Interrupted Quite Life

The sound of the ticking of an old clock in this small office was the only thing that filled the space of Ethan Blackwell's rather modest home office, a contradiction from the chaotic life he had given up years ago. The walls were lined with worn-out case files on shelves, remnants of when he was an ace among detectives. Now, his cases stood as mundane, like the one he was onto: tailing a cheating spouse.

The peeling wallpaper. Ethan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cases like these were his bread and butter now…easy money, but devoid of the adrenaline and purpose that once fueled him as a detective.

His cell phone suddenly buzzed, jerking him from his thoughts. He picked it up to find yet another inane text from his client about the infidelity case he was working on. Instead, an email notification was waiting for him. Curious, he clicked it open, and immediately his eyes narrowed as he read the message inside: there was no sender address, no subject line, just one sentence that said it all.

*"The past always catches up."*

Ethan logged off the computer screen, those words in his head seemingly an echo. His clearest thought had been that it was a spam of some sort, but something in the wording made him queasy. His chest froze, a feeling he hadn't experienced in that state of mind, since the case that ruined his career.

Ignoring it, he closed the email and pivoted himself back toward his desk. The picture he'd flung earlier seemed to mock him. He jammed it into a folder and rose, stretching his arms high as he headed toward the kitchen for coffee. The hum of the coffee maker was the only noise in his otherwise silent apartment.

He waited and found his mind wandering back to the e-mail. Disgruntled client? Prank? He shook his head, trying to focus on the rhythmic dripping of coffee into the pot.

The rest of the day was spent uneventfully. Ethan spent hours compiling his report for the cheating-spouse case, making sure to highlight every damning detail the client would need. By evening, he felt a small sense of relief as he sent off the final email and shut his laptop. 

The relief was short-lived.

The phone rang sharply at precisely 11:47 PM. The shrill, cutting sound cut through the quiet, making Ethan jump. He glanced at the screen: "Unknown Caller." His hand wavered for a moment before he answered.

"Hello?" The word was hoarse as irritation edged his voice.

For a moment, there was only silence on the other end. Then, a low, distorted voice spoke.

"You think it's ends there? No, we are just getting started."

Ethan stood stock-still, the words striking like a cold knife in his chest. 

"Who is this?" he growled; in a flash, his tone had gone from annoyed to sharp, almost desperate. There was no response. The line went dead.

Ethan stared hard at the phone, his pulse pounding within his ears. He rang the number straight back, but got nothing except a generic voicemail box. It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with anonymous threats; his years as a detective had seen him through plenty of those. But this one felt different. This one felt personal.

He sat on the edge of his lounge chair and ran the words through his head. He was unable to perceive the voice, however the tone conveyed a conviction that frightened him. His eyes floated to the dim window, where city lights sparkled faintly somewhere far off.

Suspicious thoughts took hold. He suddenly sat down in an attempt to really notice the locks on his front door, then tugged the shade aside and peered out onto the empty street below. No cars, no silhouettes, nothing out of the ordinary.

He sat back down on the couch, sinking into the cushions, but sleep wouldn't arrive. All things being equal, memories of his past began to resurface…the case that destroyed his career. It was the image of a young woman, pale and lifeless, that had been murdered that haunted him. Ethan had made a mistake back in those days, one which cost an innocent man his chance. The weight of that guilt never left him, no matter how he tried to bury it under layers of mundane routine, emptiness and loneliness. Perhaps that was a ghost from that past, clawing its way again in his life.

Morning finally arrived, but the mood didn't agree. He barely touched his coffee as he replayed the events of the night: the email, the call-it could never have been a coincidence. Someone had some knowledge of the case, knew what happened.

He decided to busy himself with work, heading out to deliver his report to the client. The meeting was quick and dull, but even as he drove home, he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he was being followed. Every car in his side mirror seemed suspicious.

He locked the entryway behind him and went directly toward his PC. Yet again he pulled up the unknown email and read up it for pieces of information. There was nothing… no metadata, recognizable data. Whoever sent it knew how to cover their tracks.

Disappointed, Ethan reclined in his seat. He really wanted replies, and there was just a single method for getting them: return to the past.

His old records had been put away in a secured bureau in his office corner. He hadn't contacted them in years, yet presently he went through the organizers, taking out everything associated with the homicide case. Photographs, records, notes… bits of a riddle he thought he'd abandoned.

But one caught his eye. A crime scene photo-the victim lying sprawled on the floor, dead. In the background, there should have been a dark figure. Ethan's heart began to pound. How had he overlooked this?

He clutched a magnifying glass and peered closely at the image. The figure was partially obscured, but something about its outline seemed familiar. Was this the real killer?

His phone whirred again, startling him a jump. It was another unidentified caller.

This time he hesitated before answering.

"Who is this?" he demanded the instant he answered.

"You've forgotten, Ethan," the voice, distorted now said this time all the more calmly. "In any case, we haven't."

Again, the line went dead "Poo"

Ethan slammed the phone onto the desk, frustration now boiling over. Whoever this would say they was, wanted him to remember something… but what? He couldn't get rid of the feeling he was being manipulated into a game in which the stakes were his sanity and maybe even his life.

Again sleep eluded him that night. He sat in his office, studying, not quite determined to find the missing pieces. The past wasn't just waking up.it was coming for him, full force. And this time he wouldn't run.

Dawn finally broke, and Ethan's eyes stayed riveted to the picture of the shadowy figure while his jaw clenched.

"In the even

t that you need a battle," he murmured to nobody, "you'll get one."