Chapter 1
11:58 PM
The alarm had been ringing for almost a minute before Ethan finally reached for his phone.
His hand searched blindly across the nightstand, knocked over an empty glass, hit the edge of a book, and finally found the phone underneath his pillow.
He opened one eye.
8:17 A.M.
Ethan stared at the screen.
Then he sat up.
“Seriously?”
He was supposed to be out of the house by 8:10.
His first class started at nine, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that getting to school took anywhere between twenty-five minutes and an hour depending on traffic, and today was a Monday.
He had exactly one minute to decide whether getting dressed was more important than finding his other shoe.
He chose both.
“Ethan!”
His mother’s voice came from downstairs.
“I’m up!”
“You’ve been up for ten minutes!”
“I just woke up!”
“That’s not how time works!”
Ethan pulled on a sweatshirt while trying to put his shoe on without sitting down.
“I know!”
“Then move!”
He grabbed his backpack from the floor and ran downstairs.
His mother was standing in the kitchen holding a coffee mug, already dressed for work. She looked at him, then at the clock, then back at him.
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
She gave him a look.
Ethan grabbed a piece of toast from the counter.
“Eat something.”
“I’ll eat at school.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“And I survived.”
“That’s not the standard we’re aiming for.”
Ethan smiled despite himself.
His father was sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper open in front of him.
Without looking up, he said, “Your class starts at nine?”
“Yeah.”
“What time are you leaving?”
“Now.”
His father finally looked over the top of the newspaper.
“You said that yesterday too.”
Ethan pointed at him with the piece of toast.
“Why is everyone keeping track of me?”
“Because you don’t keep track of yourself.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
His mother put a lunch bag on the counter.
“Take this.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“And?”
“I can buy food.”
“Take the bag.”
He took it.
“Happy?”
“Very.”
His father folded the newspaper slightly.
“Don’t speed.”
“I’m not going to speed.”
“You always say that.”
“I don’t always speed.”
His father raised an eyebrow.
Ethan sighed.
“Fine.”
He grabbed his keys.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“Text me when you get there,” his mother said.
“I will.”
“Ethan.”
He stopped at the door.
“Text me.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Then he left.
The morning air was cold enough to wake him properly.
He walked down the driveway, put his backpack over one shoulder, and unlocked his car.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
It was just another Monday.
Another day of classes.
Another day of pretending he knew what he was doing with his life.
He had no reason to remember the date.
No reason to remember the weather.
No reason to remember the exact moment he started the car.
But later, he would remember all of it.
He just wouldn’t remember it the way it actually happened.
By 9:13, Ethan was sitting in the back row of his economics class, trying not to fall asleep.
His professor was talking about something Ethan had stopped understanding approximately seven minutes earlier.
He glanced at his phone under the desk.
No new messages.
He opened his texts.
The last conversation was with Noah.
His best friend.
Or, at least, he thought Noah was still his best friend.
Their friendship had felt different lately.
Not broken.
Not exactly.
Just... quieter.
A month ago, Noah would’ve sent him ten messages before breakfast.
Now Ethan was lucky if he got three.
He had asked Noah about it twice.
Both times, Noah had said the same thing.
“I’m fine.”
Ethan hated those two words.
They usually meant the exact opposite.
His phone buzzed.
He almost dropped it.
A text from Noah.
We need to talk tomorrow.
Ethan stared at the message.
He typed:
About what?
No response.
He waited.
Nothing.
He typed again.
Dude?
Nothing.
Ethan locked his phone and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Mr. Carter?”
Ethan looked up.
His professor was staring directly at him.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to share your thoughts with the class?”
Ethan looked around.
Twenty people were staring at him.
He had absolutely no idea what the professor had been talking about.
“Uh...”
Someone behind him laughed.
Ethan looked at his notebook.
“Supply and demand?”
The class laughed.
His professor sighed.
“Close enough.”
Ethan smiled.
For the next forty minutes, he tried to pay attention.
He failed.
At lunch, Noah was sitting outside near the football field.
Ethan dropped into the seat beside him.
“You’ve been weird.”
Noah looked at him.
“Good to see you too.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Ethan stared at him.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Noah laughed.
“I’m fine.”
“You literally texted me saying we need to talk tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
“About?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
Noah looked away.
“Because I don’t want to.”
Ethan leaned back.
“That’s incredibly reassuring.”
Noah smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.
Then Noah asked, “You ever feel like you’re wasting time?”
Ethan looked at him.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“No. What do you mean?”
Noah shook his head.
“Forget it.”
Ethan watched him.
Something was wrong.
He knew it.
He just didn’t know what.
And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
By the time Ethan got home that evening, it was almost seven.
He dropped his backpack beside the stairs and walked into the kitchen.
His mother was cooking dinner.
“How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at him.
“Something happened?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
His mother nodded.
“Okay.”
She didn’t push.
Ethan appreciated that.
Sometimes people asking too many questions made him want to disappear.
He opened the refrigerator.
“Can I eat yet?”
“Dinner’s in twenty minutes.”
“I’m starving.”
“You had lunch.”
“That was six hours ago.”
“Then you’ll survive twenty more minutes.”
He closed the refrigerator.
“Everyone in this house is against me.”
His mother smiled.
“Go do your homework.”
“That’s even worse.”
He went upstairs.
His room was a mess.
A hoodie was hanging off his desk chair. Two textbooks were open on the floor. His guitar was leaning against the wall, untouched for almost three weeks.
He sat down at his desk.
His phone buzzed again.
Noah.
Ethan immediately grabbed it.
Forget what I said earlier.
Ethan frowned.
He typed:
No.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Nothing.
Ethan waited.
Nothing.
He put the phone down.
For the next hour, he tried to study.
At 9:41, he gave up.
At 10:03, he watched a video.
At 10:27, he started scrolling through social media.
At 10:54, he remembered his assignment.
At 11:06, he decided he’d finish it in the morning.
At 11:19, his mother told him to go to sleep.
At 11:32, he brushed his teeth.
At 11:41, he turned off the lights.
At 11:47, he checked his phone.
No messages.
He put it beside his bed.
At 11:51, he closed his eyes.
At 11:54, he opened them again.
He didn’t know why.
The room was completely dark.
Moonlight came through the curtains and left a pale rectangle across the floor.
Ethan turned onto his side.
He thought about Noah.
Tomorrow.
Whatever was happening, he’d find out tomorrow.
He closed his eyes again.
The digital clock on his nightstand changed.
11:57.
Then—
11:58.
His phone rang.
Ethan opened his eyes.
He stared at the screen.
The caller ID made no sense.
ETHAN CARTER
His own name.
His own number.
He sat up.
The phone kept ringing.
Ethan didn’t answer.
The call stopped.
He waited.
Nothing.
Then it rang again.
Same name.
Same number.
Ethan picked it up.
“Hello?”
Silence.
He pulled the phone away from his ear.
The call was connected.
“Hello?”
A faint sound came through.
Breathing.
Someone was breathing on the other end.
Ethan’s expression changed.
“Who is this?”
The breathing stopped.
Then a voice answered.
“Don’t hang up.”
Ethan froze.
He knew that voice.
Not because he’d heard it before.
Because he heard it every day.
It was his voice.
But older.
Rougher.
Tired.
“What?”
“Listen to me.”
“Who are you?”
“You already know.”
Ethan stood up.
His heart was beginning to race.
“No, I don’t.”
A pause.
Then the voice said:
“It’s me.”
Ethan laughed nervously.
“Okay. Very funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Who gave you my number?”
“You did.”
“What?”
“Check the second drawer of your desk.”
Ethan looked at his desk.
“What?”
“Second drawer.”
He walked toward it.
His hand hovered over the handle.
“Why?”
“Just open it.”
Ethan pulled the drawer out.
Inside were old pens, a charger, some receipts, and a small wooden box.
His father’s watch.
He hadn’t seen it in months.
His mouth went dry.
“How did you know that was there?”
“I told you.”
“Who are you?”
The voice became quieter.
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“Then what’s the right one?”
A pause.
“Why am I calling you?”
Ethan sat down.
“Okay.”
He swallowed.
“Why are you calling me?”
The voice didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, it said:
“Tomorrow morning, your dad is going to spill coffee on the newspaper.”
Ethan frowned.
“What?”
“8:12 a.m.”
“What happens at 8:12?”
“Your dad spills coffee on the newspaper.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
Ethan stared at the wall.
“You’re telling me you know what happens tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I’m talking to you from tomorrow.”
Ethan said nothing.
The room seemed suddenly colder.
“What time is it where you are?”
“11:58.”
Ethan looked at his clock.
11:59.
“No.”
The voice laughed quietly.
“That’s what I said too.”
Ethan’s breathing became faster.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“I can’t tell you everything.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know what it changes.”
“Changes what?”
The voice was silent.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow night.”
A pause.
“At exactly 11:58.”
Ethan waited.
“What about it?”
The voice whispered:
“Don’t let me call you.”
The line went dead.
Ethan stared at the phone.
The call had lasted exactly two minutes.
He checked the call log.
Incoming Call — Ethan Carter
He refreshed it.
The call remained.
Then his phone vibrated.
A new text message appeared.
From his own number.
Tomorrow, Noah is going to die.
Ethan stopped breathing.
He read the message again.
Then again.
His fingers went numb.
He immediately typed Noah’s name into his contacts.
He pressed call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
No answer.
Ethan looked at the clock.
12:00 AM.
The phone kept ringing.
Then, suddenly, someone answered.
But it wasn’t Noah.
It was Ethan’s own voice.
And it said:
“You shouldn’t have called him.”
