Chapter 3
Liam didn't answer Hannah's question.
Not that day.
Not the next.
He carried her letter folded inside his jacket everywhere he went.
"Did anyone die?"
Four simple words.
But whatever he wrote next could change everything.
If the fire really happened...
Should he warn her?
Or would warning her only make things worse?
He had no idea.
Thursday afternoon, he returned to the library.
Mrs. Whitmore was placing returned books onto a cart.
She looked up the moment she saw him.
"You've been coming here more often."
"I guess."
"You look tired."
"I couldn't sleep."
She smiled gently.
"Books have a way of doing that."
Liam hesitated.
Then asked,
"Has this library ever caught fire?"
The old woman's hands stopped moving.
Only for a second.
Then she continued stacking books.
"Why would you ask that?"
"I was just curious."
"There have been small accidents over the years."
"No major fires?"
Mrs. Whitmore looked toward the east wing.
"The oldest parts of every building carry secrets."
"That isn't an answer."
"No."
"It isn't."
She pushed the cart away before Liam could ask another question.
That evening...
Liam searched every newspaper archive he could find.
Ashcroft Library.
Fire.
Nothing.
No reports.
No headlines.
No photographs.
It was as if the event Hannah mentioned had never happened.
Then...
He searched another keyword.
Ashcroft Library.
Accident.
July 1995.
One result appeared.
A tiny article buried deep inside the local newspaper.
"East Wing Closed for Structural Repairs."
No mention of a fire.
No injuries.
No explanation.
Liam frowned.
Something didn't add up.
The following Tuesday...
Another letter waited.
"Liam...
You didn't answer me.
Was my question too difficult?
Everyone here is scared.
The librarians say we'll reopen in a few weeks.
No one will tell us what really happened.
Why do I feel like they're hiding something?"
Liam stared at the page.
Then finally wrote.
"I don't know if anyone died.
I can't find any record of a fire.
Maybe it never happened."
He paused.
Then added another sentence.
"But if you're afraid...
Please don't come to the library next month."
He folded the letter.
Placed it inside the book.
And waited.
Seven days later...
Hannah replied.
"I listened to you.
I stayed home today."
Liam smiled.
Then continued reading.
"But something strange happened."
"My friend Emily went instead."
"She said everyone kept asking where I was."
"Especially the old librarian."
Liam stopped.
The old librarian?
Mrs. Whitmore would have been forty years younger in 1995.
Why would she be looking for Hannah?
He kept reading.
"Emily also said a strange old man kept staring at the entrance all afternoon.
She asked if he was waiting for someone.
He answered,
'I'm waiting for someone who hasn't arrived yet.'"
Liam's heartbeat quickened.
The old man.
The one in the gray coat.
He was there in 1995.
And he was still here today.
Exactly the same.
Liam walked through the reading room.
Right on time.
The old man sat beside the window.
Coffee.
Newspaper.
Gray coat.
Everything exactly as before.
This time Liam didn't hesitate.
He sat across from him.
"Who are you?"
The old man folded his newspaper.
"A reader."
"You've been here for thirty years."
"So have these books."
"I saw your face in a photograph from 1995."
The old man didn't react.
"You haven't aged."
Still nothing.
Finally Liam whispered,
"Do you know Hannah?"
For the first time...
The old man's hands trembled.
Just slightly.
He looked out the window.
Rain had begun to fall.
"I hoped..."
he murmured,
"...you wouldn't remember that name."
"What does that mean?"
The old man slowly stood.
"You've already changed too much."
"What have I changed?"
He looked back at Liam.
His expression was filled with sadness.
"You told her not to come."
Liam froze.
"How do you know that?"
"Because yesterday..."
the old man whispered,
"...history changed."
Without another word...
He walked away.
Liam ran back to the archives.
He pulled out the newspaper containing Hannah's photograph.
The smiling girl in the blue cardigan...
Was gone.
The article was still there.
The headline was the same.
But the winner's photograph now showed another student.
A boy Liam had never seen before.
Hannah no longer existed in the picture.
He searched the school yearbook.
Nothing.
The debate club.
Nothing.
The writing competition.
Nothing.
Every photograph...
Every record...
Every trace of Hannah...
Had disappeared.
Only the letters inside Echoes of Summer still proved she had ever lived.
His breathing became shallow.
"No..."
He whispered.
"What have I done?"
He had only asked her to stay home.
One small decision.
One tiny change.
And the future had rewritten itself.
The next Tuesday couldn't come fast enough.
He pulled the book from the shelf with shaking hands.
There was a letter waiting.
But the handwriting was weaker.
The ink was faded.
Almost transparent.
"Liam...
Something is happening.
People keep looking through me.
Yesterday my teacher forgot my name.
Today my best friend introduced herself...
As if we'd never met.
I don't understand.
It's like...
I'm slowly disappearing."
A tear had stained the bottom of the page.
One final sentence was squeezed into the corner.
"I don't think we have much time left."
Liam closed his eyes.
For the first time since finding the mysterious book...
He realized the terrifying truth.
He hadn't been changing history.
He had been erasing Hannah from it.
The moment he opened the book again...
A second letter slipped out.
It wasn't written by Hannah.
Only six words appeared in black ink.
May you like
"You finally understand the price."
There was no signature.
