Sepia sunset

Suddenly, the stranger stopped at an inconspicuous door deep in the alley, between two scuffed walls covered in incomprehensible graffiti. Probably where some avant-garde artists gather, Edith thought ironically. He pulled a set of old, time-darkened keys from his pocket and, selecting one, opened the door with a quiet creak. This door hasn’t been oiled in a hundred years, Arthur thought.

«Get in,» he said, gesturing for them to enter. His voice was quiet and somewhat weary, but held a strange authority. «And make it quick. We don’t have time for chatter.»

The door creaked open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor that smelled of damp and must. A dim bulb hanging from the ceiling on a dirty wire barely illuminated the space, casting strange shadows on the walls. The corridor was cluttered with old crates and boxes tied with rope. Arthur, stumbling over one, nearly fell, but Edith caught him. «Careful, you old fool!» she whispered, looking at him reproachfully. I really should start exercising, crossed Arthur’s mind.

Arthur and Edith, exchanging glances, cautiously stepped inside as if crossing a threshold into another world. Edith wrapped herself tighter in her coat, trying to warm up. «What is this place?» she whispered.

The stranger, making sure they were inside, locked the door with several turns of the key and turned to face them. In the dim light, Arthur finally got a good look at his face. It was stern, even somewhat grim, with deep wrinkles lining his forehead and cheeks. Life hasn’t been kind to him, Arthur thought. But his eyes, despite the weariness, shone with sharp intelligence and a strange, otherworldly sadness. A small scar was visible on his cheek, which Arthur assumed was from some street fight.

«My name is Jack,» he said, extending his hand to Arthur. His hand was strong and dry, with work-roughened fingers. «And I think,» he paused slightly, «we can be of use to each other.» His voice held a certain mystery, as if he knew something they didn’t.

Edith looked at him distrustfully. «Of use to each other? What do you mean?» she asked.

Jack smirked. «Believe me, lady, I have my reasons. But that can wait. Right now, we need to discuss something.»

«Of use to each other? What do you mean?» Edith, unable to hide her suspicion, stared at Jack as if trying to decipher his true intentions. Her eyes, usually shining with kindness and humor, now held only wariness and distrust. A line from an old movie she’d once watched with Arthur flashed through her mind: «In this city, even the cats carry knives.» Suddenly, Edith realized that perhaps this was exactly the kind of world they had stumbled into. «And how could we possibly be of use to someone like you?» she repeated, trying to sound confident, though everything inside her was clenched with fear. She felt like she was in the jaws of a predator. She scrutinized Jack from head to toe, noting every detail of his appearance: the impeccable suit, the perfectly polished shoes, the gold watch with its engraving. This gentleman’s watch probably costs more than all our furniture put together, a cynical thought crossed her mind. I wonder where he gets that kind of money.

Jack smiled, and a shadow of understanding seemed to flicker in his eyes. He probably saw not only fear but also a degree of skepticism in her. «Believe me, madam, I have good reason to think so,» he replied, his voice soft but with a steely firmness. «In Chicago, as you know, it’s every man for himself. And I’m no exception. But right now, we have more pressing matters. We need to get out of here, fast. It’s… unsettled around here. And I, believe me, am not a fan of unnecessary trouble.» He cast a quick glance at the door, as if expecting it to be broken down at any moment.

Edith and Arthur exchanged looks. Apparently, they had no time to think.

Jack, as if reading their thoughts, continued: «We don’t have much time, and, believe me, I’m not one to waste it. I know who’s after you. And I know why.» He paused, as if waiting for a reaction, then continued: «You’re needed by someone. And this ’someone’ might be able to help you.»

Edith and Arthur exchanged quick, nervous glances. Thousands of questions, seemingly without answers, raced through their minds like a kaleidoscope. Who was after them? Why were they needed? And, most importantly, could they trust this mysterious stranger? They recalled the old film The Suspect – where everything was mysterious at first, and then it got even worse.

«What do you mean, ’someone’? Who are we to be needed by anyone? We’re just retirees living a quiet life,» Arthur said, trying to sound calm, but his voice betrayed him with a tremble. He knew perfectly well that their quiet life was in the past, beyond the threshold of this strange, mysterious city. A line from his favorite detective novel came to mind: «In this city, no one knows what’s waiting for them around the corner.» It seemed they were now in the thick of that «unknown.»

Jack smirked, as if he enjoyed watching their confusion and dismay. «Don’t be so modest, Mr… what was your name again?» – he seemed to have forgotten their names. Or didn’t want to remember, emphasizing his superiority. «You and your wife are… remarkable people. You just don’t know it yet, which is hardly surprising.» He spoke as if they were characters in an exciting novel, and he was its ruthless narrator. He paused, flicking ash from his cigarette. «And someone is very keen to meet you. An influential man, and, believe me, he has connections you can’t even imagine.»

Edith, feeling goosebumps run down her spine like icy fingers, shuddered. This «someone» was a complete mystery to them, a dark figure in the approaching storm. «Who is this ’someone’? And what does he want from us?» she asked, trying to sound as firm as possible, as if putting up a shield against the impending danger, though inside, everything was churning like in a centrifuge.

She recalled an article in the Chicago Tribune from last year, with a loud front-page headline: «In the Web of Power: How Corruption is Choking Chicago!» The article spoke of shadowy deals, connections between politicians, police, and gangsters, of people who controlled the city from behind the scenes. There were photos of famous gangsters like Al Capone and anonymous silhouettes of influential officials. The caption under one photo read: «In Chicago, even God has to pay taxes.» And Edith thought: Have we fallen into this web? Do we now have to pay the price?

Jack exhaled a cloud of smoke, and in the dim light, his face seemed even more mysterious than before. «That, I can’t tell you right now. But believe me, madam, your interest will be rewarded. He can help you get back home, which I assume is your main concern right now. But in return, he will ask for something.»

Arthur frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, his eyes narrowing. «Ask for what? Money? We don’t have any. Never did.» His tone was sarcastic. He had always been a skeptic.

Jack laughed, and the sound was like a sinister chime in their ears. «Money? Money is small change, mister. Money has nothing to do with it. This man is interested in things that can’t be bought for any amount of money. He’s interested in your… story.»

Edith and Arthur looked at each other. They couldn’t imagine what «story» could possibly interest a stranger.

«Story?» Edith repeated, her voice trembling with excitement. The word sounded completely incomprehensible to her, like a foreign language. What did he mean? What «story» could two elderly people, whose lives were like a calm river flow, possibly have? They had no thrilling adventures, no secrets, no connections to the criminal world. Or so they thought. Maybe the past held secrets they weren’t even aware of? She recalled a quote from an old play: «We are all heroes in someone else’s drama.»

«Yes, your story,» Jack confirmed, his tone enigmatic. He tossed the cigarette butt into a tin can by the wall and turned to them, his gaze like a sharp knife. «He wants to hear your story. The whole thing, from beginning to end. He wants to know everything. And, believe me, it won’t be easy. After all, the truth, as they say, always lies somewhere in the middle, and sometimes – it’s just plain lost.» He paused, his gaze sliding over their faces as if assessing their resolve and looking for a hint of heroism. «Are you ready for that?»

Arthur nervously fiddled with the hem of his old coat, which was long overdue for the trash. He felt they had landed in some surreal play where he and Edith were the main characters. They, two ordinary retirees, were suddenly caught up in mysterious intrigues involving powerful people and their own memories. What if this «someone» was just a madman? And what if they ended up in even deeper trouble? He recalled a phrase from his friend, who, like him, enjoyed a drink: «Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get.»

«And what’s in it for us?» he asked, trying to hide his fear, hoping his voice sounded confident enough.

Jack smirked, as if amused by their bewilderment. «First, safety. As long as you’re with me, you’re safe. Second, a chance to return home, to your, I assume, quiet and peaceful suburb. And third… the opportunity to rewrite your story. Or at least change its ending.»

Edith and Arthur exchanged glances. Rewrite their story? What did he mean? It sounded strange and even frightening. Were they supposed to return to the past? And what if they changed something? Altering the past could have unpredictable consequences. She felt a pang in her heart.

At that moment, a noise echoed in the corridor – sharp, like thunder, the stomping of feet and fragments of rough phrases. Someone’s footsteps were growing louder, approaching at a terrifying speed, like a train derailed.

Jack instantly tensed, his face becoming an impenetrable mask, his gaze sharp and probing.

«Seems we’re out of time for long deliberations, my dears,» he said, his voice hard, like a general’s order before a decisive battle. «We need to leave. Right now. And no more questions.»

He grabbed Edith’s hand as if saving her from certain doom, and Arthur, gasping and stumbling, hurried after them, understanding that if he hesitated now, he would be left here forever.

Time was running out, like sand in a broken hourglass, and they had to make their choice – trust this stranger or meet their fate in this dirty alley.

They headed deeper into the corridor, into the unknown, hoping to save their lives, like characters in an old film fleeing an impending catastrophe. And Edith thought: If this is a movie, I demand a retake!

Chapter 3

Labyrinths of the Past

Jack confidently, like an experienced rat-catcher, led them through a narrow corridor that, due to its complexity, resembled the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. In Chicago in the 40s, by the way, there were plenty of such winding corridors, secret passages, and underground hideouts – a result of Prohibition and the mob’s bustling activity.

They passed several doors, behind which, judging by the muffled sounds, some hidden life was bustling: hushed voices, cheerful laughter, the clinking of glasses, music – probably from some underground jazz club. Arthur, trying to memorize the route, looked for landmarks: drawings on the walls, the number of doors, turns, but everything seemed identical and monotonous. The corridor, like a living creature, constantly twisted, turning now one way, now another, as if trying to confuse those within. Soon, Arthur was completely disoriented. I think I’m lost already, he thought, recalling the old saying: «Getting lost in a dark forest is half the trouble, but getting lost in someone else’s soul…»

«Where are we going, Jack?» Edith whispered, trying to keep up with her mysterious guide. She held Arthur’s hand tightly, and in this darkness, he felt like her only anchor, her support. She remembered lines from an Edgar Allan Poe poem: «All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.» Were they really in some kind of bad dream?

«To a safe place,» Jack replied without turning or slowing down. His voice held a confidence that Edith involuntarily envied. «No one will find us there. At least, not for a while.»

They walked in silence, concentrating on each step. Only their muffled footsteps echoed in the corridor. Suddenly, an old, crooked staircase leading down opened before them. The staircase seemed built in a time when people were twice as tall. Jack, without a second’s hesitation, began descending, his heavy footsteps echoing. Edith and Arthur, exchanging glances, followed him. «I hope these stairs hold,» Arthur muttered, holding onto the railing like a lifeline. The stairs were steep and slippery, as if designed to test one’s nerves. Arthur struggled to keep his balance, and Edith, afraid of falling, gripped the old, rusted handrail, digging her fingers into it. With each step, it grew colder and damper.

At the bottom of the stairs, a massive iron door awaited them, resembling the entrance to an ancient crypt or a cellar. Jack took a heavy, antique key from his pocket, one that had probably seen the days of Prohibition. He slowly inserted the key into the keyhole, turned it, and the door creaked open.

They found themselves in a large, semi-dark room that had apparently once been a basement or perhaps a storage cellar. The walls were covered with a thick layer of mold, and the air carried a musty smell of dampness, earth, and something else, unclear and eerie. In the corner stood an old, sagging couch that seemed to remember all the sorrows and joys of its former owners, and next to it lay a few empty whiskey bottles. A tattered newspaper lay on the couch. Someone had been here.

«Welcome to my humble abode,» Jack said with irony in his voice, surveying the gloomy shelter. «We’ll be safe here, for a while at least. If we’re lucky.»

Edith, looking around, shivered involuntarily from the cold. The basement, seemingly saturated with centuries of gloom, felt damp and unwelcoming, a refuge for lost souls. Her imagination immediately conjured scenes from old horror films she loved in her youth, where the most nightmarish things usually happened in such places. «And we’re supposed to be safe here?» she whispered, trying to hide her fear, but her voice trembled. A quote from some book echoed in her head: «The darkest place is under the candlestick.»

«Relatively,» Jack replied, shrugging as if discussing something mundane. «In Chicago, you know, there are few places where you can feel completely safe. But this place, at least, doesn’t attract unnecessary attention. No one knows of its existence. And if they do, they’re unlikely to want to come down here. Here, as they say, different rules apply.»

Arthur, coughing, examined the basement, trying not to touch the mold-covered walls. I hope we don’t catch some disease here, crossed his mind. «And how long are we supposed to stay here?» he asked, trying to sound confident, though everything inside him was shaking.

Jack ignored his question. He walked over to the old, sagging couch, brushed off a crumpled newspaper, and with a casual gesture, invited them to sit. «Sit down, make yourselves comfortable,» he said, sitting opposite them. «We need to discuss a few things. And it’s going to be a long conversation.»

Edith and Arthur, exchanging glances, cautiously sat on the couch. It was hard and uncomfortable, as if people had been sleeping on it for years, and it carried an unpleasant smell of dampness. Edith felt the cold seeping through her thin coat and wanted to leave as soon as possible.

«So,» Jack began, pulling a crumpled pack of Camel cigarettes from his pocket and offering it to them. «Help yourselves.» Edith and Arthur politely declined. «As I said, you’ve found yourselves in a rather unusual situation, and I am perhaps the only person who can help you. But for that, you must trust me completely. And not ask unnecessary questions. Are you ready to take that risk?»

Jack’s gaze was serious and piercing, as if he were trying to penetrate their thoughts, to see what they were willing to do to save themselves.

Edith and Arthur exchanged long, meaningful glances again. In Edith’s eyes, usually full of optimism and love for life, now there was only distrust mixed with despair and fear. She felt like she was in a bad dream from which she couldn’t wake up. She remembered a line from an old song: «Dream a Little Dream of Me.» I wish I could just wake up now, she thought. Arthur looked confused and tired, as if an unbearable burden had been placed on his shoulders. He didn’t understand what was happening, and that scared him most of all.

«And what is this ’unusual situation’? And, most importantly, why should we trust you? We don’t know you at all. To us, you’re just a stranger from the street,» Edith asked, trying to speak calmly and confidently, though inside, she was gripped with terror. She knew perfectly well that their future depended on this conversation.

Jack smirked, and something resembling pity flickered in his eyes. «Trust is a luxury few can afford in this city, madam,» he replied, his voice muted. «Here, everyone is for themselves. But you, as I see it, have little choice. Either you trust me and do as I say, or you stay here and wait for your pursuers. As for the situation… Let’s just say you’ve managed to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and in the wrong era. You’ve taken a little excursion into the past.»

Arthur snorted incredulously, his face twisting into a grimace of skepticism. «Into the past? What nonsense are you talking? Is this some kind of joke?» He thought this Jack was just some madman decided to mock them.

Jack shrugged, showing complete indifference. «I’m not going to prove anything to you, mister. I have no need to. Believe it or not. But if you really want to get back home, you’ll have to believe me and do everything I say. No unnecessary questions.»

He fell silent, as if giving them time to think over his words and grasp the seriousness of the situation. An oppressive silence hung in the basement, broken only by the occasional monotonous drip of water from the ceiling. Edith and Arthur felt the tension growing with every second, squeezing them like a vise. They had to make a decision. Quickly and consciously. And without a doubt, their future depended on it. Life or death.

Edith took a deep breath, trying to calm her wildly beating heart. She looked at Arthur, seeking support and confirmation of her decision in his eyes. She thought she saw a slight nod, expressing his willingness to take the risk. They had always been together, always supporting each other. She recalled a quote from a famous book she read in her youth: «Nothing is impossible in life, you just have to believe in yourself and not be afraid to make mistakes.» Now, it seemed, they were on the verge of a huge mistake, but they had no other choice.

«Alright, Jack,» she said, trying to sound as firm as possible, though her voice trembled slightly. She focused her gaze on Jack, trying to understand if he could be trusted. «We trust you. We’re ready to take the risk. We agree to whatever you say. Just tell us what we need to do.» She felt a surge of adrenaline and remembered an old saying: «Nothing ventured, nothing gained.» Well, they could certainly use some champagne right now.

Arthur was silent, but his look spoke for itself. He confirmed her decision with a slight nod, and determination was visible in his eyes. He understood they simply had no other way out, that they were on the edge, and they had to risk everything.

Jack smiled slightly, and in that smile, Edith thought she saw a hint of hidden joy.

«Excellent,» he said, «then listen carefully, because we have very little time.»

He rose from the creaky chair and walked over to an old, rickety table in the far corner of the basement. The table was made of roughly nailed planks, and on it, besides a thick layer of dust, lay an old, time-darkened book in a leather binding and several old, faded photographs. The table seemed to have witnessed many secrets and been the keeper of many mysteries. This table is probably older than both of us put together, Edith thought. Jack took one of the photographs, carefully brushed off the dust, and handed it to Edith.

«Do you recognize this man?» he asked, his voice quiet and focused.

Edith took the photograph, trying not to tremble, and looked at it carefully. It depicted a young man in a military uniform, probably from World War II. His face was handsome, with regular features, and his eyes shone with a special courage and confidence. But despite his attractiveness, Edith couldn’t remember where she had seen this man. His face seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had met him somewhere in her life, but where? When? She tried to strain her memory, but chaos reigned in her head, as if thousands of memories had collided. My memory is failing me, she thought with annoyance.

Edith shook her head in confusion, trying to remember something. Her eyes darted over the photograph, but she still couldn’t latch onto any familiar detail.

«No… I don’t know. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t recall who. It’s like I’m looking at a stranger. Where did you find this photograph?» she asked, trying not to show her confusion. She tried to concentrate, peering into the stranger’s face, looking for any clue that would help her.

Jack sighed, as if tired of their questions. «It doesn’t matter, madam. It’s completely irrelevant now. What matters is that this man is the key. The key to your story. To the very story I asked you to tell. Or, rather, the one you might need to remember.» He stepped closer, leaned in, and pointed at the photograph. «This is Captain John Smith. Or at least, that was his name. And, according to some sources, a very interesting man.»

Arthur, who had been silently observing until now, frowned, his face expressing extreme distrust. «Captain Smith? The name sounds familiar, but where have I heard it? Does he have some connection to us?» His suspicion only grew.

Jack nodded, and a strange spark flickered in his eyes. «The most direct connection. You, Edith, are his granddaughter. And, as far as I know, the last of the Smith line.»

Edith gasped in amazement, her eyes widening. Arthur looked at his wife in surprise, his face showing utter bewilderment.

«Granddaughter? But… how is that possible? We’ve never heard of any Captain Smith. We never had any relatives who served in the army, let alone participated in World War II.»

Edith and Arthur silently processed this, looking at the old movie camera in Jack’s hands. «Captain Smith… and what are we supposed to do with this information?» Arthur finally asked, breaking the oppressive silence. He didn’t understand how his wife’s past could be connected to their current problems.

Jack, smiling mysteriously, pulled a worn Bell & Howell Filmo camera from his pocket, a popular model in the 40s. These cameras were used to shoot both wartime documentaries and Hollywood hits.

«And this is what,» he replied, handing the camera to Edith. «Your grandfather wasn’t just a captain. He was a cameraman. He filmed newsreels, saw the war with his own eyes. And he left you something. Something that can save you both.»

Edith looked at the camera distrustfully. She remembered how in her youth she dreamed of becoming a director, but Arthur always mocked her passion. «But… I never knew how to make real movies. It was just a hobby. And what can this possibly give us? How can it help us get out of here?»

«This camera is special, madam,» Jack replied, and a strange gleam flickered in his eyes. «It doesn’t just film movies. It films the truth. Your truth, your feelings, your memories. It captures not what you see, but what you feel. And if you can make a film about your love… about the love that could still be, the one you lost but can find again… perhaps, just perhaps, you can escape this city and return home.»

Arthur snorted skeptically, crossing his arms. «Sounds like the ravings of a madman. How is that even possible? And where do we start? We have no script, no actors, no sets.» It seemed like complete absurdity to him.

At that moment, a loud knock echoed through the basement. It seemed the door would be broken down any second.

«Seems we’re out of time for arguments, folks,» Jack said, grabbing the camera and pressing it into Edith’s hands. «Either you take it and start filming, tell your story, or you stay here and wait to be found. The choice is yours.»