Rain tapped the window of my office like a warni
ng I ignored.
I was a detective in a town where nothing ever h
appened—until the day the radio started playing
jazz that hadn’t been recorded since 1927.
"Turn it off," I muttered, but the
music kept pl
aying.
Then the room cracked open like a whiskey bottle
dropped on concrete.
I landed hard on a cobblestone street, the air t
hick with cigar smoke and saxophone.
A Model T nearly clipped me.
"Watch it, pal," a man in a fedora barked.
I stared at the newspaper stand. The date read O
ctober 12, 1929.
"Who are you?" a voice asked from the
shadows of
a speakeasy alley.
I turned.
My own face stared back at me—older, harder, wit
h a flask in one hand and a .38 in the other.
"You shouldn’t be here," he said.
“I’m not from this world,” I said. “Or this time
.”
He snorted. “That’s what they all say.”
“I’m a detective. Like you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “There’s only one detectiv
e in this city. Me.”
His name was Jack, same as mine.
Same blood, different century.
Only he wasn’t thrilled to see me.
“You’re a ghost,” he said. “And ghosts don’t bel
ong here.”
I followed him into the speakeasy anyway.
Red velvet booths, smoke rings curling under dim
lights, and a band playing like they owed someo
ne money.
Jack ordered two whiskeys.
“Why are you still here?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
Then came the betrayal.
A woman in a silver dress slid into the booth be
side me.
“Jack,” she said, her voice like honey and razor
s. “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
Jack didn’t flinch.
“Lena,” he said. “Meet the future. He’s not stay
ing.”
She reached for my hand.
“Don’t be so sure,” she whispered.
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Lena’s trouble,” he said. “Stay away from her.”
“Why?” I asked. “What happened between you two?”
He turned away.
“That’s the past.”
Later, I found a photo tucked into his desk draw
er.
Jack and Lena, dancing under the moonlight on a
rooftop.
Behind them, the skyline of a city that should’v
e been gone by now.
Instead, it lived—frozen in time, like them.
“You’re stuck here,” I said.
Jack lit a cigarette.
“Some of us don’t have a choice.”
“Why not?”
He blew out smoke.
“Because we made a deal.”
Lena found me alone by the river.
“You want to go home?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She smiled.
“So does he.”
Jack showed up with a gun and a broken heart.
“You think she’ll help you?” he said. “She’s the
one who kept me here.”
I looked at Lena.
She didn’t deny it.
“She loved you,” I said. “That’s why.”
Jack’s hand trembled.
“I loved him too,” Lena said softly.
“But he chose the city over me.”
Jack looked away.
“This place… it’s all I know.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I said.
He laughed bitterly.
“Some of us don’t get a second chance.”
The radio crackled again.
Time was closing in.
Lena reached for me.
“Go,” she said. “Before it’s too late.”
Jack turned his back.
“I’ll stay.”
The room snapped back into focus.
Same office. Same rain.
But the jazz was gone.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number from
memory.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then a familiar voice answered.
“Jack speaking.”
“You’re alive,” I whispered.
“In a way,” he said.
I looked out the window, the skyline blurred by
rain.
“Tell me,” I said. “Did you ever get out?”
He paused.
“Not really.”
And in the silence, I heard the faint echo of a
saxophone—playing a song from a world that never
ended.
