On the morning of July 8th, Jim woke from his bed with a strange calm. It wasn't the fear of death that weighed on his chest, but the idea Em had told him: his death inside a prison.
Prison.
That word alone was enough to make his body turn cold. Dying outside… was understandable, natural, part of his job.
But to die behind bars?
To have his name erased, his reputation destroyed, to be remembered as a traitor?
That alone was the real nightmare.
And yet…
A part of him still insisted that all of this could be an elaborate trick. And Jim—with his analytical mind—wasn't one to let anyone play him.
He went out to the balcony holding his cup of black coffee. He wanted a cigarette to complete his morning ritual, but when he reached into his pocket… he stopped.
His hand came out empty.
He breathed slowly.
"I have to quit…"
He said it to himself as if some voice inside him had said it first.
On the next balcony, his strange neighbor was also sitting, sipping his coffee with a red scarf covering his mouth. Jim never understood the reason for this scarf.
Jim waved to him silently in warning.
But the neighbor saw the wave and returned the greeting without looking back—where thin, gray smoke was creeping from the kitchen window.
Jim gestured to him with sharp eyes:
Look behind you.
The neighbor didn't understand… until Jim took out a lighter and pointed it towards the kitchen.
Only then did he comprehend.
He ran inside his house, and Jim heard a crash, then frantic knocking, then faint screams. And moments later, the neighbor returned to the balcony, giving a thumbs-up and signaling that everything was okay. He clasped his hands together towards the sky in an exaggerated gesture of gratitude.
Jim smiled a brief smile, then whispered:
"Idiot."
He went back inside, put on his favorite suit—the yellow one—and prepared to leave for Em's house… or rather, for the fire that would change the fate of an entire family.
But Jack was waiting by the sink, washing his face with half-asleep eyes.
"Where are you going, Dad? It's your day off… you promised to take us to the lake."
Jim froze.
For ten seconds he looked at his son… then smiled:
"You're right… I promised you."
He left the fire for the evening.
He sat with the family.
He made breakfast himself.
He laughed with them… in a family atmosphere that created a sense of cohesion and love.
But Em was seeing something else, the concept of selfishness:
[The world is selfish, as Em said.And Jim now… was part of this world's selfishness.]
He chooses a moment with his children over the life of a human being.
All day, he watched his clock.
He looked for the football match schedule.
Most of them started at nine at night—inferring from what Em said about going with his father to a football match.
In the evening, the family went to the lake.
Jim and Elizabeth sat listening to the seagulls, while Jack and Emily chased pigeons and laughed.
They were beautiful moments… but they were tainted by time.
Every passing minute pulled Jim away.
At eight, they returned.
When the family got out of the car, Jim remained seated behind the wheel.
"Aren't you coming in?" Elizabeth asked.
"I have something important. I won't be late."
"Don't let the 'important' become more important than your family."
He smiled:
"Okay… Captain."
She laughed and went inside.
---
He drove fast.
At 8:30, he reached the address of the house.
A two-story house, swallowed by darkness as if it were showing him his charred future.
Jim stood motionless in front of it.
Passers-by stared at him as if he were crazy.
One man scolded him, "Move away, you lunatic, you're blocking the road."
But Jim saw no one.
He saw only time.
At exactly ten o'clock…
The first spark ignited on the upper floor.
A small spark… but Jim almost felt it fall on his heart.
"It's happening… really."He whispered it.
Then an explosion.
Screams from inside.
A crowd gathered outside.
No one moved.
Everyone watched.
As if humans were created to observe pain, not prevent it.
Jim ran like an infant learning to stand on its feet for the first time.
He pushed through the crowd with his body as if pushing through a wall of stagnant minds.
He entered the house—fire devouring the walls, seconds devouring the decision.
Strangely, the mother wasn't on the upper floor where the fire was.
She was shackled in a lower room, away from the fire…
As if the fire wasn't an accident but an event meticulously planned.
He freed her bonds and pulled her outside.
She was panting.
She was crying.
And the people applauded Jim after the mother pointed at him, saying:
"He… he's the one who saved me."
They applauded.
They laughed with belated gratitude.
But Jim stared at them with eyes that asked only one question:
"Which one of you could have done this?And all you did was clap?"
Then the child appeared.
Small, holding his trousers in his hand, approaching confused:
"Thank you… sir."
Jim knelt to look him in the eyes: "What's your name, champ?"
The child hesitated.
Then he said it: "Em… Emmanuel."
Jim's eyes widened.
His heart shuddered.
It wasn't a trick.
It wasn't an act.
He was standing in front of the very same child… long years before he became the man who spoke to him on the phone.
And as the people dispersed, disappointed that the event didn't become more interesting to satisfy their curiosity, Jim slipped away to the side of the house.
He took out a small knife, cut a long piece from his yellow suit, then set it on fire and dragged the fabric behind him.
And in the right alley…
The ground caught fire.
A flammable substance.
The fire wasn't a coincidence.
Jim's fabric was what could determine if the fire was arson. By dragging it around the house, any drop of flammable material could reveal the truth, but this didn't change anything about whether it was a hoax or not; it was all just investigative curiosity.
---
An hour and a half later, Jim returned home.
He sat in his study, writing down all the events.
He was waiting for 12:00.
Waiting for the sound of the device.
The sound of time.
And when the clock struck…
The static returned.
"Hello… Did the plan succeed?"
Em replied in a cold, surprising tone:
"Plan for what? What are you talking about?"
Jim froze.
"Saving your mother… from the fire."
"My mother?"His tone was very stern:
"My mother never died. What are you saying? And how do you even know about the fire?"
Jim stopped.
He no longer knew where he stood.
"You asked me to save her from the future… and… and… your younger self thanked me himself."
A long silence.
So long it was as if time had stopped to listen.
Then Em said: "So you're saying… the fire that happened in my childhood… you're the one who saved my mother in it?"
"Yes."
"And I… sent you?"
Jim smiled a smile no one could see:"Yes, and that means… we changed the future."
Jim breathed erratically, lightly:
"It seems that's what happened. Listen. You don't remember her death now. I don't remember anything you said. Because your memories… were rewritten by me."
"That's what you needed. Now we can change everything. You owe me, Emmanuel."
Em replied hesitantly:
"It seems you're speaking truthfully. Alright, I agree. I'll help you."
Jim laughed a short laugh, as if mocking Em, heavy:
"We're not done yet. You still have one final test. If you pass it… I'll believe you completely."
Em "A test? Why all this suspicion?"
Jim said:
"Because you… if you managed to deceive a man like me—a detective who trusts his mind more than anything—it means you are capable of killing me, my name, my reputation, and everything. And I don't allow anyone… to play with me."
Em was silent for minutes, then replied weakly:
"Fine… ask."
Jim's voice calmed, lowered, until it resembled the whisper of something dangerous emerging from his chest:
"After the fire… I asked your name. You said: Emmanuel. Then I said a specific phrase to you… a single phrase… I asked you to remember it."
He paused for a moment, then continued.
"If you don't recall it now… word for word… I will consider you a liar. And I will find you… and catch you… and I promise you will regret it."