The sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed relentlessly from outside. Every few seconds, another distant blast shook the walls, followed by the muffled cries and terrified screams of people somewhere beyond the house. The noise seemed to seep through every crack and corner, turning the entire building into a place of uncertainty and fear. In one of the rooms, seven-year-old Arthur sat rigidly on his bed, trembling as he pressed his fingers tightly against his ears. He tried to block everything out—the gunshots, the explosions, the voices outside—but the sounds were too loud, too close. His eyes had begun to fill with tears, yet he desperately tried to hold them back. He didn't want to cry. He wanted to believe that his father would come and make everything alright.
Then the door suddenly opened.
Arthur looked up.
A Mexican man in his forties stood in the doorway. He had a large moustache and an expression that immediately softened when his eyes fell upon his son. The moment Arthur recognized him, he jumped from the bed and ran toward him. His father immediately bent down and wrapped both arms around him, holding him close.
"Ah, Arthur, my son…" he whispered. "I'm sorry, but it seems they're coming here now."
Arthur clung to him.
"But don't worry." His father tried to sound reassuring. "I'll talk to them. They're soldiers, after all. They're still human beings, not monsters. I'm sure they'll understand."
He paused for a moment before looking toward the door.
"But just in case, Arthur…" His voice became quieter. "I want you to hide under the bed. God will help us. Don't worry."
The man reached beneath his shirt and pulled out the small cross hanging around his neck. He kissed it gently before pressing it against Arthur's forehead, as though the simple gesture could protect his son from everything happening outside.
Arthur looked up at him with trembling eyes.
"If… if it's gonna be alright, then why do I have to hide, Dad?"
His father smiled.
"Oh, son, don't worry. Just hide for a little while. You see, it seems these soldiers like playing hide-and-seek, just like you used to play with your mother."
He forced a large smile.
Arthur stared at him for a moment before asking the question that had been sitting in his mind.
"Dad… when is Mom gonna come back?"
"Soon, son. Very soon." His father gently placed a hand on Arthur's head. "She's only gone to her father's house in Germany, remember? That's where these soldiers are from. So once I talk to them, maybe we'll be able to meet your mother again."
He smiled once more.
"But for now, go and hide."
Arthur's father kissed his forehead.
Arthur reluctantly nodded.
He crawled beneath the bed and moved toward the middle, where the shadows were deepest. He had always hated hiding there. Whenever he forgot how little space there was and raised his head, he would bump it against the underside of the bed. But this time he didn't complain. He simply curled himself into the darkness and waited.
He was frightened.
Terrified, in fact.
But he trusted his father.
And because of that trust, Arthur remained perfectly still.
For what felt like an eternity, there was only silence from outside his room.
Then—
Bang!
The door suddenly flew open.
Arthur's entire body stiffened.
Multiple footsteps entered the room. Heavy footsteps. More than one person.
Then came the voices.
Several men were speaking.
Arthur couldn't understand most of them. Their words were in German, a language he knew nothing about. But one voice was unmistakable.
His father's.
Arthur pressed himself further into the darkness beneath the bed, listening as carefully as he could.
"Sénior… listen to me. We're unarmed. Please, spare us. You see, I have a—"
His father's voice suddenly stopped.
A cold voice answered him.
"Ihr seid alle Plagegeister."
Arthur didn't understand the words.
Then came a sudden, deafening sound.
Afterward, everything became silent.
Something had fallen to the floor.
Arthur stopped breathing for a moment.
His heart hammered against his chest.
He wanted to move.
He wanted to call for his father.
But fear kept him frozen.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, Arthur crawled out from beneath the bed. His movements were painfully careful, as though even the smallest sound might reveal him. He reached the doorway and cautiously leaned forward.
Then he looked outside.
His eyes widened.
His father was lying motionless on the floor.
Three German soldiers stood nearby.
Arthur's entire body went cold.
His heartbeat accelerated until he could hear it pounding inside his ears. His throat felt painfully dry, and his breathing became uneven. He wanted to cry—more than he had ever wanted anything before—but he remembered what his father had told him.
Hide.
Don't make a sound.
Arthur's eyes began to fill with tears.
He pressed his hand against his mouth, desperately trying to keep himself silent.
But the tears came anyway.
He couldn't stop them.
Arthur lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Then, slowly, he looked back toward the three soldiers.
One by one.
He studied their faces.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
He didn't understand what had just happened.
He didn't understand why they had come.
He didn't understand the German words they had spoken.
But he understood one thing.
He would remember their faces.
Suddenly, adult Arthur woke with a violent gasp.
He sat upright on his bed, breathing heavily as though he had just escaped from somewhere far darker than a dream. Sweat covered his forehead and ran slowly down the sides of his face. For several seconds, he simply remained there, trying to distinguish the room around him from the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to his mind.
Then a sharp pain struck his chest.
Arthur immediately grabbed the area with one hand and remained frozen in that position. His breathing became shallow as he waited for the pain to subside. He didn't move until the sensation gradually faded, leaving behind only an uncomfortable pressure.
His eyes shifted toward the table beside his bed.
An alarm clock displayed 10:17 A.M.
Arthur stared at it for a moment before turning his attention toward the rest of the room.
It was a complete mess.
Clothes were scattered across the floor as though they had been thrown there without a second thought. Several drawers stood open, most of their contents having already spilled onto the floor around them. The walls weren't in much better condition. Posters covered nearly every available space, but none remained intact. Their edges were torn, their surfaces damaged, and several pieces had partially detached from the wall.
Among the disorder hung a calendar.
Arthur's eyes settled upon it.
Several dates had been crossed out.
He stared at it for a few seconds before finally realizing the date.
8 August 1959.
Yesterday.
The realization brought everything back.
William.
The strange man with the crimson eyes.
The disguise.
The three balloons.
The organization hiding somewhere behind the Austin House massacre.
And the offer.
Arthur sat motionless on the edge of his bed.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the floor, replaying yesterday's conversation in his mind. William's words returned one after another, each one fitting itself into the growing puzzle he had been unable to solve for five months.
Eventually, Arthur stood.
He walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap.
Cold water rushed into the sink.
He leaned forward and let the water run over his face. For a moment, the world seemed to disappear beneath its steady sound. The water slid across his skin and fell from his chin in small droplets, carrying away the sweat but doing nothing to wash away the thoughts inside his head. It was almost as though the water was trying to pull the remnants of the nightmare from his face while his mind stubbornly refused to let them go.
Arthur slowly raised his head.
His reflection stared back at him from the mirror.
Small droplets covered his handsome face, glistening beneath the pale bathroom light. His wet hair hung loosely over his forehead, making his features appear slightly blurred and distant, as though even his own reflection was separated from him by a thin layer of fog. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed deeper than usual, emphasizing the exhaustion in his expression.
He looked tired.
Not merely from lack of sleep.
Tired in a way that seemed to have settled somewhere much deeper.
Arthur slowly raised his hand and placed his fingers against his left cheek.
He touched his own reflection's face through the mirror, almost as though he were examining the face of a stranger.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, in a heavy voice, he whispered,
"Why?"
The word disappeared into the quiet bathroom.
Arthur remained there for several minutes, staring at himself without moving. Eventually, he reached for a towel and wiped the water from his face.
After taking a long bath, Arthur left the bathroom and walked toward the basement door.
He opened it.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
Arthur stood at the top for a moment, looking down at the steps before beginning his descent. His footsteps echoed faintly through the enclosed space as he made his way toward the basement.
When he reached the bottom, he extended his hand toward the wall and pressed the white switch.
A dim, aging bulb flickered above him before finally settling into a weak yellow glow.
The light was poor, but it was enough.
The basement was dusty and cramped. At the center stood an old wooden table covered with an assortment of tools. Everything looked as though it had been left untouched for a long time, yet Arthur moved through the room with the familiarity of someone who knew exactly where everything was.
He took a few steps toward the table.
Then—
Pant!
Arthur stopped.
He looked down.
Something had been crushed beneath his foot.
A cockroach.
He stared at it for several seconds.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Destiny… huh?"
He paused.
Then his smile widened slightly.
"Cowards."
Arthur continued toward the table.
When he reached it, his eyes slowly moved across the collection of tools. He examined them without hurry, considering each one before finally selecting a small hammer.
He slipped it carefully into the long sock he was wearing, positioning it against his calf before pulling his trouser leg down. Once the fabric settled into place, the hammer was completely concealed beneath it.
Arthur glanced down briefly to make sure nothing was visible.
Then he left the basement.
He walked upstairs and headed into the kitchen.
Opening the refrigerator, Arthur reached inside and grabbed an apple. He took a large bite from it without bothering to sit down.
Then he picked up his house keys.
He walked outside, locked the front door behind him, and slipped the keys into his pocket.
The morning air greeted him as he began walking down the street.
Arthur took another bite of the apple.
His expression remained calm.
Whatever William had planned for him…
Whatever waited beyond that meeting…
Arthur was going to find out.
Chapter Ends
To be continued