Ethan woke to the sound of knocking.
Not gentle knocking.
The kind meant to annoy someone.
"Get up."
He buried his face in the pillow.
"No."
The knocking continued.
"Ethan."
"No."
"Ethan."
"No."
A few seconds later, the bedroom door opened.
A pillow hit him in the face.
Ethan groaned.
"You're the worst."
"You're welcome."
Lily stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips.
"You promised you'd help me today."
"I don't remember that."
"That's because you were half asleep when you agreed."
"That doesn't count."
"It does."
She tossed another pillow at him before leaving.
"Ten minutes."
---
Twenty minutes later, Ethan was carrying grocery bags.
Life wasn't fair.
The morning air was cool, and the streets were already busy.
Cars filled the roads.
People moved between shops.
The city felt alive.
Normal.
Exactly how Ethan preferred it.
Lily walked ahead while scrolling through her phone.
Occasionally pointing at things she wanted to buy.
Most of which Ethan immediately rejected.
"You don't need another hoodie."
"I do."
"You bought one last month."
"That was last month."
"That's not how money works."
She ignored him.
---
The market district was crowded.
Vendors called out prices.
Music drifted from nearby stores.
Children chased each other through the street.
For the first time in days, Ethan felt relaxed.
No strange dreams.
No mysterious figures.
No abandoned train platforms.
Just ordinary life.
Exactly what he needed.
They spent nearly two hours shopping.
By the end, Ethan regretted every decision that had led him here.
His arms hurt.
His feet hurt.
And Lily somehow wanted to visit more stores.
"One last stop."
"You said that three stops ago."
"This time I mean it."
"You said that too."
---
While Lily disappeared into a clothing store, Ethan escaped to a nearby bench.
He set down the shopping bags and stretched.
The afternoon sun felt surprisingly pleasant.
People walked past constantly.
Couples.
Families.
Students.
Workers finishing their shifts.
Nobody paid attention to anyone else.
The city had millions of people.
Yet somehow everyone lived inside their own little bubble.
Ethan leaned back.
His gaze drifted across the street.
A utility pole stood near an intersection.
Several posters had been attached to it.
Advertisements.
Event announcements.
Local notices.
One of them caught his attention.
At first, he didn't know why.
Then he recognized the photograph.
His body straightened immediately.
Mr. Lewis.
The math teacher.
The poster read:
MISSING PERSON
Below it was a phone number.
And a date.
The report had been filed yesterday.
Ethan stared longer than he intended.
The teacher wasn't old.
Wasn't sick.
As far as anyone knew, he had simply failed to show up for work.
Now his face was hanging from a utility pole.
Reduced to a photograph and a contact number.
A strange feeling settled in Ethan's chest.
Not fear.
Just discomfort.
People weren't supposed to disappear.
At least not people you knew.
Even if you barely knew them.
---
"What are you looking at?"
Lily appeared beside him holding two shopping bags.
Ethan pointed.
She followed his gaze.
"Oh."
"You knew about this?"
"A little."
"How?"
"My friend's mom was talking about it."
Lily shrugged.
"They say nobody knows where he went."
Ethan looked back at the poster.
"That's weird."
"Not really."
"What do you mean?"
"People disappear all the time."
She said it casually.
Like discussing the weather.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe that was exactly why it bothered him.
People disappeared all the time.
Most just didn't become personal.
---
The sun was setting by the time they returned home.
The apartment felt quieter than usual.
After dinner, Lily disappeared into her room.
Ethan sat at his desk.
A textbook lay open in front of him.
He read the same paragraph three times.
Nothing stuck.
Eventually he gave up.
His eyes drifted toward the window.
The curtains remained open.
The street below looked ordinary.
A few pedestrians.
Passing cars.
Nothing else.
Good.
That was how he wanted it.
---
Around nine o'clock, Ethan opened his laptop.
He wasn't planning to investigate anything.
He just wanted to clear his thoughts.
Instead, he found himself typing:
Missing people Riverside Station
He paused.
Then hit enter.
Dozens of results appeared.
Most were old.
Unrelated cases.
Runaways.
Family disputes.
Nothing unusual.
Ethan was about to close the browser when something caught his eye.
A local news article.
Only a few months old.
He clicked it.
The article wasn't long.
A middle-aged office worker had disappeared while returning home.
No witnesses.
No suspects.
No explanation.
The location mentioned near the end made Ethan pause.
Riverside Station.
Platform Three.
He frowned.
Maybe it was coincidence.
The city was large.
Thousands of people passed through the station every day.
One disappearance didn't mean anything.
Then he noticed a link at the bottom.
Related Cases
Curious, he clicked it.
Another article appeared.
Different person.
Different age.
Different occupation.
Same station.
Ethan sat a little straighter.
A third article.
Same result.
Riverside Station.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Not many cases.
Only a handful across several years.
Enough to be unusual.
Not enough to attract serious attention.
The kind of thing most people would overlook.
The kind of thing Ethan would have overlooked a week ago.
Before the dreams.
Before the man in the black coat.
Before Platform Three.
A cold sensation crept up his spine.
For several minutes he stared at the screen.
Thinking.
Trying to convince himself it meant nothing.
Unfortunately, the harder he tried, the less convincing that argument became.
---
Near midnight, Ethan finally shut down the laptop.
His room was silent.
The city outside had grown quiet.
He walked toward the window one last time.
Just a habit.
Nothing more.
The street below was empty.
No figures.
No movement.
No pale strangers.
Ethan released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then he closed the curtains.
Tomorrow was Sunday.
He planned to forget about all of this.
The missing teacher.
The old articles.
The abandoned platform.
Everything.
Unfortunately for him, tomorrow was the day someone would knock on his door.
And ask a question that would make forgetting impossible.