Monday.
7:42 A.M.
Sam woke up before his alarm.
He looked at the ceiling for several seconds, and understood that something was different.
Not outside.
Not in the mansion.
Inside him.
For the last few days, he tried to solve the mystery by asking himself the same question over and over again.
What happened in this photograph?
Now…
He was no longer sure about the question.
Ethan’s words made him realize that perhaps the real mystery was something else entirely.
Maybe, the reason why no one questioned it was precisely because it seemed so ordinary.
Sam sat up.
The photograph was on the desk where he left it.
He picked it up and looked at it again.
The same street.
The same crowd.
The same dull normalcy.
He looked closely.
And this time, he was looking for something else.
Not for the one thing that was different.
For the many things that were the same.
He found several after a moment.
Not right away.
Not obvious ones.
But things that could have been signs.
A woman near the end of the line held an umbrella.
It wasn’t raining.
Sam frowned.
He looked more closely.
She wasn’t holding the umbrella over her head to keep the rain out.
It was raised vertically.
Like a sword.
Or a flag.
His eyes moved over the rest of the photographs.
Another person held a newspaper.
A man had a walking stick.
A child had a red balloon.
Ordinary objects.
But they were all facing the same direction.
Not towards the oncoming parade.
Towards the other side of the street.
Sam slowly put the photograph down.
His heart was beating faster.
They weren’t looking at the parade.
They were looking at something else.
Something that wasn’t captured on film.
“You’re going to be late,” said Leon.
Sam looked up.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know that you’re staring at that photograph again.”
Sam put the photo face down on the desk.
Leon raised his eyebrows.
“That suspicious?”
“No.”
“Then, why are you hiding it?”
Sam hesitated.
“…I don’t know.”
Leon walked into the room.
“That’s a new one.”
“What?”
“You.”
Sam frowned.
“Me?”
“You always know why you do the things you do.”
“Not always.”
“Usually.”
Leon sat on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, the two brothers sat in silence.
Then, Leon glanced at the photograph on the desk.
“Is it about Father?”
Sam’s expression changed.
Leon noticed it.
“I knew it.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Everything about Father is complicated.”
Sam almost smiled.
“That’s not very helpful.”
“I’m not here to be helpful.”
Leon stood.
“I’m here to make sure you don’t starve to death because you refuse to eat while obsessing over this photograph.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
Leon gestured at the photograph.
“You’ve been staring at it for three days.”
Sam said nothing.
Leon smiled.
“Exactly.”
He turned towards the door.
Then, he stopped.
“Oh.
Father wants to see you in the study before you leave.”
Sam’s expression darkened.
“Did he say why?”
“No.
Did he look serious to you?”
Leon thought about it.
“He always looks serious.”
“True.”
Leon left the room.
Sam looked down at the photograph one last time before slipping it into his notebook.
Edward was waiting for him.
As soon as Sam stepped inside the study, he realized something was wrong.
The curtains were open.
Normally, Edward preferred them closed in the mornings.
Sam hovered near the desk.
“You wanted to see me?”
Edward nodded.
“Sit down.”
Sam took a seat while Edward remained standing.
For a moment, he looked at his son, not like a father, but more like an interrogator.
Then, he asked, “Did you find anything?”
Sam hesitated.
“Maybe.”
Edward’s expression darkened.
“I think the people in the photograph weren’t watching the parade.”
Silence.
Edward said nothing, but it was enough of a response.
Sam continued, “They were watching something else.
Something that isn’t in the photograph.”
Edward sat down at last.
“Why?”
Sam put the photograph on the desk between them.
“Because they’re not looking at the same thing.”
He gestured at the image.
“The parade is here.
Most people are looking this way.
But they’re not.”
Edward was quiet for a long moment, studying the photograph.
Sam watched his father’s face carefully.
“You already knew,” said Sam at last.
Edward didn’t deny it.
“I suspected you might come to that conclusion eventually.”
Sam leaned back in his chair.
“Eventually?”
“Yes.
I suspected you would figure out what was in that photograph.”
Sam frowned.
“But I knew what wasn’t in it.”
Edward stared at the image for a long moment before looking up at Sam.
“There’s a difference.”
Sam was quiet.
Then, he asked, “Why did you give it to me?”
Edward looked up at him.
It was a simple question, but this time, there was no easy answer.
“I have been asking myself the same question since you gave it to me,” said Edward with a small smile.
“I gave it to you.”
Sam stared at him.
“You handed it to me.”
“I did.”
“That’s usually what giving something means.”
Edward almost laughed.
Almost.
Then, his expression grew serious again.
“I showed it to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me the wrong question.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Sam was stunned.
“What?”
Edward sat back in his chair.
“Do you remember when you were twelve years old?”
Sam was quiet for a moment, trying to recall.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On how embarrassing that memory is.”
Edward smiled.
“You were at a family gathering, and you disappeared for almost an hour.”
Sam thought about it.
“I was hiding.”
“Why?”
“Because Leon knocked over one of your antique models and blamed it on me.”
“Oh, that’s not at all relevant,” said Sam.
Perhaps it was.
Edward continued.
“You found an old photograph in the library.”
Sam’s eyes widened slightly.
“Was it the one with the crowd of people?”
“Yes.
I remember it well.
You asked me who they were.
I told you that they were strangers,” said Edward.
“They were.”
“But I asked you why everyone was looking in different directions.”
Sam had forgotten all about that.
He had been twelve.
He had seen the photograph for the first time.
A crowd of people at a railway station, all standing together, but all looking in different directions.
At the time, Edward had taken the photograph away from him, not realizing that Sam was asking the right question.
“You gave me the same photograph,” said Sam.
“Why?”
“Because you asked the same question.”
Sam stared at Edward.
“What question?”
“Why,” said Edward quietly.
“Why does everyone assume that they’re seeing the same thing?”
Silence.
The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment.
Sam looked back at the photograph.
“Most people see a crowd and assume that everyone witnessed the same thing.
But the truth is, no two people see the world from the same perspective….
They don’t have the same assumptions or knowledge.
No matter how close they are, they experience everything from a different vantage point….
They see different things,”
said Edward.
Sam understood.
Psychology.
Observation.
The art of seeing.
It was all there in that one simple message hidden within the photograph.
Edward looked at him.
“That was your first lesson.”
Sam frowned.
“My first lesson?”
“Not the first one you remember.”
“The first one I intended.”
Sam’s heart pounded.
It was strange, but he almost felt as if his entire life had been leading up to this one conversation with his father.
All the questions, the strange lessons, the way Edward never answered the questions he asked, now it all made sense.
His father hadn’t been testing him.
He had been preparing him for something.
“Preparing me for what?”
Edward’s expression darkened.
“Just for the day…”
He trailed off.
Sam studied his father’s face.
“…Forget I said that.”
Sam’s voice was quieter this time.
“Sam.
You can’t do that.
Do what?”
“Give me these little pieces of information and expect me not to ask about the rest of it.”
Edward was silent.
“You gave me the photograph.
You knew I would study it.
You knew I would ask questions.
So, tell me, why?”
Finally, Edward answered.
“Because I needed to know…
whether you would stop at the first answer.”
Sam’s expression hardened.
“Was this another one of your little tests?”
“No,” said Edward immediately.
“Then, what?
A question?
From you?
Your future?”
Sam looked at him.
Edward got to his feet.
“You’re not ready.”
“Not ready for what?”
Edward walked over to the bookshelf and stopped behind it.
“That’s the problem.
You’re asking what comes next…
before understanding what came before.”
Sam remained silent.
Edward turned.
“Go to University.
Live your life.
Study.
Make friends.
Argue with Leon.
Let Ollie waste his money on vending machines for once.”
For the first time, Sam almost smiled.
Then, Edward’s expression grew darker.
“And keep that photograph with you.
One day…
you’ll see something in it that you can’t see now.”
Sam looked down at the photograph one final time before standing.
“What is it?”
Edward studied him.
“The truth.”
Sam left the room, and the door closed behind him.
Edward was alone in the study.
A moment later, he opened the false panel behind the bookshelf.
Behind it, he found the old photograph.
It was the one from twenty-two years ago.
The fire.
The archive.
The day everything changed.
Edward looked at the photograph one final time.
Everyone in it was looking at the flames, as if they all witnessed the same terrible moment.
But they didn’t.
Not really.
Because Edward wasn’t looking at the fire.
He was looking at something else.
His younger self, not looking at the conflagration, but instead at something beyond the camera’s view.
Edward turned the photograph over in his hands.
On the back, there were seven simple words written in faded ink.
“You saw it before the others did.”
Edward closed his eyes.
He remembered that day.
Not the fire.
Not the archive.
Something else entirely.
Twenty-two years ago, across London, a black car pulled up outside Westbridge Books.
The woman in the grey coat got out and stepped inside.
The old historian looked up from the desk as he saw her, and for the first time in twenty years, his expression changed.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said at last.
The woman removed her gloves.
“Neither should you.”
“I’ve been here for twenty years,” said the old man.
“And I’ve kept quiet for twenty years,” replied the woman.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
She put the photograph on the counter, and the old historian looked at it.
His face went pale as he read the writing on the back.
“Where did you find this?”
“That’s not important,” said the woman.
“It is to me,” replied the historian.
The woman gestured at the photograph.
“Edward gave the boy the photograph.”
The old historian said nothing.
“He wasn’t supposed to.”
The old historian narrowed his eyes.
“Who said that?”
The woman smiled.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
She picked up the photograph from the counter.
“Nobody expected Edward to begin training the boy so early.”
The old historian looked towards the window.
Then, he asked quietly, “How much does the boy know?”
“Very little,” replied the woman.
“And Edward?”
The woman hesitated.
“Edward knows exactly what he is doing.”
The old historian’s expression darkened.
“Then you should be afraid.”
The woman smiled.
“We are.
That’s why Phase Two has already begun.”
She turned towards the door and paused just before leaving.
The bell above it chimed once as she disappeared into the street, and the old historian was left alone in the shop.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the photograph on the counter.
Then, he whispered a name.
Not Sam’s.
Not Edward’s.
A name the reader has never heard before.
And somewhere, in an entirely different part of the world, a file with that name on it was opened.
TO BE CONTINUED……