At twelve minutes past noon on the third September eighteenth Ethan Cole could remember, Noah Bennett remained perfectly visible, unmistakably alive, and profoundly irritated by the suggestion that Evermore intended to erase him.
“This is ridiculous.”
Ethan followed his best friend through the second-floor corridor of Evermore Public Library, maintaining such close proximity that Noah finally stopped and turned.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Watching me.”
“I’m not watching you.”
“You’ve been approximately three feet behind me since we left the archives.”
“I’m walking.”
“You’re walking like an incompetent bodyguard.”
Ethan glanced around the corridor.
Students occupied several tables near the windows, an elderly man slept behind an unfolded newspaper, and the librarian continued reorganizing books with the unhurried concentration of someone whose universe had not recently revealed itself to be an unstable collection of repeated days and disappearing histories.
Everything appeared ordinary.
That no longer reassured him.
He removed the photograph from his backpack.
The message remained.
THE NEXT THING EVERMORE FORGETS WILL BE NOAH.
Noah looked at it.
“It could mean another Noah.”
“How many Noahs do you know?”
“Personally?”
“Noah.”
“I’m attempting optimism.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I haven’t had sufficient practice.”
Ethan returned the photograph to his backpack and continued toward the staircase. The clock above the circulation desk displayed 12:14. His phone agreed.
That alone should have been impossible.
Every repetition Ethan remembered had followed the same fundamental progression. September eighteenth began in his bedroom, continued through the increasingly inexplicable disturbances surrounding Evermore, and ended when midnight returned the town to morning. Yet noon had somehow become equally significant. The clock in the archive room had passed 12:00 after Elias revealed that Ethan had rebuilt the Tomorrow Engine seventy-three years in the future and sent it backward through time.
Nothing had reset.
Perhaps nothing was supposed to happen at noon.
Perhaps Ethan’s fear had transformed an ordinary advancement of the clock into another mystery.
He no longer trusted such explanations.
Noah descended the staircase.
“What exactly are we doing?”
“Finding Clara.”
“You said that before.”
“The entrance disappeared.”
“Also concerning.”
“If we can find another way into the chamber, she might know what the message means.”
Noah stopped upon the final step.
“You already know what it means.”
Ethan looked toward him.
“No, I don’t.”
“It means the town is going to forget me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you, which is why you’ve been following me like an incompetent bodyguard.”
Ethan lowered his voice.
“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Noah’s expression changed.
The habitual amusement disappeared, leaving behind a seriousness Ethan rarely encountered.
“You might not have a choice.”
“I do.”
“Clara said entire neighborhoods disappeared.”
“I remember.”
“People disappeared.”
“I remember that too.”
“And according to the mysterious photograph, I’m next.”
Ethan looked away.
Noah continued.
“What happens if there’s nothing you can do?”
“I find something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Noah studied him.
“You’ve said that before, haven’t you?”
Ethan looked back.
“What?”
“Not during this cycle. Before.”
The question disturbed him.
“I don’t remember.”
“Exactly.”
Noah resumed walking.
Ethan followed.
Neither spoke until they reached the library entrance.
Then Noah stopped.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“Who’s Noah?”
The question came from the librarian.
Both boys turned.
She stood behind the circulation desk, looking toward Ethan with polite confusion.
Ethan felt the temperature of the room disappear.
“What did you say?”
The librarian frowned.
“You said something about Noah.”
Ethan looked toward his friend.
Noah stood directly beside him.
“You can’t see him?”
The librarian followed Ethan’s gaze.
Her confusion deepened.
“See whom?”
Noah became motionless.
Ethan approached the desk.
“He was with me upstairs.”
“You were alone.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You arrived alone.”
“That isn’t true.”
The librarian’s concern increased.
“You and your friend asked about the historical archives.”
“What friend?”
“The one who said we were conducting independent educational enrichment.”
The librarian stared.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ethan turned toward Noah.
His best friend’s face had become pale.
“She forgot me.”
Ethan looked back toward the librarian.
“Do you remember two students asking about the basement?”
“No.”
“The delivery entrance?”
“I’m sorry, but I think you should leave.”
Ethan ignored her.
“Do you remember the clock tower fire?”
“Of course.”
“Clara Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Elias Cole?”
“Yes.”
He pointed toward Noah.
“But not him.”
“There is nobody there.”
The librarian reached toward the telephone.
“I’m going to call someone.”
Ethan seized Noah’s arm.
“Come on.”
They hurried from the building.
Outside, Evermore continued without interruption.
Vehicles traveled along Main Street. Pedestrians entered businesses. Somewhere nearby, construction equipment produced an irritating succession of metallic impacts. Nothing within the ordinary activity of the afternoon suggested that the town had begun systematically removing Noah Bennett from collective memory.
Ethan did not release his arm.
Noah looked down.
“You can let go.”
“No.”
“People are going to misunderstand.”
“They can’t see you.”
“One person couldn’t see me.”
“That’s enough.”
Ethan crossed toward the sidewalk.
Noah followed.
“Where are we going?”
“Your house.”
“Why?”
“To find out whether your parents remember you.”
Noah stopped.
Ethan immediately regretted saying it.
For several seconds, Noah said nothing.
Then he continued walking.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“It’s necessary.”
“I know.”
They proceeded through town.
Ethan watched everyone they passed.
Nobody reacted to Noah.
At first, the absence of attention seemed inconclusive. Most pedestrians had no reason to acknowledge two teenagers walking through town. Then Noah deliberately stepped into the path of an approaching man.
The man continued forward.
Noah moved aside at the final moment.
“He didn’t see me.”
Ethan’s anxiety intensified.
“Maybe he wasn’t paying attention.”
Noah stepped before a woman pushing a stroller.
She continued walking.
Noah moved.
“Stop doing that.”
“Why?”
“Because someone might hit you.”
“If they can’t see me, I suspect we have more significant problems.”
Ethan looked around.
A group of students from Evermore High approached.
One of them knew Noah.
Ethan recognized Marcus Hill from their history class.
“Marcus.”
The student stopped.
“What’s up?”
Ethan pointed toward Noah.
“Who is this?”
Marcus looked beside him.
Nobody.
His expression became uncertain.
“Who is who?”
Noah closed his eyes.
Ethan felt anger replacing fear.
“Seriously?”
Marcus laughed.
“Are you messing with me?”
“You’ve known Noah since middle school.”
“Who?”
“Noah Bennett.”
The name produced nothing.
Marcus glanced toward the other students.
“Do you guys know a Noah Bennett?”
They shook their heads.
Ethan stared at them.
One of the girls frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
He walked away.
Noah followed.
Behind them, Marcus called something Ethan ignored.
They continued toward Noah’s house.
The Bennett residence stood near the western boundary of Evermore, a two-story house with blue shutters, an unnecessarily elaborate mailbox, and a basketball hoop Noah’s father had installed at an angle so inaccurate that every successful shot required either extraordinary skill or fortunate geometry.
Ethan had visited hundreds of times.
He knew which stair creaked.
He knew Noah’s mother kept emergency money inside a ceramic container labeled flour despite never baking anything.
He knew Noah’s father spent every Saturday morning pretending to repair household appliances before eventually hiring someone qualified.
The familiarity made what awaited them considerably worse.
A red automobile occupied the driveway.
Ethan stopped.
“That’s your mother’s car.”
Noah nodded.
Neither moved.
Ethan looked toward him.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
They approached.
Ethan rang the doorbell.
Footsteps sounded inside.
The door opened.
Mrs. Bennett smiled.
“Ethan.”
“Hi, Mrs. Bennett.”
“This is a surprise.”
Noah stood beside him.
His mother did not look toward him.
Ethan struggled to continue.
“Is Noah home?”
Mrs. Bennett frowned.
“Who?”
Noah turned away.
Ethan watched him.
“Your son.”
The smile disappeared.
“I don’t have a son.”
Noah walked toward the driveway.
Ethan remained at the door.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
“Yes?”
“You do have a son.”
Her expression became guarded.
“I think you have the wrong house.”
“I’ve known him since we were children.”
“I’m sorry, Ethan.”
“He lives here.”
“Ethan.”
“His bedroom is upstairs.”
Mrs. Bennett stared at him.
Then something changed.
Her eyes moved toward the second-floor window.
For one fleeting moment, pain entered her expression.
Ethan recognized it.
The same inexplicable sorrow his mother had demonstrated when he mentioned Lily.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
She touched one hand to her chest.
“I think you should go.”
“Do you remember him?”
“No.”
“You felt something.”
“I said you should go.”
“Please.”
The door closed.
Ethan stood motionless.
Noah remained beside the basketball hoop.
His mother’s automobile occupied the driveway.
His house remained.
His family remained.
Only Noah had disappeared from their memories.
Ethan approached him.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah laughed.
The sound contained no amusement.
“My mother doesn’t remember me.”
“She reacted.”
“To what?”
“Your room.”
Noah looked toward the second-floor window.
The curtains were gone.
His bedroom window had changed.
Noah approached the house.
“That isn’t my room.”
“What?”
“The window.”
Ethan examined it.
“What’s different?”
“My curtains were green.”
“Maybe they changed them.”
“Since this morning?”
Ethan said nothing.
Noah walked toward the side of the house.
Ethan followed.
They reached another window.
Noah looked inside.
Then stepped backward.
“What?”
“My room is gone.”
Ethan approached.
Through the window, he saw an ordinary home office.
A desk.
Bookshelves.
A computer.
No bed.
No posters.
No evidence that Noah Bennett had ever lived there.
“It’s happening.”
Ethan looked toward him.
Noah’s expression had become strangely calm.
“The town is erasing me.”
“We’re going to stop it.”
“How?”
“We find Clara.”
“The entrance is gone.”
“Then Elias.”
“He disappeared.”
“The clock tower.”
Noah looked toward Ethan.
“What?”
“Everything leads back to the clock tower.”
“That sounds like precisely why we shouldn’t go there.”
“I don’t have another idea.”
“You could develop one.”
“While the town forgets you?”
Noah became silent.
Ethan looked toward the house.
“We’re going.”
They reached the town square at 1:07.
The clock tower remained fixed at 11:57.
Ethan found the sight strangely reassuring.
At least something had not changed.
Noah stood beneath it.
“Now what?”
Ethan examined the structure.
During previous cycles, Clara had appeared beneath the tower. Elias had been connected to it. The Tomorrow Engine had originated somewhere beneath Evermore, and the 1953 disaster had begun here.
“There has to be an entrance.”
“To the tower?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a door.”
Ethan looked toward the enormous wooden entrance.
A municipal notice prohibited entry.
“Locked.”
Noah approached.
He reached for the handle.
His hand passed through it.
Both boys froze.
Noah stared at his fingers.
“Ethan.”
“Try again.”
He did.
His hand passed through the door.
Noah stepped backward.
“No.”
Ethan approached.
He reached for Noah’s shoulder.
His hand touched him.
“You’re still here.”
“For you.”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Noah’s voice sharpened.
“My mother doesn’t remember me. My bedroom is gone. People walk through me.”
“Nobody walked through you.”
“Not yet.”
Ethan seized his shoulders.
“Listen to me.”
Noah looked at him.
“I remember you.”
“For how long?”
Ethan had no answer.
Noah continued.
“What happens when you forget?”
“I won’t.”
“Clara said you always do.”
“This time is different.”
“You don’t know that.”
“The ink survived midnight. I found the chamber faster. The Engine awakened.”
“None of those things sound encouraging.”
“They mean something changed.”
Noah looked toward him.
“Maybe I’m what changed.”
Ethan released him.
“What?”
“Maybe this is supposed to happen.”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“I’m not accepting that.”
“You don’t have to accept something for it to happen.”
The clock tower bell rang.
Noah looked upward.
Ethan did too.
The hands remained fixed.
11:57.
A second bell sounded.
The square became empty.
Every pedestrian vanished.
Every vehicle disappeared.
Only Ethan and Noah remained.
Then the tower door opened.
Clara stood inside.
“Get him in here.”
Ethan did not hesitate.
They ran.
The interior of the clock tower was considerably larger than its exterior dimensions should have permitted.
Ethan entered first.
Noah followed.
Clara slammed the door.
The town square returned outside.
“What’s happening to him?” Ethan demanded.
Clara stared at Noah.
“You found the school.”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“I’m becoming extremely tired of hearing that.”
“The photograph warned you?”
“Yes.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“This happened before.”
Ethan felt anger rise.
“Then tell me how to stop it.”
“You didn’t.”
“What?”
“Last time.”
Noah stepped forward.
“What happened?”
Clara looked toward him.
“You disappeared.”
Silence filled the tower.
Noah’s face became expressionless.
Ethan approached Clara.
“And then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You remember thousands of cycles but not what happened after Noah disappeared?”
“You forgot him.”
Ethan stopped.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You did.”
Clara’s voice remained quiet.
“Everyone did.”
Ethan looked toward Noah.
His best friend said nothing.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long before I forgot him?”
Clara hesitated.
“Three cycles.”
The answer struck with unexpected force.
Ethan stepped backward.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Noah looked toward the enormous mechanisms surrounding them.
“Can the Engine restore erased people?”
Clara’s expression changed.
“I don’t know.”
“Has anyone tried?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She looked at Ethan.
Noah followed her gaze.
“Of course.”
Ethan approached the nearest staircase.
“Where is Elias?”
“I don’t know.”
“He said I rebuilt the Engine.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
“He said the original machine was destroyed in 1953. Seventy-three years from now, I rebuild it and send it into the past.”
Clara stared at him.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“You believed him?”
“I saw myself.”
“What?”
“A future version of me.”
Clara’s expression became increasingly alarmed.
“What did he say?”
Ethan remembered the blood upon his older hands.
The little girl in the red sweater.
“Not to trust Elias.”
Clara looked upward.
The tower mechanism began moving.
“Something is wrong.”
“That observation arrived late.”
“No.”
She approached the central gears.
“The tower hasn’t operated during daylight since—”
A tremendous mechanical impact interrupted her.
Noah disappeared.
Ethan stared at the empty space.
“Noah?”
Nothing.
“NOAH!”
Clara turned.
“What?”
Ethan looked at her.
“He was standing there.”
“Who?”
The question destroyed something inside him.
Ethan seized her shoulders.
“Noah.”
Clara looked frightened.
“Ethan, I don’t know anyone named Noah.”
“You were talking to him.”
“When?”
“Ten seconds ago!”
“You entered alone.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No!”
Ethan released her and looked around.
Noah’s backpack lay upon the floor.
He seized it.
“This is his.”
Clara stared.
“It’s yours.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Ethan.”
He opened the backpack.
Inside were textbooks.
A notebook.
A wallet.
Ethan removed it.
The identification card displayed his own photograph.
His own name.
“No.”
Clara approached carefully.
“Ethan.”
“Don’t.”
“You need to calm down.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
He searched through the backpack.
Nothing belonged to Noah.
No evidence remained.
Then Ethan remembered the photograph.
He opened his own bag.
The picture was there.
The children stood in the empty field.
Ethan found himself near the center.
Beside him was an empty space.
Noah had vanished.
Ethan turned the photograph over.
The previous messages remained.
A fourth sentence appeared beneath them.
YOU HAVE THREE DAYS TO REMEMBER HIM.
Ethan stared.
Clara approached.
“What does it say?”
He looked toward her.
“You really don’t remember?”
“Remember whom?”
The clock tower mechanism accelerated.
Ethan looked at the empty place where Noah had stood.
Three cycles.
Clara had said that was how long it took him to forget.
He looked toward the photograph.
Three days.
Three chances.
Then the first memory disappeared.
Ethan frowned.
Something was wrong.
He remembered walking to school that morning.
Someone had been with him.
Someone had made a joke.
What joke?
Ethan pressed both hands against his head.
“No.”
Clara watched him.
“What’s happening?”
“I’m forgetting.”
The memory continued dissolving.
A face.
A voice.
A name.
Ethan looked desperately at the photograph.
YOU HAVE THREE DAYS TO REMEMBER HIM.
“Who?” Ethan whispered.
Clara approached.
“Ethan?”
He looked toward the empty space beside him.
For one terrible moment, the name would not come.
Then he remembered.
“Noah.”
The tower bell rang.
The world trembled.
And somewhere beneath Evermore, the Tomorrow Engine began counting backward from three.
The name remained within Ethan’s consciousness through determination rather than certainty.
Noah.
He repeated it silently while the mechanisms surrounding him accelerated into violent activity, their enormous gears revolving with an urgency that made the entire clock tower tremble. Dust descended from the ancient rafters, metallic chains strained against unseen counterweights, and somewhere beneath the floor, concealed within the immeasurable depths separating the tower from the Tomorrow Engine, three tremendous impacts reverberated through the structure.
The first resembled thunder.
The second extinguished every light.
The third restored silence.
Ethan remained motionless within the darkness.
Noah.
He concentrated upon the name.
Noah Bennett.
His best friend.
A boy whose mother no longer remembered giving birth to him, whose bedroom had transformed into an office, whose belongings had become Ethan’s possessions, and whose existence had disappeared from Clara’s memory within seconds.
Noah Bennett.
Ethan repeated the name until the words began to sound unfamiliar.
That frightened him more than the darkness.
“Ethan?”
Clara’s voice emerged nearby.
“Don’t talk.”
“What?”
“I need to concentrate.”
“On what?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Noah.
He attempted to reconstruct his friend from memory.
Dark hair.
Sarcastic expression.
An irritating tendency to make jokes whenever circumstances became serious.
The image emerged imperfectly.
Ethan searched for something more substantial.
He remembered walking toward school.
Noah had said something about a raccoon.
What had he said?
Ethan struggled.
The memory resisted him.
“You look terrible.”
Then—
Something else.
Something about fighting a raccoon.
Ethan opened his eyes.
The darkness remained complete.
“Noah said I looked like I spent the night fighting a raccoon.”
Clara said nothing.
“He said it every morning.”
“Who?”
The question nearly destroyed the memory.
“Noah.”
“Ethan, I don’t—”
“I know you don’t remember him.”
“Then how do you know he existed?”
Ethan reached into his backpack and removed the photograph, although the darkness prevented him from seeing it.
“Because someone warned me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ethan.”
“I don’t know!”
His voice echoed through the tower.
The lights returned.
Clara stood several feet away.
Ethan looked toward the photograph.
The message remained.
YOU HAVE THREE DAYS TO REMEMBER HIM.
Beneath it, something new had appeared.
A number.
2
Ethan stared.
“No.”
Clara approached.
“What changed?”
“The countdown.”
“You said three days.”
“It says two.”
“But midnight hasn’t happened.”
Ethan looked toward the clock mechanism.
“What time is it?”
Clara examined the enormous clock face.
“1:17.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Only a few minutes passed.”
Clara removed a pocket watch from her coat.
The hands displayed 4:32.
She frowned.
Ethan checked his phone.
9:46.
Three measurements.
Three different times.
The second warning returned to him.
DON’T TRUST THE CLOCKS.
“Time is separating.”
Clara looked toward him.
“What?”
“The clocks.”
He showed her his phone.
“The tower says 1:17. Your watch says 4:32. My phone says 9:46.”
Clara stared at the three contradictory measurements.
“That has never happened before.”
“Everything that has never happened before appears remarkably enthusiastic about happening today.”
Clara ignored the remark.
“The Engine is losing synchronization.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Ethan almost laughed.
The absurdity of the response, repeated so frequently throughout the preceding days, had finally exhausted his capacity for frustration.
“Of course.”
Clara looked toward him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re angry.”
“My best friend disappeared, everyone forgot him, I’m beginning to forget him, a photograph is counting backward toward something I presumably don’t want to happen, and the clocks have abandoned the concept of agreement. Anger seems insufficient.”
Clara’s expression softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Ethan looked toward the empty space where Noah had stood.
“So am I.”
They remained inside the tower for approximately an hour, although neither could determine whose measurement of time deserved recognition.
Ethan wrote Noah’s name across both arms.
He filled the first several pages of his notebook.
NOAH BENNETT IS REAL.
NOAH BENNETT IS MY BEST FRIEND.
DO NOT BELIEVE ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE.
HIS MOTHER IS SARAH BENNETT.
HIS FATHER IS MICHAEL BENNETT.
HE LIVES ON HAWTHORNE STREET.
Then Ethan stopped.
“What color are his eyes?”
Clara stood nearby examining a complicated arrangement of gears.
“What?”
“Noah’s eyes.”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
The realization arrived with quiet horror.
Ethan closed the notebook.
“I’m forgetting details.”
Clara approached.
“You still remember him.”
“For now.”
“You have the messages.”
“The notebook resets.”
“The writing on your skin survived.”
“Until it disappeared.”
Clara looked toward the photograph.
“That survived.”
“It changed.”
“But the messages remained.”
Ethan examined the unknown handwriting.
“Whoever wrote these knows what’s happening.”
“Apparently.”
“We need to find them.”
“How?”
Ethan considered the messages.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FORGET.
ASK ELIAS WHY HE ERASED THE SCHOOL.
THE NEXT THING EVERMORE FORGETS WILL BE NOAH.
YOU HAVE THREE DAYS TO REMEMBER HIM.
The writer knew about Elias.
The school.
Noah.
The erasures.
And Ethan.
“What if they aren’t messages to me?”
Clara frowned.
“Who else would they be for?”
“Maybe they’re messages to whoever finds the photograph.”
“You found it.”
“Because someone left it where I would.”
Clara studied him.
“You think the writer is controlling what you discover.”
“Guiding me.”
“Toward what?”
Ethan looked at the number.
2
“I don’t know.”
The tower door opened.
Neither had touched it.
Clara immediately moved between Ethan and the entrance.
A woman stood outside.
Ethan recognized her.
The woman from Mercer Street.
The woman who had purchased two coffees without remembering who should receive the second.
She entered.
Clara stared.
“How did you get in?”
The woman ignored her.
Her attention remained fixed upon Ethan.
“You remember him.”
Ethan became motionless.
“Who?”
The woman smiled sadly.
“The boy.”
Clara looked between them.
“What boy?”
Ethan approached.
“You remember Noah?”
The woman’s expression changed.
“No.”
Disappointment struck him.
“But you know someone disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
The woman touched her chest.
“Because the emptiness became louder.”
Ethan did not understand.
She continued.
“When my husband disappeared, I forgot his name. Then his face. Then our wedding. Eventually, I forgot that I had ever been married.”
“The second coffee.”
She nodded.
“My hands remembered.”
Ethan thought of his mother looking toward the empty space within the photograph.
“What was your husband’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long ago did he disappear?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara approached.
“How can you remember that he disappeared?”
The woman looked toward her.
“I couldn’t.”
“Then what changed?”
The woman returned her attention to Ethan.
“He did.”
Ethan felt cold.
“Me?”
“The first time I saw you, you were considerably older.”
Clara became motionless.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Impossible,” Clara said.
The woman smiled.
“You use that word too frequently.”
Ethan stared.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Evelyn Mercer.”
“Mercer?”
“As in Mercer Street.”
“There is no Mercer Street,” Clara said.
Evelyn looked toward her.
“Not anymore.”
Ethan remembered the forest.
The vanished road.
“You lived there.”
“I think so.”
“With your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
Evelyn’s expression became sorrowful.
“I told you. I don’t remember.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Because you told me to.”
Ethan stared.
“When?”
“Seventy-three years from now.”
Silence descended.
Clara stepped forward.
“What did he tell you?”
Evelyn looked at Ethan.
“To return the photograph when the boy disappeared.”
Ethan’s heartbeat accelerated.
“You wrote the messages.”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“You did.”
He looked toward the unfamiliar handwriting.
“That isn’t mine.”
“Not yet.”
Ethan felt the implications gathering before he understood them.
“The older version of me.”
Evelyn nodded.
“You gave me the photograph in the future and instructed me to bring it here.”
“How?”
“The Engine.”
Clara looked frightened.
“You used the Tomorrow Engine?”
“No.”
“Then how did you travel backward?”
Evelyn smiled.
“I didn’t.”
Ethan stared.
“What does that mean?”
“I have always been here.”
“Since when?”
“Since September eighteenth.”
“That’s today.”
“For you.”
Evelyn looked toward the tower mechanism.
“For me, it has been eighty-one years.”
Ethan could not immediately respond.
Clara approached.
“That would make you—”
“One hundred and seven.”
Evelyn appeared no older than forty.
“The repetition stopped you from aging.”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
Evelyn looked toward Ethan.
“He did.”
The answer produced another silence.
Ethan felt increasingly detached from the future version of himself whose actions seemed to reach backward into every mystery.
“What did I do?”
“You saved me.”
“From what?”
“The first ending.”
Clara’s expression changed.
“What did you say?”
Evelyn looked toward her.
“The first ending.”
“There has only been one reset.”
Evelyn smiled sadly.
“No, Clara.”
She walked toward the tower mechanism.
“There have been three.”
The revelation altered Clara more profoundly than anything Ethan had witnessed.
She stepped backward.
“No.”
Evelyn continued examining the gears.
“The first repetition began in 1953.”
“I know.”
“The second began when Ethan rebuilt the Engine.”
“Seventy-three years from now,” Ethan said.
“Yes.”
“And the third?”
Evelyn looked toward him.
“You haven’t caused it yet.”
The word yet seemed to darken the entire tower.
Ethan approached.
“What happens?”
“I can’t tell you.”
He laughed once.
“Of course.”
“If I tell you, you’ll change it.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“No.”
Evelyn’s answer arrived with terrifying certainty.
“The point is to make certain you cause it exactly as you did before.”
Clara moved between them.
“Why?”
“Because the alternative is worse.”
“What alternative?”
Evelyn looked toward Ethan.
“You save Noah.”
His name entered Ethan’s consciousness with renewed force.
“Noah.”
“Yes.”
“You know how to restore him?”
“I know you do.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
Ethan seized her arm.
“Tell me.”
Evelyn did not resist.
“If you save Noah too early, you never build the Tomorrow Engine.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will.”
“No.”
“You did.”
Ethan released her.
“Stop telling me what another version of me did.”
“He wasn’t another version.”
“He was seventy-three years older.”
“He was you.”
“I’m not him.”
Evelyn’s expression became almost compassionate.
“You always say that.”
The words struck him.
“How many times have we had this conversation?”
Evelyn said nothing.
Ethan understood.
“More than once.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Everyone keeps forgetting.”
“No.”
Evelyn looked toward Clara.
“Some of us are made to forget.”
Clara became still.
“Made?”
“The Engine doesn’t erase memories accidentally.”
Ethan felt the direction of the revelation before she completed it.
“Someone controls what disappears.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Evelyn looked toward the mechanisms surrounding them.
“The person inside the Engine.”
A metallic impact sounded beneath the tower.
Clara stepped backward.
“There is nobody inside the Engine.”
“There wasn’t originally.”
“Who is it?”
Evelyn looked toward Ethan.
“Your sister.”
The world seemed to become silent.
Ethan could not speak.
Lily.
The red sweater.
The empty photograph.
His mother’s unexplained sorrow.
“My sister?”
“Yes.”
“Lily.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened.
“You remember her name.”
“Only the name.”
“That’s more than you should.”
Ethan approached.
“Where is she?”
Evelyn looked downward.
“Beneath Evermore.”
“Inside the Tomorrow Engine?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Evelyn’s expression became sorrowful.
“Because you put her there.”
The clock tower bell rang.
Ethan stepped backward.
“No.”
Evelyn continued.
“You didn’t rebuild the Engine to save Evermore.”
Another bell.
“You rebuilt it to save Lily.”
A third.
“And every person who has disappeared since then—every street, every building, every memory—has been consumed by the Engine to keep her alive.”
Ethan stared at the floor.
Beneath them, the mechanism awakened.
“No.”
Clara looked toward him.
“Ethan.”
“No.”
The tower trembled.
Evelyn approached.
“You have two cycles remaining before Noah disappears completely.”
“Then help me save him.”
“I can’t.”
“You said I know how.”
“You will.”
“When?”
“When you remember why you sacrificed him.”
Ethan struck her.
The movement happened before thought.
Evelyn fell against the mechanism.
Clara seized Ethan.
“What are you doing?”
Ethan stared at his own hand.
Evelyn slowly stood.
Blood appeared upon her lip.
She smiled.
“You did that before too.”
Ethan felt sick.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
A tremendous sound erupted beneath them.
The photograph fell from Ethan’s backpack.
He retrieved it.
The number had changed.
1
“No.”
Clara looked.
“You said two cycles.”
Evelyn’s expression transformed.
“That shouldn’t happen.”
Ethan looked toward her.
“What?”
“The countdown only changes at midnight.”
“It changed earlier too.”
Evelyn became pale.
“When?”
“After Noah disappeared.”
“That’s impossible.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Welcome to the conversation.”
Evelyn seized the photograph.
“The Engine is accelerating.”
“We know.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
She looked toward Ethan.
“The countdown isn’t measuring days.”
“What is it measuring?”
Evelyn stared at the number.
“Memories.”
Ethan felt the answer before asking.
“How many?”
“One.”
“One what?”
“One memory of Noah.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
He searched.
Noah’s face.
Indistinct.
His voice.
Fading.
Their childhood.
Fragments.
Then one memory emerged.
Two boys sitting beside a lake.
Noah laughing.
Ethan could not remember why.
That was all.
One memory.
Ethan opened his eyes.
“The lake.”
Evelyn nodded.
“When that disappears, so does he.”
“How do I stop it?”
“You have to give the Engine something else.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
“A memory of equal importance.”
Ethan looked toward Evelyn.
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
“What memory?”
Evelyn hesitated.
Then she answered.
“Lily.”
Ethan became motionless.
“I barely remember her.”
“You remember enough.”
“If I give the Engine that memory, Noah returns?”
“For now.”
“And Lily?”
“You forget her completely.”
Ethan looked toward the mechanisms beneath the floor.
His sister.
His best friend.
One forgotten.
One restored.
“No.”
Evelyn’s expression softened.
“You made the same choice before.”
“What choice?”
“You chose Noah.”
Ethan looked toward her.
“And then?”
“You spent seventy-three years trying to remember Lily.”
The final memory of Noah began to disappear.
Ethan saw the lake.
Noah laughing.
The sunlight.
Then darkness consumed the edges.
“Ethan,” Clara said.
He closed his eyes.
The memory was fading.
He had seconds.
His sister.
His friend.
A girl he had forgotten.
A boy the world had erased.
Ethan reached toward the mechanism.
“Take Lily.”
The tower became silent.
Every clock stopped.
Pain entered his mind with such extraordinary violence that he screamed.
A little girl in a red sweater.
Gone.
Her laughter.
Gone.
Her name.
Gone.
The empty space within the photograph.
Gone.
Ethan collapsed.
When he awakened, Noah was kneeling beside him.
“Ethan.”
He opened his eyes.
Noah smiled.
“You look terrible.”
Ethan stared.
Then he laughed.
He seized his best friend and held him with sufficient force that Noah immediately protested.
“Okay. This is uncomfortable.”
Ethan did not release him.
Clara stood nearby.
She remembered Noah.
Evelyn stood beside the mechanism.
She was crying.
Ethan looked toward her.
“What happened?”
Her expression broke.
“You saved him.”
“Who?”
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Ethan frowned.
Something was wrong.
He looked toward the photograph.
The children stood before the empty field.
Ethan.
Noah.
And an unexplained space between them.
“Who was there?”
Nobody answered.
Ethan looked toward Clara.
“Who did I forget?”
Clara began crying.
“Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“Clara.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you made me promise.”
“When?”
“Thousands of cycles ago.”
Ethan stared at the empty space.
A profound sorrow entered him.
He did not understand it.
Could not name it.
Could not remember its source.
Then a message appeared upon the photograph.
Not in Ethan’s handwriting.
Not in Clara’s.
Not in the handwriting of his future self.
Small letters formed beneath the empty space.
I FORGIVE YOU, ETHAN.
He stared.
“Who wrote that?”
Nobody answered.
Beneath Evermore, the Tomorrow Engine continued operating.
And inside it, something that Ethan could no longer remember began to scream.