On 08/07/1988, I was forty-two years old. I was in Room 4-B, as on every Friday afternoon in the County. Usually, I wore light, comfortable clothes; that day, exceptionally, I was well dressed, wearing a dew-colored blazer and cheap shoes. Fine, I admit it: even the blazer was cheap. The truth was that, even after sixteen long years as a teacher, I didn't get paid all that well.
That day, I had a date with a coworker; we'd been casually involved for a few years. I raised my wrist and saw the hands of my watch marking a quarter to five in the afternoon.
— Class dismissed, everyone. See you next week!
How so? It was a quarter to five when I left the room. But wait... if it were a quarter to nine, there shouldn't be students here, after all we don't have classes at night. Then I remembered that, on the way from the building to the gate, I hadn't seen anyone.
— For fuck's sake, and my date?
She's definitely going to think I stood her up. I must've been so tired that I passed out on the way; I hope she understands. I walked to the other side of the street, near a tree, pulled my car key from my pocket, and opened it.
— Damn it!
I was furious about the failed date. I grabbed a bottle of wine that was on the passenger seat, along with a Houston tape that Márcia liked, and put them in the back seat. I opened the glove compartment, took out a pack of Lucky Strike, lit a cigarette, and started the car.
I was frustrated about the date falling apart, but not because of how Márcia would feel, rather because, after so long, it would've brought me relief. You know, it isn't easy for a forty-two-year-old man to get a chance to get laid. I took a drag while driving and turned on the radio to hear the news.
— Hello, residents of Saint Lake! Who's talking to you today is... that's right, it's me, Bruno, your favorite narrator!
— And me, your narrator, Vicke!
— What's up, Bruno? Summer vacation is coming! Just one more week before everyone gets to have fun!
I turned the radio off immediately; I couldn't stand listening to those young people and their nonsense. After fifteen minutes driving, I arrived home. Before going in, I put on my wedding ring, which was in my pocket, and smoked another cigarette.
Don't get me wrong: it's not that I don't love my wife. I love her. But, well, things haven't been very good for some time; she lost her father about two years ago. And Márcia... Márcia is a fun person, and she's married too.
— Honey, I'm home! Look what I brought you, my love.
Well, I wasn't lying, because I really did "black out" and, unfortunately, the date went down the drain.
I ended up taking Laura's suggestion. I put an Elvis tape on the radio and we sat on our small porch while drinking a few glasses of wine...
— Ah, pardon me. On 08/08/1988. In other words, the morning after what I just told you.
....
I woke up in my bed, naked, holding my beautiful wife. The night before had been very good. The children were still asleep in their room, like angels. I decided to take advantage of that time to go for a walk. I put on a light T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, and went out for a run; I went around the block once.
...........
The detective seemed to feel a deep disgust for me. He leaned forward and spat in my face.
...........
The light in the dark room they were in flickered, and the deafening silence took over the room.
— I was begging for help and the most absurd thing was that I didn't even know why I was running. And then... I suddenly woke up. It was a quarter to five on 08/07. I was looking at the watch, checking the time.
...........
I was sweating cold, and my body trembled.
— Was everything that happened just a daydream? — I asked myself, in thought.
— Marcos, ready for the date?
Márcia snapped me awake. She'd been my lover for some time; she was thirty-six, also married, and her husband, a truck driver, lived on the road.
— What's wrong with you? Sleep badly last night?
When she asked if I'd slept badly, a chill climbed up my spine and a panic like the one I'd felt while running squeezed my chest.
...........
— Must be something with the wiring — the detective muttered, though his voice didn't sound that certain.
— What's wrong with you, Marcos? Sleep badly last night?
I... I was in the interrogation room just now... no, no!
A chill climbed up my spine and an indescribable panic tightened my trembling chest. My first instinct was that of a cornered animal. I kept gasping, as if I were running again from that endless nightmare, even though I stood still in front of Márcia.
...........
— Mr. Marcos? — the detective asked, his voice cutting through the fog in my mind.
— Aaaaarhhhhh!
I snapped out of that trance with my chest unbearably heavy. I swallowed dry saliva, tasting blood in my mouth.
— Detective... where were we? — I asked, my voice coming out like a broken whisper. I felt terror and despair rising from the deepest part of my soul.
— Very well — the detective said with cruel calm, as a heavy metallic sound echoed in the room. — I have just placed the axe you used to cut your family's limbs on the table. And I asked whether you will keep up this fable.
On the second lap around the block...
...........
— What do you mean, "second lap"? — the detective asked, his eyes tense and suspicious. — Didn't you say you woke up at a quarter to five on the supposed day you "blacked out"?
— Y-yes... I did, but... I don't remember. I went around a second time, I know I did! But I remember waking up too... — My words tripped over themselves.
An excruciating pain burst in my head, as if my skull were being squeezed by invisible hands.
— Ahhhhh! — I screamed, pressing my hands to my temples.
— Admit it — the detective ordered, his voice unreal, shuddering.
The chill became a suffocating clamp. The headache wrapped around my body and my mind splintered into excruciating agony, forcing me into a state of absolute awareness. How did I get here?
Memories flashed by: my childhood, watching the stars in the silence of the night; the times I lay with Márcia while abandoning Laura; the seventh day; the eighth day... I remembered everything as my mind broke into a thousand pieces.
— Mr. Marcos? — the detective asked, now with a wide, fixed smile.
— You... you're not a detective. And this room isn't a police station — I said, in indescribable dread. It was pure, raw horror.
— No — the voice came from every corner at once; the detective didn't even move his mouth. — Didn't you watch the stars? Then we decided to answer you.
All of Marcos's senses tangled and shattered. All he could see was... something indescribable and dreadful. The geometry of the room melted, the axe became black light, and time ceased to exist.
...........
08/09/1988. Missing-person posters with the faces of Marcos, Laura, and their children spread throughout Saint Lake County. No one ever found a trace, a body, or an explanation.