Chapter 5 - THE SECOND TIME I WENT BACKThat night, I couldn't sleep.
My old bedroom looked exactly the same.
Same bookshelf.
Same faded curtains.
Same framed school photograph.
But the woman in the photographs felt like someone I had once known.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my wrist.
The scar crossed the skin like a pale thread.
I remembered the explosion.
Then another memory surfaced.
Not the convoy.
A hallway.
A hospital.
Someone standing beside my bed.
A man whispering:
“Don't tell them what you saw.”
I suddenly stood.
My breathing changed.
I had never remembered that before.
At 2:17 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU WENT BACK TWICE.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
THE SECOND TIME, YOU SAW HIM.
Then:
ASK YOUR FATHER WHAT WAS IN THE GREEN CASE.
I called Daniel.
He answered on the second ring.
“What's wrong?”
I sent him the screenshots.
There was a long pause.
“Stay inside.”
“Daniel—”
“Do not leave the house.”
“I remember something.”
“What?”
“The green case.”
Silence.
Then Daniel said quietly:
“Don't say that name over the phone.”
I sat down.
“Why?”
“Because Caleb mentioned it.”
My blood went cold.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he say?”
“He said the case disappeared before the attack.”
I looked toward my bedroom door.
Someone was standing at the end of the hallway.
I froze.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Someone's in the house.”
The line went silent.
I heard a door open downstairs.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
I grabbed the small flashlight from my nightstand and moved toward the hallway.
The footsteps stopped.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I reached the staircase.
A shadow moved below.
I stepped down.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Then I smelled it.
Cedar.
My pulse exploded.
The same smell from the convoy.
I reached the bottom of the stairs.
A figure stood inside my father's study.
Dark coat.
Baseball cap.
He turned.
For one second, our eyes met.
Then he ran.
I chased him through the kitchen.
He slammed the back door.
I pushed it open.
The yard was empty.
Only the wind moved across the grass.
Then I saw something on the ground.
A green metal case.
Old.
Burned along one corner.
I picked it up.
There was a number scratched into the lid.
17.
Behind me, my father's voice whispered:
“Audrey.”
I turned.
He was standing in the doorway.
He looked at the case.
And all the blood drained from his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was in the yard.”
He didn't move.
“Dad?”
His voice cracked.
“That case was buried nine years ago.”
“By who?”
He stared at me.
May you like
Then said something that made the room feel suddenly much colder.
“By your brother.”
Related Stories
