Chapter 4
Liam stared at the six words.
"You finally understand the price."
The handwriting wasn't Hannah's.
It wasn't his.
The letters were neat.
Precise.
Almost emotionless.
Someone else knew about the book.
Someone else had been reading every letter.
He searched every page.
Nothing.
The message had appeared on a sheet of paper he had never seen before.
Unlike Hannah's notebook paper...
This one looked newer.
Whiter.
As if it had been written only minutes ago.
"Liam?"
Mrs. Whitmore's voice echoed from the end of the aisle.
He quickly folded the paper.
The old librarian walked toward him carrying several books.
"You've been standing here for almost an hour."
"I... lost track of time."
She smiled sadly.
"People usually do."
Her eyes drifted toward Echoes of Summer.
For the first time...
She didn't pretend not to notice it.
Instead, she quietly asked,
"Has Hannah stopped smiling in her letters?"
Liam's heart nearly stopped.
"You..."
"You know her."
Mrs. Whitmore didn't answer immediately.
She gently placed the books on a nearby table.
Then she sat down.
"So..."
she whispered,
"You finally found the book."
Liam sat across from her.
"You knew about this all along?"
"I've known for thirty years."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you wouldn't have believed me."
"You could have tried."
Mrs. Whitmore looked toward the stained-glass windows.
Sunlight painted colorful patterns across the wooden floor.
"I did."
"What?"
"The last boy."
Liam frowned.
"The last... boy?"
She nodded.
"There was another."
The room became silent.
Only the grandfather clock continued ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"He found the book in 1998."
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
"He was about your age."
"He exchanged letters with Hannah."
"He fell in love with her."
Liam swallowed.
"What happened?"
The old woman closed her eyes.
"He tried to save her."
Liam already knew the answer.
"He failed."
Mrs. Whitmore slowly shook her head.
"No."
"He succeeded."
Liam blinked.
"What?"
"He changed history."
"Hannah survived."
"She graduated."
"She left Ashcroft."
"She lived."
Liam's eyes widened.
"Then why doesn't anyone remember her?"
Mrs. Whitmore looked directly at him.
"Because when Hannah lived..."
"...he never found the book."
Liam froze.
His mind struggled to keep up.
"If she survived..."
"...then there was no reason for the letters."
Mrs. Whitmore nodded.
"The book disappeared."
"The connection ended."
"The future rewrote itself."
"And the boy..."
"...forgot Hannah had ever existed."
A chill ran through Liam.
"He saved her..."
"...but lost every memory of her."
"He passed her on the street three years later."
Mrs. Whitmore's voice trembled.
"She smiled."
"He smiled politely..."
"...because he thought she was a stranger."
Liam lowered his head.
Somehow...
That felt worse than death.
"So why do I still remember?"
he asked quietly.
Mrs. Whitmore hesitated.
"Because your story..."
"...isn't his."
Before Liam could ask another question...
The library lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then everything went dark.
Several readers gasped.
Emergency lights slowly turned on.
The old grandfather clock...
Stopped.
For the first time in over a century.
Silence filled the library.
Absolute silence.
Then...
A voice.
Soft.
Almost like a whisper carried by the wind.
"Liam..."
He knew that voice instantly.
"Hannah?"
He turned toward the east wing.
No one was there.
Only the ancient bookshelf.
One book slowly slid forward by itself.
Echoes of Summer.
Ignoring Mrs. Whitmore's calls...
Liam ran.
He pulled the book from the shelf.
Inside...
There wasn't a letter.
There was a photograph.
A brand-new photograph.
Taken only moments earlier.
It showed Liam standing in the aisle...
Holding the book.
But he wasn't alone.
Standing beside him...
Smiling directly at the camera...
Was Hannah.
She had one hand wrapped around his arm.
As if she had always been there.
Liam looked up from the picture.
The aisle was empty.
He looked back down.
The photograph had changed.
Hannah was gone.
Only Liam remained.
On the back...
Someone had written one sentence.
"Memories disappear much faster than photographs."
Liam rushed to Mrs. Whitmore.
"Look!"
He handed her the photograph.
The old woman stared at it in confusion.
"Liam..."
she whispered.
"It's just a picture of you."
"What?"
"She was right here!"
Mrs. Whitmore gently touched his shoulder.
"There's no one else in this photograph."
Liam looked down again.
His hands began to shake.
The photograph still showed Hannah.
Clearly.
Her smile.
Her blue cardigan.
Everything.
He looked back at Mrs. Whitmore.
She truly couldn't see her.
At that moment...
He realized something even more terrifying.
Hannah wasn't disappearing from history anymore.
History...
Was disappearing from everyone except him.
As he slipped the photograph back into the book...
A tiny folded note fell onto the floor.
It wasn't written by Hannah.
It wasn't written by the mysterious stranger.
It was written...
In Liam's own handwriting.
May you like
The note contained only one sentence.
"Whatever happens... don't let me open this book again."
