That day split my life into before and after.
I was staying at my mom’s place while she was out of town—a small, drafty Victorian in a town that felt like it was still stuck in 1994. It was my first time staying there since she’d moved in six months prior. I’d arrived late, the gravel crunching under my tires like breaking bone. When I stepped inside, the hallway light was out. Typical Mom—probably forgot to change the bulb again.
I used my phone flashlight to navigate the narrow corridor, the beam dancing off framed photos of people I didn’t recognize. I headed to the kitchen to feed her cat, Earl. He was a Maine Coon, usually a social glutton, but tonight he barely came to me. He sat in the corner of the kitchen, his yellow eyes fixed on the hallway, his tail twitching in a rhythmic, agitated thrum. No meowing, no interest in food. Weird.
Too tired to overthink it, I headed to the guest room. I didn’t even turn on the overhead light; I just wanted to crawl into the sheets and vanish. I kicked off my shoes, climbed under the heavy duvet, and then—I felt it.
The mattress shifted. A heat that didn’t belong to me radiated from the other side of the bed.
I jumped up, heart racing, flashlight shaking. I fumbled with my phone, the beam slicing through the dark. There was a man sleeping there. He was fully clothed, wearing a heavy waxed canvas coat.
“What the hell?! Who are you?!” I screamed, my voice cracking.
He opened his eyes, groggy and squinting against the light. He didn’t look like a burglar. He looked exhausted, his face lined with deep shadows. Then, he spoke.
“Sadie?”
My blood ran cold. The sound of my name coming from a stranger in a dark room felt like a physical blow. “HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!”
He slowly raised his hands, palms open, a gesture of surrender that didn’t make me feel any safer. “Please. I can explain. Just… don’t call the cops.”
I was already unlocking my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency dial, when he reached into his coat and pulled out a tattered, laminated photograph. He flicked it onto the bedspread.
Against my better judgment, I glanced down. It was a photo of my mother. She looked younger, maybe in her thirties, standing in front of this very house. But it wasn’t the house that caught my breath—it was the man standing next to her. He was holding a baby. The man in the photo had the same crooked nose and deep-set eyes as the stranger sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Sadie,” he whispered. “I’m here because your mother told me you’d be coming. She also told me you’d be the only one who could help us hide what’s in the basement.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Earl, the cat, appeared at the doorway, finally letting out a low, mournful howl.
“My mom is in Sedona,” I said, my voice trembling. “She’s on a retreat. She didn’t say anything about… you.”
“She couldn’t,” the man said, standing up. He was taller than he looked lying down, his head nearly touching the low ceiling. “My name is Elias. I’m an old friend. A very old friend. She sent me here to prep the house because things are changing, Sadie. The ‘before’ is over.”
He walked toward the door, not waiting to see if I followed. Curiosity, fueled by a sick sense of dread, pulled me after him. We went past the kitchen, past the closet, to a door I had assumed was a pantry. It was locked with a heavy electronic keypad—something that definitely wasn’t “Typical Mom.”
Elias punched in a code. My birthday.
The door hissed open, revealing a flight of concrete stairs leading down. The air that rose from the depths didn’t smell like a basement; it smelled like ozone and wet earth.
“She’s not in Sedona, is she?” I asked, the realization finally hitting me.
Elias paused on the first step. “She’s exactly where she needs to be. But the people looking for her think she’s here. And they think you’re her.”
Downstairs, the room was filled with humming servers and walls covered in topographical maps marked with red ink. In the center of the room was a single wooden crate, bolted to the floor.
“What is this?” I breathed, looking at the maps. They were maps of the stars, not the earth.
“It’s the reason your father disappeared twenty years ago,” Elias said, reaching into his coat again. This time, he didn’t pull out a photo. He pulled out a small, metallic cylinder that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic violet light. “And it’s the reason we have to leave. Now.”
Outside, the sound of gravel crunching returned. But it wasn’t one car. It was three. Heavy engines idling, headlights cutting through the fog of the front yard.
“Sadie,” Elias said, his voice urgent, “from this moment on, the girl who drove here tonight no longer exists. You have to decide right now if you want to find her, or if you want to survive.”
I looked at the stairs, then at the glowing cylinder in his hand, then at the shadow of my mother’s cat sitting at the top of the cellar door, watching me.
I took a breath. My life had split. I stepped into the ‘after.’
