Rebecca walked faster.
At first, she didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to get away from her house.
The street was almost empty. A few windows were still lit, but most of the houses were dark.
She kept glancing over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was there.
Watching.
Following.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself and checked her phone.
4:12 AM.
She opened Mark's chat.
Her last message was still there.
Call me. It's important.
No reply.
Rebecca stared at the screen.
"Where are you, Mark?"
She tried calling again.
Straight to voicemail.
She stopped walking.
Something wasn't right.
Mark always answered her.
Maybe not immediately. Maybe it took him a few minutes.
But he answered.
Rebecca looked down the road. Then she remembered the voice from the call.
Ask Mark about September 11.
She opened her notebook.
The folded paper was still inside.
She unfolded it and looked at the names again.
Daniel — September 2.
Mark — September 6.
Emily — September 9.
Rebecca — September 11.
She ran her finger beneath the dates.
"What happened?"
A car passed behind her.
Rebecca jumped and spun around.
The car continued down the road.
"Get a grip," she whispered.
She looked back at the paper.
That was when she noticed the tiny mark beside Mark's name.
It looked like someone had drawn a small X.
Rebecca frowned and held the paper beneath the streetlight.
There were more marks.
Daniel had one.
Emily had one.
Rebecca had one.
But Mark had two.
"What does that mean?"
Her phone buzzed.
Rebecca froze.
Another message.
Unknown Number.
You found the list.
She swallowed.
A second message appeared.
Now find out what happened on September 11.
Rebecca typed quickly.
Tell me what happened.
The reply came almost at once.
Mark knows.
She stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
But Mark isn't the only one who knows.
Rebecca's heart sank.
She looked around.
The street was still empty.
Or at least it appeared to be.
She slipped the phone into her pocket and started walking again.
This time, she knew exactly where she was going.
Mark's house.
If he wouldn't answer his phone, she would find him herself.
Twenty minutes later, Rebecca reached his street.
She slowed as she approached.
Mark's house stood at the end of the road.
The porch light was on.
Rebecca stopped.
She had never been so relieved to see a porch light in her life.
"Okay," she whispered. "He's home."
She walked toward the house.
Then she stopped again.
The front door was open.
Not wide.
Just enough to let her see the darkness inside.
Rebecca stared at it.
"Mark?"
No answer.
She stepped onto the porch.
"Mark?"
Still nothing.
She pushed the door open.
"Mark?"
The house was dark.
Rebecca reached for the light switch.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
"Great."
She pulled out her phone and switched on the flashlight.
The living room looked normal.
The sofa.
The table.
The television.
A jacket draped over a chair.
But something was wrong.
A glass lay shattered on the floor.
Rebecca moved closer.
A small drop of blood stained one of the pieces.
Her stomach tightened.
"Mark?"
She moved farther into the house.
The kitchen was empty.
The back door was locked.
She checked the hallway.
Nothing.
Then she heard a sound upstairs.
A soft thud, as if something had fallen.
Rebecca raised her phone.
"Mark?"
Silence.
She climbed the stairs slowly, one step at a time.
Her hand tightened around the railing.
At the top were three doors.
Mark's bedroom.
The bathroom.
And his small office.
The office door stood open.
Rebecca aimed her phone toward it.
Papers covered the floor.
A chair lay on its side.
One of the drawers had been pulled out.
Someone had searched the room.
Rebecca stepped inside.
Her eyes moved over the mess.
Then she saw something on the desk.
A photograph.
She picked it up.
It showed four people.
Daniel.
Emily.
Mark.
And someone Rebecca didn't recognize.
She turned the photograph over.
Writing covered the back.
September 11, 2025.
Rebecca stopped breathing.
2025.
She looked at the picture again.
Everyone appeared younger.
Emily was smiling.
Mark had his arm around her.
Daniel stood beside them.
The fourth person stood slightly apart from the group.
Rebecca stared at his face.
Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn't place it.
Then she noticed the words beneath the date.
We promised we'd never talk about it again.
Rebecca's fingers tightened around the photograph.
"What happened that night?"
A sound came from behind her.
Rebecca froze.
Someone was standing in the hallway.
She turned slowly.
Nothing.
The hallway was empty.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She stepped out of the office.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked down.
Unknown Number.
You're getting very close.
Rebecca stared at the message.
Another one appeared.
Look behind you.
Her blood went cold.
She didn't move.
She didn't want to.
But slowly, she turned.
At the end of the hallway stood a man.
He was completely still.
Rebecca couldn't see his face. The light from the street barely reached him.
She took one step back.
The man took one step forward.
Rebecca gripped the photograph.
"Who are you?"
The man said nothing.
Then he raised one hand.
He was holding something.
A phone.
Rebecca's phone buzzed again.
She looked at the screen.
Run.
When she looked up, the man was gone.
Rebecca stood frozen in the hallway.
Then the front door slammed downstairs.
She ran.
Down the stairs.
Through the living room.
Out the front door.
She didn't stop until she reached the end of the street.
Only then did she look back.
Mark's house was dark.
The porch light had gone out.
Rebecca looked down at the photograph still clutched in her hand.
Four people.
One date.
One secret.
And now she knew something she hadn't known before.
Whatever had happened on September 11...
Mark, Emily, and Daniel had all been there.
And somehow so had the man who was following her.
Rebecca turned the photograph over once more.
At the very bottom, beneath the other writing, were three words she hadn't noticed before.
Rebecca was there.
She stared at them.
"No…"
Her hands began to shake.
"I was there?"
She looked up at the empty street.
For the first time, Rebecca wondered whether the reason she couldn't remember September 11...
was because someone had made certain she never would.