The Story of one Awakening

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His whole theory about Anna’s betrayal was based on the fact that she had acted alone. But what if she hadn’t? What if she wasn’t alone? What if there was someone else behind her back, or beside her, someone else who was directing her actions, or was an accomplice?

The thought was so shocking, so undermining of his decades-old beliefs, that he faltered. He looked again at Anna’s portrait. Her eyes now seemed to be not just looking at him, but hiding a terrible secret. A secret that was literally sealed in her gaze.

His gaze flickered to the envelope labeled «DUSK». Connection. There had to be a connection here somewhere. «Dawn is the beginning of something new. Maybe the beginning of a clue? Unraveling what really happened ten years ago?

For the first time in a very long time, something more than apathy awoke in Elias. It was a thirst for the truth. This thirst was acute, almost physical. He had to know. Had to figure out what that figure was, if it was there. And who was sending him those damn letters.

The world he had so carefully built around himself-a world of loneliness and ignorance-began to crack. And through those cracks, like the first rays of the morning sun, there was something that looked like hope. Hope, not for forgiveness, not for a return to former glory, but for understanding. An understanding that might be the only way to a true dawn.

Chapter 3: Shadow from the Looking Glass

A shiver ran through Elias’s body, though there was no draft in the room. It was not cold, but a chill of anticipation mixed with terror. The mysterious glare in Anna’s eyes in the portrait, and then in the other study, kept him awake. A figure. A blurred, elusive, but definitely a figure standing behind the mirror. The thought of it was absurd, bordering on insanity, but his mind, dormant for a decade, was now working at feverish speed.

He leaned toward the portrait again. His eyes, which had once seen the world in shades and halftones, were now searching for just that tiny hint of something hidden. If there was a figure there, who was it? And why would Anna, his Anna, allow someone to witness their private, creative moments? Especially if it involved her betrayal.

Elias pulled away from the painting and looked around slowly. For ten years he had lived in this house, which had once been his parents’ home and then had become his own studio. Every corner, every speck of dust here was familiar. He’d sold almost all the furniture, leaving only the essentials. A mirror. That old mirror in the carved frame. He remembered it. It stood in the corner, reflecting the light from the windows, giving the illusion of extra space.

When he sold things after the art world closed its doors to him, the mirror was one of the first things to go. He hadn’t thought of it then. Just an unnecessary object that reminded him of a past, non-existent life. But now…

He tried to remember who he had sold it to. After so many years, it seemed impossible. People came and went, taking his furniture, his paintings (the ones that remained), his belongings. The faces blended into one blurred mass.

But a name. There had to be a name. He went back to the old dresser, opened the drawer. Old papers lay there: bank statements, utility bills, receipts. All that remained of his former, orderly life. His fingers trembled as he thumbed through the yellowed sheets. Dust rose in light clouds, making him sneeze.

Finally, under a stack of old newspapers, he found it. A small, neatly handwritten receipt. It was dated a month after that fateful exhibition. «Mirror, framed in walnut. «Sold to Mrs. Evelyn Stone. Address: 17 Elm Street.»

Evelyn Stone. The name didn’t tell him anything. He’d never heard of her. But the address. Elm Street. It was one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city, far from downtown, in a part he rarely visited.

«17 Elm Street.» This information, seemingly so insignificant, suddenly became a beacon in his foggy mind. It was a clue. The first real, tangible lead in ten years.

Elias felt a surge of energy, long forgotten, almost frightening in its intensity. His legs, which a moment ago had felt like cotton balls, were now ready to run. He had to find that mirror. He had to see it, maybe touch it. To see what it reflected now. Or to understand why it had reflected that figure then.

He headed for the phone. An old, disk phone that stood in the hallway. He hadn’t used it in years. His cell phone, if it existed at all, lay somewhere in the bowels of the closet, unloaded and forgotten. He picked up the phone. There was no dial tone. Of course there was. He’d long ago disconnected the landline to minimize contact with the outside world.

Disappointment pricked him, but was immediately supplanted by determination. Walk, then. Or by bus. Or whatever. He must get out of this house. For the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t cause panic, only impatience.

He quickly went up to the bedroom, pulled on the simplest of clothes – old jeans and a faded shirt. He found the keys to the front door, which felt foreign in his hand. His fingers absently felt them, remembering their shape.

Before going out, he paused in the hallway. His gaze fell on an envelope labeled «DUSK.» He picked it up. Swiped his thumb across the word. Perhaps it wasn’t just a cynical message. Perhaps it was a clue. A symbol that his private night was over. That it was time for clarity.

As he stepped out of the house, Elias felt the sunlight, unaccustomed to his face, hit his eyes painfully. He squeezed his eyes shut, then slowly opened them. The world around him was as he had left it ten years ago, but now he saw it differently. The trees seemed greener, the sky seemed bluer, and the air seemed fresher. Or was it just his perception that had changed?

He inhaled deeply, smelling the smells of the city – gasoline, wet earth, flowers. It was strange. Unpleasant and at the same time…alive. He felt like a stranger in this world, like a time traveler landing in an unfamiliar century.

It was quite a long way to Elm Street. He decided to walk to get used to his surroundings, the people, the noise. It was hard at first. Every step seemed like a challenge. His body, used to a sedentary lifestyle, protested. His legs ached, his lungs burned. But he kept walking.

Cars whizzed past him, children laughing, people running. He watched them as if they were aliens. On their faces he could read their worries, their joys, their ordinariness. He felt cut off, as if an invisible wall separated him from the living, moving world. He was an observer, not a participant.

As he moved away from his neighborhood, the houses grew older, the streets narrower, the trees taller, creating tunnels of foliage. Elm Street was exactly as he’d envisioned it: quiet, almost abandoned, with houses that breathed history but also dilapidation. Some of the windows were broken, the roofs were failing. It was a neighborhood forgotten by time.

Number 17. It was an old, two-story mansion buried in a thicket of wild grapes. Its fence, once perhaps majestic, was now gnarled and moss-covered. The windows were covered with heavy, dusty curtains that let in not a single ray of light. The house looked as if no one had lived in it for years.

Elias felt a pang of disappointment. He’d come all this way, hoping for a clue, but instead all he’d found was an abandoned house. Or had he?

He went to the wicket. It was locked with a rusty deadbolt. He tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Then, he noticed a small, faded sign next to the door, nailed to the leaning jamb. «For Sale. Time and Memory Real Estate Agency.» And a phone number.

Time and Memory. The title seemed ironic, almost mocking. This is what he had lost. Time and memory. But now, perhaps he was on his way to getting them back.

He took out of his pocket the old notebook and pencil he had always carried with him for some reason. With difficulty, his fingers a little stiff from the unfamiliar road, he wrote down the phone number.

What’s next? Call the agency? Explain why he needed to see an old mirror in a possibly already sold or listed house? It sounded like madness. Who would believe him? The real estate agent would probably just think he was crazy.

Elias walked around the house. The backyard was overgrown, jungle-like. He saw the back door boarded up. An outhouse, a shed, a dilapidated gazebo. No sign of life. No sign that anyone lived here or had been here recently.

He sat down on an old, fallen bench buried in the weeds. His head rumbled again. Perhaps this was a dead end. Perhaps this shadow chase was just another manifestation of his madness. For ten years he had been hiding from the world, and now that he dared to come out, the world met him with an empty house and closed doors.

But then he remembered Anna’s portrait. Her eyes. That tiny glare. It was there. It was real. It wasn’t his imagination. And he couldn’t just give up.

He pulled out his cell phone. It was an old, button cell phone, long forgotten. He’d slipped it into his pocket when he left the house, just in case. It was dead now. He remembered that he had a portable battery in his old backpack, the one he used to take with him when he went to plein air painting. The backpack was in the pantry.

He took a deep breath. This journey was a test. A test of how badly he wanted to know the truth. And he did. Wanted it as badly as he hadn’t wanted anything in ten years.

With that thought, he stood up. A fire glinted in his eyes for the first time in a long time. Not the fire of joy, but the fire of determination. He would go home. Charge his cell phone. And call the agency. Even if they think he’s crazy. Because he has nothing left to lose. He’d already lost everything. And now he was ready to fight for the only thing he had left, the truth. To unravel this mystery that might free him from the shackles of his past.

Chapter 4: A Call to the Unknown

The way home was harder than the way there. The fatigue of ten years of inactivity was making itself felt. Every movement felt like an aching pain in my muscles. But it was different now. Not that oppressive, dull pain of apathy, but a lively, almost pleasant pain of effort. A pain that told him he was moving, that he was alive.

When Elias finally reached his home, the sun was already beginning to set, coloring the sky in shades of orange and purple. He hadn’t even noticed how the time had passed. The whole day, which usually stretched on endlessly, now flashed by, consumed by a single purpose.

The first thing he did was head to the pantry. He found his backpack among a pile of old rags and empty cans. It was the same old one, with faded straps and paint stains. It smelled of memories – the fresh air of plein air, the smell of grass and distant forests. He took out his portable charger and his old cell phone.

The phone was like an artifact from another era. A push-button, with a small monochrome screen. He plugged it into the battery, and the screen lit up with a tiny battery icon, slowly but surely filling up. He felt impatience. This waiting was almost unbearable, but he knew that rushing was pointless.

While the phone charged, Elias returned to the studio. The twilight light was falling on Anna’s portrait, making her features softer, almost ghostly. He approached her again, but this time not with pain and anger, but with a new, sharp sense of mystery.

He closed his eyes, trying to visualize that scene. Anna sitting, posing, laughing. And behind the mirror, in his own studio, someone is hiding. Who? And why? Could he have seen it? Could he have been so blinded by his passion for art and for her that he didn’t see the obvious?

The word from the letter came back to his mind: «DUSK». He realized what it meant. This is not just the dawn of a new day. It was the dawn of truth. The light that was to shine on his past, illuminating every dark secret.

When the charging indicator on his phone showed a full battery, Elias felt his heart twitch. This was it, the moment of truth. He pulled out a notepad, found the number of the real estate agency. His fingers fumbled for the buttons. His hands had grown accustomed to the brush, to the delicate movements. Dialing the number seemed unnatural, alien.

He dialed. Long beeps. His breathing quickened. He waited, preparing himself for disappointment, for no one to answer or to be sent away. «Hello, Time and Memory Real Estate Agency, I’m listening to you,» came a polite but tired female voice in the receiver.

Elias hesitated for a moment. The voice was unfamiliar, but there was a tinge of professionalism mixed with the monotony of routine. «Hello,» his own voice sounded hoarse, unfamiliar, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time. He cleared his throat. «My name is Elias. Elias Burton.»

There was a short pause on the other end of the phone. He expected a question, a confirmation, but instead something else followed. «Elias Burton? Are you… the Elias Burton?» – There was surprise in the woman’s voice, mixed with some hidden emotion. It was as if she recognized a name that had long been forgotten.

That reaction took him by surprise. His name? After everything that had happened? «Yes, it’s me,» he answered, feeling the tension building. «I’m calling about the house at 17 Elm Street. Your for sale sign is hanging there.»

«Ah, yes, of course. Mrs. Stone’s house. It’s-yes, it’s for sale. But you… you’re not interested in buying it, are you, Mr. Burton?» – There was a note of caution in her voice.

Elias realized he would have to explain. And it was going to be complicated. «No, I’m not going to buy it. I… I need to get inside. There’s this antique mirror in there that used to belong to me. I sold it to Mrs. Stone years ago. I…I need to see it. It’s very important.»

Another pause. A longer one this time. He imagined her probably frowning, trying to figure out if she was dealing with a madman or someone else. «A mirror, you say? Mr. Burton, I’m sorry, but we can’t just let a stranger into the house. Especially over some old mirror. We have strict rules of confidentiality and security. And if you’re not a potential buyer, then…»

«Listen,» Elias interrupted her, a note of desperation in his voice that he couldn’t hide. «I realize this sounds crazy. But this isn’t just a mirror. It’s connected to my past. With my… career. With the things that ruined my life. I think it might shed some light on what really happened. Please. It’s a matter of my life. I’m willing to pay. Any amount. Just let me come in and look at it.»

There was dead silence. Elias heard only his own heartbeat. He realized that he was putting everything at stake. That his desperate plea might seem ridiculous.

«Mr. Burton,» the woman finally said, her voice quieter, almost pensive. «Я… I’ve heard of you. Your name… it conjures up many things. My grandmother was a great admirer of your art. She used to say that your paintings… they were alive. And when you disappeared… it was a great shock to many.»

Elias felt something tremble in his chest. An unexpected confession. He didn’t think anyone else remembered him. That anyone else appreciated his past. «Thank you,» he murmured, his voice graying again.

«But that doesn’t change the situation of the house, Mr. Burton,» she continued, but her tone became softer, more human. «Mrs. Stone-she’s dead. The house is in the probate process right now. And we can’t just let you inside. However…»

She mewled. Elias held his breath. «What ’however’?»

«However… there is something I can do for you. Perhaps. I’ll try to contact her lawyer. Explain the situation. Maybe they can make an exception, given… your reputation and what you say. But I can’t promise anything. It could take time. And I don’t know if that mirror is even in the house. It may have been sold or thrown away.»

Elias’s heart fell. Sold. Thrown away. The thought was unbearable. But then he grasped at the words «maybe» and «I’ll try.» It wasn’t rejection. It was hope.

«Please,» he said, putting all his pleading into that word. «Do what you can. I’ll wait. As long as it takes.»

«Okay, Mr. Burton. Leave your phone number. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.»

Elias dictated the number that now seemed so important to him. He ended the call and slowly lowered the receiver. The house fell into silence again, but now it was a different kind of silence. Not the silence of despair, but the silence of waiting.

He returned to the workshop. The sun was almost down, and the room was in twilight. Anna’s portrait shimmered faintly in the last rays of light. He sat down in his chair, feeling a strange mixture of fatigue and excitement. He took the first step. He stepped out of his voluntary confinement. And the world he had ignored for so long now seemed to respond to him.

The letter «DISTANCE» was on the table in the hallway. Elias felt that the word had even more meaning now. Perhaps it wasn’t just a hint. Perhaps it was a promise. A promise that after a long night, there would indeed be a dawn in his life. A dawn of truth that would reveal all the shadows of the past.

Chapter 5: Waiting and Believing

The days dragged on, colored with a new, unfamiliar hue. Anticipation. This waiting was not like the aimless languor in which Elias had spent the last ten years. It was a living, pulsing feeling, filling every moment with meaning, albeit uncertain. He no longer simply existed; he waited. Waiting for the call that could change everything.

The routine of his life, once unshakable, was now cracking. He still got up early and drank his black coffee, but now his movements were no longer sluggish, but newly focused. He often went to the window in the studio, opening the blinds to look outside. Not because he was waiting for something outside, but because the outside world seemed real