Chapter 4

Sarah stared at the last message from Ethan (19), her mind reeling. *My leg...* He hadn't jumped. He'd slipped. He was alive.

She tried calling, texting. Nothing. The connection was dead again, or he was unconscious.

An hour later, her regular phone rang. It was Mrs. Miller, her voice shrill with panic.

"Sarah! It's Ethan! There's been an accident! He fell down the stairs at his office! His leg... it's broken!"

Sarah felt a cold dread. Ethan (19) injures his leg in the past. Ethan (32) breaks his leg in the present. The connection, the cause and effect, was terrifyingly real.

He had to be alive in the past for Ethan (32) to exist, even injured. That thought was a small, grim anchor.

She drove to the hospital. Ethan (32) was in a private room, his leg in a cast, propped on a pillow. Jessica was by his side, dabbing his forehead with a cloth, her expression one of angelic concern. Her parents hovered nearby.

"Oh, Sarah, you're here," Jessica said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Poor Ethan. Such a terrible accident."

Ethan (32) looked at Sarah, his eyes narrowed. "Took you long enough. Were you hoping I'd died?"

Sarah ignored him. "How bad is it?"

"A clean break," the doctor, who had just entered, informed them. "He'll be on crutches for a while, but he'll make a full recovery."

Jessica squeezed Ethan's hand. "I'll take care of you, darling. Don't you worry about a thing."

Sarah felt a wave of resignation. Her presence was clearly an intrusion on their twisted little drama. She turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ethan (32) demanded.

"Home," Sarah said. "You seem to be in good hands."

Throughout the evening, she kept trying the old phone. Nothing. The silence from Ethan (19) was unnerving.

The next day, Ethan (32) was discharged, grumbling and irritable on his crutches. He immediately started barking orders.

"Sarah, get me this. Sarah, do that."

Later, when Jessica and her parents had gone, he confronted her. "You didn't seem very concerned about my accident."

Sarah looked at him, at the cast on his leg, a direct consequence of his younger self's pain. "Were you concerned when I was trapped by your abuse?"

He flinched. "That's different."

"Is it?" she asked. "You seem to prioritize Jessica's every sniffle over my actual suffering."

He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "She needs me."

"And I didn't?"

Just then, his phone rang. Sarah glanced at the caller ID. Jessica.

"Speak of the devil," Sarah said, a humorless smile on her face. "She probably needs you to fluff her pillow."

Ethan (32) scowled and answered the phone, his voice instantly softening. "Hey, Jess. What's wrong?"

As he was cooing reassurances to Jessica, Sarah's old phone, sitting on the coffee table where she'd left it after another failed attempt to charge, suddenly lit up. An incoming call. From Ethan (19).

Before Sarah could react, Ethan (32), still on the phone with Jessica, noticed the light. His eyes widened. He hung up on Jessica mid-sentence.

"What the hell is that?" he snarled, lunging for the old phone despite his cast. He snatched it up. "Who keeps calling you on this piece of junk?"

He pressed "answer," his face a mask of fury, and put it on speaker.

"Sarah? Are you there? I'm okay. My leg... it's bad, but I'm alive. Did... did it work? Is he hurt? Is 32-year-old me feeling this?" Ethan (19)'s voice, weak but clear, filled the room.

Ethan (32) stared at the phone, then at Sarah, his expression a mixture of disbelief and dawning horror. "What... what is this?"

He was talking to himself, to his past. And he had no idea.