(1480  words)

Sunday, June 29, 2025

The drive back from the river felt much longer than it should have, even though nothing around them had changed. The same narrow road stretched ahead. The same dry fields reached all the way to the horizon. The same fading evening light slowly disappeared behind the hills. But inside the car, something was different. The air felt heavier, filled with thoughts that none of them wanted to say out loud.

Michael drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the road and both hands firmly on the steering wheel. Leo sat in the back seat, shifting slightly from time to time as if he could never find a comfortable position. Mark leaned against the window, watching the passing landscape without really seeing it.

When they reached their apartment building, Michael turned off the engine but did not move. He stayed there for a moment with his hands still on the steering wheel, his mind somewhere else.

"I need to do something," he finally said.

Mark turned toward him.

"Now?"

"Yes."

Leo leaned forward.

"What do you mean?"

Michael opened the driver's door.

"It's something I forgot."

He did not sound convincing, but neither Mark nor Leo argued.

Michael stepped out, closed the door, and after a short pause got back into the car. A second later, the engine started again, and he drove away, leaving them standing in the quiet street.

The city was calmer now. There were fewer cars and fewer people outside. One by one, the streetlights came on, throwing long shadows across the empty sidewalks.

Michael drove without hesitation. He turned into smaller streets, then even narrower ones, until the buildings became older and the neighborhood felt darker and more closed off.

He parked in front of a worn apartment building and got out.

The entrance smelled faintly of dust and stale air, as if fresh air had not entered for years. The stairway was dimly lit, and the light above flickered every few seconds.

Michael climbed the stairs quickly and knocked twice.

A few moments later, the door opened.

"Michael?"

Tom pushed his glasses back up his nose without thinking.

He looked surprised.

"I wasn't expecting you."

Tom looked exactly as he always did. He was thin and slightly hunched, wearing an old faded T-shirt and loose jeans. His hair was messy, as if he had run his hands through it too many times. His sharp eyes moved quickly, always noticing everything around him.

He spent most of his life in front of computer screens, working on things that most people could not understand.

Hacking was not really his job.

It was almost a hobby.

And he treated it like a quiet obsession.

"I need your help," Michael said.

Tom studied him for a moment before stepping aside.

"Come in."

The room was small but packed with equipment. Most of the light came from several computer monitors, covering the walls with a cold blue glow. Cables ran across the desk and the floor, connecting devices that looked both old and surprisingly advanced.

It was not a mess.

It was controlled chaos.

Everything was exactly where Tom wanted it.

Michael remained standing.

He took a phone out of his pocket and placed it on the desk.

"I need to know what's on this."

Tom picked it up and slowly turned it in his hand.

"It's locked?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get this iPhone?"

Michael hesitated for only a moment.

"It belongs to my mother."

Tom frowned slightly.

"It doesn't look like something your mother would use."

Michael did not react.

"Can you unlock it?"

Tom shrugged and sat down.

"I can try."

He connected the phone to his computer.

Immediately, the screen filled with lines of data while small windows opened and closed one after another.

The room became even quieter.

More focused.

As if the outside world had disappeared.

Michael stood behind him, watching.

Several minutes passed while Tom worked silently. His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, stopping only when something caught his attention.

Finally, he leaned back.

"That's... unusual."

"What is?"

"The contacts weren't saved with names. Only phone numbers. No photos. Almost nothing."

He typed a little more.

"It's like someone used this phone for only one purpose."

Michael's expression did not change.

"That's not normal," he said quietly.

"No," Tom agreed.

"This was planned."

He pointed at the screen.

"This number appears several times. It keeps repeating."

Michael leaned closer.

"Can you tell where it was used?"

Tom checked again, concentrating even harder.

"Not exactly. But I can see the last connection."

He paused.

"Wednesday evening."

"Around 6:40 p.m."

"Outside the city."

Michael remained perfectly still.

Wednesday.

The date and the location were not a coincidence.

Tom lowered his voice.

"Whoever used this phone knew exactly what they were doing. It's spotless."

He looked at the screen again.

"Too spotless."

Michael slowly straightened up.

"Yeah," he said.

He already knew.

He did not stay long.

Outside, the air had become colder, and the city felt strangely distant, almost unreal.

Michael got back into his car and sat there for a moment with the phone in his hand.

Same shape.

Same weight.

A completely different purpose.

He placed it on the passenger seat and started the engine.

This time he did not drive home.

The road slowly changed as he left the city behind.

The streetlights disappeared, replaced by darkness and endless empty fields.

The silence grew deeper.

Heavier.

It seemed to press against him from every direction.

He never slowed down.

He had been there before.

That night.

And another.

Every Wednesday night.

On the way, he stopped at a supermarket, just as he had done every evening.

He paid with his own money.

Money nobody at home knew he had.

He had never used it before.

He had only started using his own money after his mother disappeared.

The car finally stopped in the same place where Michael had parked every Wednesday since then.

The engine fell silent.

The quiet returned immediately.

Heavy.

Complete.

For a moment, Michael remained in his seat, staring straight ahead.

Nothing moved.

The buildings stood in the distance, low and plain, almost invisible in the darkness.

No lights.

No sounds.

Only silence.

He reached into the back seat and picked up two plastic bags filled with food.

Bottles.

Containers.

Something carefully wrapped inside.

The plastic rustled softly as he lifted them.

He stepped out of the car and closed the door carefully.

The air felt colder there.

He stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

The place looked the same.

Yet every visit felt different.

He began walking slowly across the uneven ground while the gravel shifted quietly beneath his shoes.

As he got closer, the buildings became clearer.

Rows of storage units.

At first glance, they all looked identical.

But they weren't.

Some doors were older.

Some were newer.

Some were slightly open.

Others were tightly closed.

Michael already knew which one he was looking for.

He did not need to check.

He stopped a few steps away.

The bags in his hands suddenly felt heavier, pulling at his arms.

Every night became harder.

Not because he did not understand.

Because he did.

The silence here was not empty.

It was waiting.

Michael slowly looked along the row of doors until his eyes stopped where they always did.

That was not an accident.

It never had been.

She had planned all of it.

Now everything was beginning to connect.

Not perfectly.

Not completely.

But enough.

He did not understand everything.

But he understood enough.

Enough to know he never wanted to come back.

Enough not to tell anyone.

Enough to keep going.

Then he heard it.

A faint sound.

So quiet that at first he thought it was only the wind.

But it wasn't.

It came again.

Soft.

Uneven.

Like something moving in the darkness behind the metal doors.

It was impossible to tell exactly what it was.

But it was real.

Michael did not react.

He did not move.

He simply listened.

For a brief moment, the space around him seemed smaller, as if something inside already knew he was there.

He tightened his grip on the plastic bags.

This place had not been truly silent for a long time.

He took a slow, deep breath.

Just as his mother had done.

Then he took one step forward.

And another.

The shadows shifted slightly with every step.

Up close, the metal doors looked even colder, reflecting almost no light at all.

The air felt thicker now, as if something was hiding beneath the surface.

Michael stopped directly in front of one of the doors.

For just a moment, he hesitated.

Only long enough to feel it.

Then he tightened his grip on the bags...

...and stepped inside.

aa