Chapter 249: Person she waited for

"I think I remember him."

Lena’s words remained between us.

I wanted to ask who she meant.

I wanted to ask what she remembered.

But something about her expression stopped me.

She wasn’t confused anymore.

She looked sad.

As if she’d just remembered losing someone she had spent years trying to forget.

I reached across the table and gently took her hand.

"Lena?"

She looked at me.

For a moment, her eyes seemed unfocused.

Then she blinked.

"Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, although her expression suggested otherwise.

"I think so."

Daniel placed the photograph inside his jacket.

"We should leave."

Mrs. Moore hadn’t moved.

She was still staring at the empty chair.

"He’s waiting again," she whispered.

I turned toward her.

"Who?"

The old woman shook her head.

"I don’t remember."

"Mrs. Moore, you said you met us before. What exactly happened?"

She looked at me with tired eyes.

"You came looking for someone."

"Who?"

"I don’t know."

She paused.

"But you were carrying something."

"What?"

"A book."

My stomach tightened.

"Was it black?"

She nodded.

"And there was a name written on it."

"What name?"

Mrs. Moore closed her eyes.

For several seconds, she struggled to remember.

Then she whispered,

"Adrian."

I looked down at the table.

That wasn’t particularly surprising.

The black book had been connected to me from the beginning.

But something else bothered me.

"Was anyone else with us?"

Mrs. Moore slowly nodded.

"A boy."

"Young?"

"Yes."

"Did he look like me?"

She opened her eyes.

"No."

Her gaze moved toward Lena.

"He looked like her."

Lena froze.

"What?"

Mrs. Moore continued.

"He had the same eyes."

"The same smile."

"Even the same way of holding his hands."

She looked toward the photograph.

"But he wasn’t a girl."

Silence settled over the table.

I glanced at Lena.

She looked just as confused as I felt.

"Do you remember his name?" I asked.

Mrs. Moore shook her head.

"No."

Then, almost reluctantly, she added,

"But I remember what he called you."

I leaned forward.

"What?"

She looked directly at me.

"Brother."

---

We left the café shortly afterward.

Daniel insisted on accompanying us, though he spent most of the walk looking unusually serious.

Lena remained quiet.

She hadn’t said much since Mrs. Moore mentioned the boy.

Eventually, I stopped beside a small park.

"Let’s sit for a while."

Lena nodded.

We found an empty bench beneath a tree.

Daniel remained standing nearby, checking his phone.

I turned toward her.

"Do you remember anything else?"

She stared at her hands.

"Not clearly."

"Try."

She closed her eyes.

"I remember a boy."

"His face?"

"No."

She shook her head.

"I remember his voice."

"What did he sound like?"

"Quiet."

She smiled faintly.

"Almost like he was afraid of disturbing someone."

I waited.

"He used to sit beside me."

"Where?"

"In that room."

Her expression slowly changed.

"He always sat near the window."

I frowned.

"Was he waiting for you?"

Lena nodded.

"I think so."

Then she looked at me.

"But I wasn’t always there."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I came alone."

"Sometimes you came with him."

She hesitated.

"And sometimes..."

She looked down.

"...you were already there."

My heartbeat quickened.

"What was I doing?"

"Writing."

The word caught my attention.

"Writing what?"

"I don’t know."

She rubbed her forehead.

"I remember asking you to stop."

"Why?"

"Because you looked tired."

A strange feeling settled over me.

The image of the hospital.

The black book.

The first sentence.

The empty seat.

Everything seemed to be connected.

But the more I tried to understand it, the more distant it became.

Lena suddenly squeezed my hand.

"Adrian."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think he was your brother?"

I didn’t answer immediately.

I thought about the Nameless.

The first failed version of myself.

The person who had once existed without being able to choose.

The one I had eventually remembered and accepted.

But Lena’s description didn’t quite match him.

Or perhaps...

It did.

"I don’t know."

I finally answered.

"But if he was, I want to remember him properly."

Lena nodded.

"Then we should."

I looked at her.

"Are you sure?"

She smiled faintly.

"I said I wanted to know."

"That doesn’t mean I’m going to run away from every strange thing that happens."

I laughed.

"Fair enough."

Daniel approached us.

"I found something."

He held out his phone.

It displayed an old photograph from a digital archive.

The image showed the former Eastbridge Records Office.

A three-storey building with narrow windows and a small courtyard.

"What’s this?"

"The building Mrs. Moore mentioned."

He enlarged the photograph.

"According to the records, the underground section was sealed thirty years ago."

"Why?"

"Structural problems."

He scrolled further.

"At least, that’s the official explanation."

I studied the photograph.

Something caught my attention.

A small window on the lower floor.

It looked identical to the one in Mrs. Moore’s photograph.

"Can we get inside?"

Daniel shook his head.

"The building was demolished."

"What?"

"Almost twenty years ago."

He showed me another photograph.

An empty plot of land.

Nothing remained except a few broken sections of pavement.

"That’s where it used to stand."

Lena looked at the screen.

Then she frowned.

"That’s strange."

"What?"

She pointed toward the photograph.

"There’s a tree."

Daniel zoomed in.

A large oak stood near the back of the property.

I recognized it immediately.

Not because I’d seen it in the photograph.

Because I’d seen it somewhere else.

Eastbridge Memorial Park.

The same oak tree beneath which the memorial had stood.

I slowly looked toward Daniel.

"Where was this taken?"

He checked the location.

"Eastbridge Records Office."

"When?"

"Twenty-three years ago."

My stomach tightened.

The memorial.

The records office.

The empty room.

They were connected.

---

That evening, I contacted Detective Hale.

He answered after two rings.

"Adrian?"

"I need a favour."

"That sounds expensive."

I almost smiled.

"Do you still have access to the old city records?"

"Some of them. Why?"

I explained everything.

The photograph.

Mrs. Moore.

The underground room.

The old records office.

Hale remained silent for a while.

Finally, he spoke.

"Send me the photograph."

I did.

Several minutes passed.

Then he called again.

"There’s something you should know."

"What?"

"The property records are inconsistent."

"How?"

"According to the city registry, the building was demolished in 2003."

"Yes. Daniel found that."

"But..."

He paused.

"There’s another record."

"What record?"

"A maintenance report from last month."

My eyebrows rose.

"Last month?"

"Yes."

"It lists the same building as an active property."

I looked toward Lena.

She was sitting on the sofa, watching me.

"Who filed it?"

Hale took a moment to answer.

"An individual named Elias Ashcroft."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Elias.

Again.

"Are you certain?"

"I checked twice."

"There’s more."

He continued.

"The report mentions a basement entrance."

My heartbeat quickened.

"Where?"

"Under the old courtyard."

I looked at the photograph again.

The oak tree.

The same place where the memorial had appeared.

"Detective..."

"Yes?"

"Don’t go there alone."

A quiet laugh came through the phone.

"I was about to tell you the same thing."

We agreed to meet the following morning.

When the call ended, Lena approached me.

"Another mystery?"

"Unfortunately."

She looked at the photograph.

"Is it the room?"

"I think so."

She nodded slowly.

"Then I’ll come with you."

I studied her face.

"You don’t have to."

"I know."

She smiled.

"But I want to."

I didn’t argue.

---

Later that night, I sat at the dining table with the black book resting in front of me.

I hadn’t opened it since the Archive.

Part of me was afraid of what I might find.

Another part wanted answers badly enough to ignore that fear.

I finally opened the cover.

The first page was blank.

So was the second.

I turned several pages.

Nothing.

Then I reached the middle.

A single sentence appeared.

You found the room.

I stared at it.

Another line slowly formed.

But you still haven’t found the person.

I turned the page.

A photograph appeared.

It was old.

Faded.

The same small white room.

The same chair.

The same narrow window.

But this time, someone was sitting beside it.

A young boy.

Dark hair.

Familiar eyes.

He was smiling at the person taking the photograph.

I stared at the image.

There was something about his face that made my chest tighten.

Not because he looked like me.

Because he looked like someone I had already met.

I leaned closer.

Then I noticed the handwriting beneath the photograph.

For Adrian, from the brother who stayed.

My fingers went cold.

The boy in the photograph wasn’t the Nameless.

I knew that now.

He was someone else.

Someone who had apparently been waiting for me.

The phone vibrated.

An unknown message appeared.

You found his picture.

I typed immediately.

Who is he?

The reply arrived.

The one who stayed when you left.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

You promised to return.

My throat tightened.

I looked at the photograph again.

The boy was still smiling.

And for some reason, I suddenly remembered a small hand holding mine.

A voice asking me not to leave.

A promise.

One I couldn’t remember making.

I slowly turned the page.

A final sentence appeared.

Tomorrow, don’t bring the Publisher.

I froze.

Another line formed beneath it.

Bring your brother.

The book closed by itself.

I remained seated for a long time.

Then I looked toward the hallway.

Lena was already asleep.

Tomorrow, we would visit the place where the room had once existed.

And apparently...

I wouldn’t be going alone.

Because whoever that boy was...

He was expecting his brother to come home.