The night had cast thick shadows over the national park, as if the black mist hovering above the grass was shrouding not just the place… but Jim's very mind.
He took a step forward,just one step, but it was enough for him to realize he was no longer standing at just one crime scene… but on the boundary between two realities.
He looked at the faces around him—the officers, the journalists, the curious onlookers—trying to catch a different glance, any incongruous movement, a breath that resembled a confession.
It was as if he was waiting for the"real perpetrator" to emerge from the crowd and wave at him mockingly.
But nothing appeared.
Nothing except a void that had begun to resemble a sound in his head.
An investigator approached him and asked with concern:
"Jim? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Jim breathed heavily, then said in a fragmented voice:
"Huh… Yes. I'm fine. Just… trying to get information about the victim."
The investigator replied:
"Her name is Laurie Vantham, 26 years old. Works at a sewing factory… That's all we have so far."
But Jim wasn't listening after the first sentence.
The moment he heard"26 years old" and "national park" and "stab wound"…
He rushed away,as if something was chasing him.
His colleague shouted after him:
"Jim! Where are you going?!"
He didn't answer.
He got into his car and drove like a madman towards his house.
---
When he arrived, he stood in front of the gate, his eyes searching among the trees, behind the wall, through the grass.
He felt—or wanted to feel—that someone was watching him.
But…nothing.
He entered the house and went straight to the place where it all began.
Thatold cordless phone sitting on his desk.
He stood before it.
Hesitated.
Then took a step back.
He went to the kitchen, made a cup of black coffee—harsher than the night itself—lit a cigarette, and returned to the balcony.
He sat down.
Placed the phone in front of him on the wooden table.
And began to stare at it silently,as if the phone was another corpse requiring an autopsy.
The smoke rose slowly.
The night was heavy.
The silence felt like a confession.
Jim said softly, exhaling cigarette smoke:
"Well… Let's see what the hell this is."
He replayed the recording of the first call.
He listened to it repeatedly.
He was looking for a flaw…static… an out-of-place word… anything that indicated it was a joke or a prank.
But everything was normal.
So normal that it seemedtoo real.
So real it was terrifying.
Then he tried calling again:
"Hello… Can you hear me? I repeat… Can you hear me? We need to talk."
He tried once…
Twice…
Twenty times.
And nothing.
Jim sat on the balcony for long hours.
The clouds moved above him,the stars appeared and disappeared behind the fog, and the cold seeped into his bones.
And Jim smoked.
Cigarette after cigarette,until the coffee cup was filled with more burnt cigarette butts than coffee itself.
Elizabeth passed behind him.
She stood for a moment,looking at him in silence.
She didn't ask.
Her gaze alone said that she knew Jim wasn't in the mood to answer…nor in the mood to share.
He continued sitting until midnight.
Dark circles had formed under his eyes,as if he hadn't slept for days.
And just as the clock struck exactly 12:00…
The phone emitted afaint static.
Jim immediately raised his head.
He quickly grabbed the phone:
"Are you there… stranger?"
A heavy silence fell over the entire neighborhood.
A silence like falling into a well.
Then… the voice came:
"Hello, it's you again. Didn't you tell me not to call you again? So why are you doing it?"
Jim closed his eyes and held the phone with a trembling hand:
"I want to ask you a question… and I want you to answer me with complete honesty."
Em said boredly:
"Well… just hurry up. I'm very sleepy."
Jim breathed slowly, his voice becoming deeper:
"Last night… while you were chattering… I heard a radio or TV talking about a crime in the national park. A crime from twenty years ago… Did you hear that?"
Em replied with unexpected seriousness:
"What's strange about that? Yes… there was a crime in the national park. And it was just the beginning of a series of crimes. After that crime… everyone lost faith in the police. By the way… you're a detective, aren't you?"
Jim froze.
The air suddenly felt heavy.
Then he answered:
"Uh… ah… yes. Tell me, boy… what is the date today for you?"
Em said hesitantly:
"Why?"
"Just tell me."
Silence.
Then he said:
"Today is the fifth of July… Why? Are you a kidnapper or something?"
Jim whispered:
"Tell me the… year."
A longer silence this time.
Then a light laugh from Em:
"Seems like you've been kidnapped for a long time, man… Well, let me finish this. Today is… 2010. I repeat… 2010. Understood? Okay… I'm hanging up now. I have an important moment in my life tomorrow."
Jim froze.
His breaths came in gasps.
And the connection cut.
He shouted quickly:
"No! Don't hang up! Boy! Are you there?!"
But silence had swallowed everything.
Jim slowly put down the phone.
He looked at his house calendar…
He laughed.
Laughed out loud.
His laughter was a mixture of sarcasm and breakdown.
He searched for a cigarette…
Couldn't find one.
He had finished a whole pack that day.
He sat on the chair, his hand trembling, his eyes unblinking.
He couldn't sleep.
Not because the night was long…But becausehis mind had opened a door it could never close again.