together.
“Well then,” he says dramatically, gesturing back toward the séance table.
“Shall we continue?”
The candles flicker softly around the room.
“I believe it’s time to raise the dead.”
End of Part 3.
***
Part 4: The Séance
(You chose: Volunteer to participate in the séance.)
“I think,” you hear yourself say carefully, “I’ll do it.”
Mia immediately turns toward you.
“What?!”
You force out an awkward laugh.
“I mean… after all that, I feel kind of obligated now.”
“Obligated?” Ethan mutters quietly. “That’s an interesting word choice.”
The ghost tour guide claps his hands together excitedly.
“Well now THIS is the energy we like to see.”
He points toward the séance table dramatically.
“Although I think you’ve given us enough of a scare for one evening.”
A few nervous laughs ripple through the room.
Not many.
People are still watching you strangely.
You decide to keep everything that happened to yourself for now.
The address.
The children.
The void.
If you need to investigate it later, you will.
But right now…
the curiosity is stronger.
And honestly?
Part of you is embarrassed.
You don’t even fully understand what happened yourself.
Being back to normal makes it easy to write off as a strange dream.
The mind can’t do strange things.
The group slowly gathers around the round séance table once more.
Candles flicker softly across velvet curtains and old portraits staring down from the walls.
The guide places the spirit board carefully in the center.
“Now,” he says theatrically, “before we begin, we first need to unify the energy in the room.”
Ethan quietly leans toward you.
“Oh good. Cult activities.”
“Shh,” you whisper back.
The guide continues.
“We’re going to do a simple energy passing exercise. Everyone take the hand of the person beside you and close your eyes.”
A few people exchange amused looks but comply anyway.
You feel Mia’s hand slide into yours on one side.
Another stranger takes your other hand.
“Good,” the guide says softly.
“Now the first person will squeeze the hand beside them. That person passes it along. Around and around. Faster and faster until the energy feels synchronized.”
Someone squeezes your hand.
You pass it along.
The pulse moves around the circle.
Again.
Again.
Faster now.
The room slowly fills with nervous laughter and shifting candlelight.
The rhythm becomes strangely hypnotic.
Squeeze.
Pass.
Squeeze.
Pass.
Around and around.
Your breathing slows unintentionally.
The candle flames begin flickering harder.
The guide smiles.
“Excellent…”
The pulse quickens.
Faster.
Faster.
Until suddenly…
CLAP.
The guide slams his hands together loudly.
“Stop.”
Instantly…
your head violently snaps upward toward the ceiling.
Gasps erupt around the table.
Everyone immediately drops hands.
Your entire body locks rigid in the chair.
You can’t move.
Can’t blink.
Can’t breathe properly.
The guide stares at you frozen.
Nobody laughs this time.
Slowly…
your head lowers forward again.
The candles flicker wildly nearly extinguishing as if being pushed downward.
Shadows figures emerge around the room stretching up the sides of the walls.
And that’s when you notice the mirror.
An old tarnished mirror hanging near the fireplace.
You catch your reflection in it.
A chill crawls across your skin.
Your eyes are completely white.
Clouded over like fogged glass.
Mia lunges toward you instantly.
“Oh my God!”
You can see her grabbing your shoulders.
Shaking you.
But you can’t feel it.
You can’t hear her either.
Everything is…
Muted.
You hear a long tone.
Like those hearing tests.
Then muddled voices as if everyone is underwater.
The guide suddenly forces out an uneasy laugh.
“Alright folks,” he says quickly, panic bleeding through his voice. “Very committed performance art happening tonight apparently…”
Nobody responds.
Faces blur.
Distort and blend into the atmosphere.
Your neck is stiff.
Your eyes dart around desperately.
You can see everyone.
Everyone except…
Ethan.
You don’t see him anywhere.
But somehow…
you hear his voice clearly.
Closer than everyone else.
“Hey,” he says calmly. “Look at me.”
What is happening?
“Ethan?”
“You need to stay calm.”
Unlike everyone else…
he doesn’t sound afraid.
You try to find him.
Try to locate the source of his voice.
But it isn’t coming from anywhere around you.
It’s coming from inside your head.
You suddenly feel a pressure on top of your body.
The floor disappears beneath you.
And then…
silence.
But this time…
you are not standing in the void.
You’re sitting.
Still at the séance table.
Only now the room is different.
A warm golden light fills the house.
The wallpaper is pristine.
The curtains rich emerald velvet.
Crystal glasses shimmer beneath candlelight.
Music drifts faintly from another room.
And surrounding the table…
are people.
Elegant dresses.
Dark suits.
Gold jewelry.
Watching you expectantly.
No tourists.
No ghost tour.
No horror.
Your heart pounds violently inside your chest.
You can freely move in this moment.
A woman across from you smiles softly.
“Lenora,” she says.
The people around the table wait patiently for you to continue.
As though this has happened many times before.
And then slowly…
without thinking…
your hands begin moving across the séance table on their own.
End of Part 4.
***
Part 5: The Now
(You chose: Call Out to Ethan.)
Your hands begin moving across the séance table.
Slowly
Instinctively.
As though they have done this countless times before.
The realization settles over you like a heavy blanket.
There is a connection here.
Between you.
This house.
Lenora.
The woman across from you called you by name.
And somehow…
it felt familiar.
A part of you wants to continue.
To lean into whatever THIS is.
But another part of you already knows where this story ends.
And it’s one that ends in tragedy.
Images begin flashing behind your eyes.
Fragments.
The fear of the unknown in others.
A fear turned to violence.
Pounding at a door.
Shattered glass.
Lantern light.
Screaming.
Something happened here.
Something terrible.
And somehow you know it led to your death.
“Ethan.”
The name escapes your lips before you can stop it.
Several people around the table exchange confused looks.
You ignore them.
“Ethan?”
Whispers surround you now.
Some belong to the present.
Some belong to the past.
You can’t tell which is which anymore.
The voices overlap.
Bleeding together.
The sensation makes your stomach turn.
For a moment you aren’t sure who you are.
Lenora.
Yourself.
Both.
Neither.
Perhaps that was always the wrong question.
The woman in the void had warned you.
Time isn’t linear.
Time isn’t now and then.
Time is simply…
… time.
And maybe all versions of you are simply different pages in the same story.
“Lenora?”
A man’s voice pulls your attention back to the table.
Concern fills his face.
“Are you alright?”
You stare at him.
Words leaving your mouth before you’ve fully formed them.
“I’m sorry. I know you’ve all come here tonight looking for guidance. I’ve been flooded with the most horrific images.”
A hush falls over the room.
You glance around.
Faces frozen.
Watching.
Waiting.
“I don’t know why,” you continue softly. “But I have a feeling tonight is not going to end well.”
Several people visibly stiffen.
A woman quietly gasps.
You swallow.
“I don’t think we’re safe here.”
Silence.
Then…
A small laugh from across the table.
Your eyes focus.
And your heart nearly stops.
Sitting directly opposite you…
is Ethan.
Not the Ethan you know.
Not exactly.
His clothes match everyone else’s.
Victorian.
Dark suit.
Gold watch chain.
Perfectly at home in this room.
As though he has always belonged here.
As though he never belonged anywhere else.
Everyone around you continues speaking.
But their voices begin fading.
The edges of the room soften.
The candlelight narrows.
Until only the space between you and Ethan remains.
You stare at him.
“Ethan?”
A smile touches his face.
Not surprised.
Nearly amused.
Almost relieved.
“I was wondering if you’d figure it out.”
Your throat goes dry.
“What… what is this?”
“You needed this moment.”
His voice is calm.
A comfort you found in the darkness.
The same voice that always seemed to know exactly what to say.
“You seemed unsettled,” he continues. “For a long time.”
You stare at him.
None of this feels impossible anymore.
Only inevitable.
“Who are you?”
The smile never leaves his face.
“You’ve asked me that before.”
The answer sends a chill through you.
The images return.
The house.
The crowd.
Fear.
Torches.
The certainty of what is coming.
“You already know how this night ends.”
You do.
Or at least part of you does.
You look at him.
Study the familiar parts.
And suddenly…
you know.
Not because he told you.
Not because someone explained it.
You simply know.
The same way you know your own name.
The same way you knew this house.
The same way your hands knew the séance table.
You whisper the word before you can stop yourself.
“Brother.”
For the first time…
emotion reaches his eyes.
A sadness.
A warmth.
A lifetime.
And then he nods.
“Sister.”
Everything shatters.
The candlelight explodes.
The room disappears.
The sound of voices crashes back all at once.
And suddenly…
you’re back.
The séance room.
The ghost tour.
The old house.
Your old house.
Mia is gripping your shoulders.
“Okay.”
Her voice shakes.
“I think we’ve had enough fun for one night.”
The guide immediately nods.
“Yes.”
A beat.
“I also think that is an excellent idea.”
Then he straightens his coat.
“Although there will unfortunately be no refunds.”
Mia rolls her eyes and helps you toward the door.
The cold night air hits your face the moment you step outside.
For a while neither of you says anything.
Finally Mia breaks the silence.
“What was going on with you in there?”
You stare back at the house.
The lantern.
The windows.
“I don’t know.”
Before Mia can respond…
a voice calls from behind you.
“Excuse me.”
You turn.
It’s the man from earlier.
The man who saw the address.
He approaches cautiously.
Looking more nervous now than curious.
“I couldn’t help noticing what you wrote down earlier.”
You immediately feel anxiety in your stomach.
“The address.”
He hesitates.
“My wife dragged me here tonight.”
A small uncomfortable laugh.
“Not exactly my thing.”
His eyes drift toward the house.
“Especially after whatever happened in there.”
You wait.
He glances back at you.
Cautiously.
“The address you wrote.”
A pause.
“Where did it come from?”
You glance at Mia.
Then back at him.
“I don’t really know.”
The answer sounds ridiculous even to you.
“I just…”
You stop.
Trying to find words.
“I received a message.”
The man’s expression changes immediately.
You continue carefully.
“Two children.”
His face goes pale.
“There was a boy and a girl.”
Silence.
Then…
“That’s my sister’s address.”
The world seems to stop.
The man looks away briefly.
Collecting himself.
“Whatever message you give her… if you do…”
His voice cracks a bit under the emotion.
“…I promise it will mean more than you know.”
Nobody speaks.
Not you.
Not Mia.
Not the man.
Finally…
you turn slowly toward Mia.
Her face is a mixture of confusion, concern, and complete disbelief.
You stare at her for a moment.
Then smile faintly.
“Sorry.”
A pause.
“You were saying?”
End of Story 14.
