GRANDFATHER'S ROOM
1964 Words
The clocks were moving backward.
Elias heard them before he could see them.
Hundreds of mechanisms ticking somewhere in the darkness.
Then thousands.
The sound filled the Archive until it became almost unbearable.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The older version of Elias was gone.
So was the woman in blue.
Only Mara remained.
She had one hand wrapped around Elias's wrist.
"Don't move."
Elias could barely hear her over the clocks.
"What happened?"
"Yesterday is coming."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're running out of time."
"You said the clocks were moving toward yesterday."
"They shouldn't be."
The darkness suddenly flashed white.
For half a second Elias saw the Archive.
The shelves.
The photographs.
The endless rows of boxes.
And something else.
People.
Hundreds of them.
Standing between the shelves.
All staring at him.
Then the lights disappeared again.
Elias heard someone whisper his name.
"Elias."
He turned.
Mara pulled him back.
"Don't answer."
Another voice.
"Elias."
Then another.
"Elias."
Soon dozens of voices were whispering.
Some were male.
Some female.
Some sounded like children.
Some sounded ancient.
All of them knew him.
"Elias."
"Elias."
"Elias."
He covered his ears.
"What are they?"
"Memories."
"Memories don't talk."
"These do."
A metallic crash echoed from somewhere deep within the Archive.
The whispering stopped.
Mara released his wrist.
"Now."
She began running.
Elias followed.
They moved between the shelves.
Mara seemed to know exactly where she was going.
Left.
Right.
Down another aisle.
Then another.
Elias glanced at the labels as they passed.
1912 — THE FIRE THAT DID NOT HAPPEN
1968 — MANIFESTATION OF SECOND SUN
2014 — UNBORN CHILD, MALE
2031 — EXTINCTION EVENT, REVISED
The farther they went, the stranger the labels became.
Finally Mara stopped before a small wooden door.
Unlike everything else in the Archive, the door looked ordinary.
Old.
Scratched.
Almost familiar.
Mara inserted the brass key.
The lock clicked.
Elias stared at the door.
He knew it.
Not from memory.
From somewhere deeper.
"Where does this go?"
Mara didn't answer.
She opened it.
Elias stepped through.
And suddenly he was twelve years old again.
He stood in his grandfather's house.
Sunlight poured through the kitchen window.
A kettle whistled on the stove.
The smell of coffee filled the room.
Elias stopped breathing.
He knew this room.
He hadn't seen it in twenty-two years.
But everything was exactly as he remembered.
The wooden table.
The old refrigerator.
The yellow curtains.
The clock above the doorway.
His grandfather's chair.
Even the small c***k in the kitchen tile.
Elias stepped forward.
"How?"
Mara stood behind him.
"The Archive doesn't store objects."
"What does it store?"
"Moments."
Elias looked around.
His twelve-year-old self sat at the kitchen table.
His grandfather stood beside him.
Neither could see Elias.
It was a memory.
But it was more than a memory.
It was happening.
Samuel Vale placed a cup of tea in front of the boy.
"You're going to forget this conversation."
Young Elias looked up.
"Why?"
"Because remembering it would be dangerous."
"Is it about the city?"
His grandfather froze.
Mara looked at Elias.
He felt something tighten in his chest.
Young Elias continued.
"The city with the clocks?"
Samuel slowly sat down.
"Who told you about that?"
"You did."
"I never told you."
"Yes, you did."
Samuel looked frightened.
"Not yet."
Young Elias frowned.
"What?"
His grandfather leaned closer.
"Elias, listen carefully."
The memory flickered.
The room changed.
For a moment, Elias saw himself at twelve.
Then sixteen.
Then twenty.
Then thirty-four.
All sitting at the same table.
All looking at Samuel.
All asking the same question.
Where did you go?
Elias stumbled backward.
"What is this?"
Mara grabbed his shoulder.
"Your grandfather's room."
"This isn't his kitchen."
"It is."
"No. He died—"
"He disappeared."
"He disappeared twenty-two years ago."
"Outside."
Elias looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
Mara pointed toward the kitchen.
"Watch."
The memory stabilized.
Samuel reached into his coat.
He removed a photograph.
The same photograph Elias had found in his apartment.
The city.
The clock.
The black water.
Young Elias stared at it.
"Who is that?"
Samuel looked at the photograph.
"You."
Young Elias laughed.
"That's not me."
"It will be."
"How?"
"Because you've already been there."
Young Elias frowned.
"I've never been there."
Samuel's expression became serious.
"You have."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
Young Elias stared at him.
"I don't understand."
"You won't."
Samuel leaned forward.
"And that's exactly what I need."
"What?"
"Your forgetting."
The memory flickered again.
Elias looked at Mara.
"Why did he want me to forget?"
"Because someone was looking for you."
"Who?"
Mara didn't answer.
Young Elias suddenly turned toward the doorway.
Someone was standing there.
A girl.
She was perhaps ten years old.
Dark hair.
A red ribbon.
Elias stared.
Mara's face changed.
The girl walked into the kitchen.
She looked directly at young Elias.
"Hi."
Young Elias smiled.
"Who are you?"
The girl looked at Samuel.
"Can I tell him?"
Samuel shook his head.
"No."
The girl frowned.
"Why?"
"Because he's not ready."
Young Elias looked between them.
"Ready for what?"
The girl stepped closer.
"My name is Mara."
Elias felt something inside him break.
He knew this.
He remembered it.
Not as a memory.
As a feeling.
The warmth of a summer afternoon.
A girl's hand in his.
A secret shared beneath a tree.
A promise.
Then darkness.
The scene changed.
Mara was older.
Fourteen.
Elias was sixteen.
They stood beside a river.
Mara was crying.
Elias was holding her shoulders.
"I'll come back."
"You can't."
"I will."
"You don't understand."
"I'll find you."
Mara shook her head.
"If you remember me, they'll find you."
"Who?"
"The people beneath the city."
The memory changed again.
Elias was twenty-two.
Mara was twenty-two.
They stood inside a railway station.
He was holding the brass key.
Mara was holding his face.
"Don't forget me."
"I won't."
"You have to."
"No."
"You have to."
"Why?"
"Because tomorrow already knows your name."
Then the memory shattered.
Elias fell to his knees.
Mara caught him.
He pushed her away.
"You lied to me."
"I know."
"You've known me my entire life."
"Yes."
"You made me forget you."
"Yes."
"You were there when my grandfather disappeared."
"Yes."
"You were there when I was sixteen."
"Yes."
"You were there when I was twenty-two."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Mara looked at him.
"Because every version of you eventually finds me."
Elias stood.
"And every version dies?"
She nodded.
"Every one."
"How many?"
Mara looked away.
"Thirty-six."
Elias stared at her.
"Thirty-six versions of me?"
"Thirty-six that I remember."
"What happened to them?"
"Some died."
"And the others?"
"They became something else."
"What?"
Mara didn't answer.
Elias grabbed her arm.
"What did they become?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"One became the city."
Elias released her.
"What?"
Before she could explain, the kitchen disappeared.
The Archive returned.
The clocks were louder now.
Mara grabbed his hand.
"We have to go."
"Wait."
"No."
"You said one became the city."
"I shouldn't have told you."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing you need to know yet."
"Stop deciding what I need to know!"
Mara looked at him.
For the first time, Elias saw fear in her eyes.
Not fear of him.
Fear for him.
"You think I'm hiding things because I don't trust you."
"Aren't you?"
"I'm hiding them because the truth kills you."
Elias went silent.
Mara turned toward the shelves.
"Come."
They continued through the Archive.
Eventually they reached a circular chamber.
At its center stood a table.
On the table was a single box.
Mara stopped.
"This is what your grandfather left for you."
Elias approached.
The box was made of dark wood.
His name was carved into the lid.
ELIAS.
Nothing else.
He lifted the lid.
Inside was a watch.
A photograph.
And a letter.
Elias picked up the letter.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Samuel.
His hands trembled.
He opened it.
There were only a few lines.
My dear Elias,
If you're reading this, Mara has failed.
Do not blame her.
She has already watched you die thirty-six times.
The next time will be different.
It has to be.
There is something I never told you.
You were not born in 2015.
Elias stopped reading.
He looked at Mara.
"What?"
She said nothing.
He looked back at the letter.
You were born in 1926.
His hands went numb.
And the boy you believe was your grandfather's grandson was created to replace you.
Elias stared at the words.
The room seemed to spin.
"No."
Mara closed her eyes.
Elias continued reading.
The real Elias Vale died in Veyra.
You are what came back.
He dropped the letter.
"No."
Mara approached him.
"Elias—"
"No."
"You need to listen."
"I'm not listening to anything."
"You asked for the truth."
"This isn't the truth."
"It is."
"Then who am I?"
Mara didn't answer.
Elias picked up the watch from the box.
It was old.
The same age as the photograph.
He opened the cover.
Inside was an inscription.
FOR ELIAS — WHEN HE RETURNS.
He looked at the photograph.
It showed a young boy standing beneath the enormous clock.
The boy was him.
But this time Elias noticed something he'd missed before.
The boy wasn't twelve.
He was perhaps six.
And standing beside him was Samuel.
Behind them stood Mara.
But there was someone else.
A fourth person.
A woman.
Elias stared at her face.
He knew her.
He had seen her in the memories.
The woman from the kitchen.
The woman laughing while his grandfather chased him through the garden.
His mother.
Elias's breathing stopped.
"That's my mother."
Mara nodded.
"Yes."
"My mother died when I was six."
"No."
Elias looked at her.
Mara whispered:
"She came here."
The clocks suddenly stopped.
Every single one.
Silence.
Then one clock began ticking.
From somewhere far away.
3:16.
Tick.
3:15.
Tick.
3:14.
The hands were moving backward.
Mara's face went white.
"What's happening?"
"We have to leave."
"Why?"
"Because your mother knows you're here."
Elias stared at her.
"My mother is dead."
Mara shook her head.
"Not anymore."
A woman's voice echoed through the Archive.
Soft.
Familiar.
Broken with emotion.
"Elias?"
He froze.
The voice came again.
"My little clock."
Elias closed his eyes.
He knew that voice.
He had heard it in the oldest memory he possessed.
The voice that had disappeared from his life when he was six.
His mother's voice.
"Elias."
Mara grabbed his arm.
"Don't answer."
The voice came closer.
"I've been waiting for you."
Elias looked toward the darkness between the shelves.
A figure appeared.
A woman.
She stepped into the light.
Elias couldn't move.
His mother stood before him.
Exactly as he remembered her.
The same face.
The same dark hair.
The same small silver necklace.
She looked at Elias.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
"You're finally home."
Mara whispered:
"No."
The woman looked at her.
Then smiled.
"Hello, Mara."
Mara stepped backward.
Elias looked between them.
"You know each other."
His mother smiled.
"We've known each other for a very long time."
"Mom?"
The woman walked toward him.
Mara grabbed Elias's hand.
"Don't let her touch you."
His mother stopped.
Her expression changed.
"She never told you what happened to me, did she?"
Elias looked at Mara.
Mara said nothing.
His mother smiled sadly.
"Of course she didn't."
Then she looked directly at Elias.
"Your grandfather didn't disappear."
She took another step.
"He imprisoned him."
Elias stared.
"Who?"
His mother's eyes filled with tears.
"Your grandfather."
A deep bell rang somewhere beneath the Archive.
Once.
The clocks began moving.
3:17.
His mother whispered:
"He's waking up."
Elias felt the floor tremble.
"Who?"
She looked at him.
And answered:
"Your first self."
The lights went out.
And from beneath the Archive came the sound of a child laughing.
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