On the morning of July 5th 1990, Jim Smith woke up as usual, before the city itself awoke.
The silence was still fresh,and light was creeping shyly through the bedroom curtain. He prepared a cup of black coffee — completely black, no sugar — as if preparing his soul for a day he did not want to bow to. That is the secret of an exceptional detective: an exceptional morning coffee.
He went out onto the room's balcony, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke rising slowly as if time itself was contemplating what would happen. Jim was inhaling air not yet raced for by human noses…
Air clean enough to reveal the truth,and cold enough to hide it.
But a sound behind him broke this stillness…
The balcony door opening.
Jim froze, and quickly threw the cigarette into the coffee cup. The bitter smoke mixed with the smell of burnt coffee, then he blew into the air with the panic of a detective trying to hide a small crime.
Elizabeth stood behind him, with hair damp from sleep and half-closed eyes, looking at him with a weariness that said she knew more than he was telling.
She said in a soft voice:
"Jim…have you started smoking again?"
He replied quickly, too quickly to sound sincere:
"Me?Of course not… why would I smoke?"
She raised an eyebrow as she approached him:
"Then…what is that smell?"
He rose from his chair with a nervous movement, passing by her as if fleeing from the truth, not from her:
"Seems one of the neighbors is smoking near the house.I'll go check it out…"
She tapped him lightly on the head, the look of a wife who knows all her husband's lies.
He muttered a faint apology,smiling, and headed to the bathroom.
After showering, Jim went to the children's room. He opened the door with quiet steps, then suddenly stuck his head in and let out a shout that sounded like a police siren:
"Come on! You'll be late for school! you know,kids that a better dream, means the worse it is to get out of bed!"
The two children woke up in confusion.
Jack said, rubbing his eyes:
"What do you mean,Dad?"
Jim sat on the edge of the bed, his voice calm but dense like advice that always comes too late:
"Sleep isn't about resting.
It's about escaping… even if it's just for a few hours."
Emily looked at him with half-asleep eyes:
"I never dream."
Jim smiled, that smile with which he masks the cracks in his soul:
"Impossible…everyone dreams. But only a few… make them come true."
In the kitchen, the family gathered around the table.
Jim was eating with his usual smile,a smile exaggerated in its calmness, as if his real nourishment was the presence of his family… their stability.
After breakfast,he kissed his wife's forehead and his children's, then left, heading to his car while Elizabeth sang her usual old song, filling the house with warmth.
But when Jim arrived at the police station… everything was abnormal.
The place was empty. Silent.
Except for one man…accused of stealing from unlocked cars. He was handcuffed to a chair and moving in a slow spin as if turning within his own mind, singing madly:
"Everyone has left… and left me alone… Like a madman, talk to my one…"
Jim stopped near him.
He asked with analytical calmness:
"Where did everyone go?"
The thief suddenly stood up with exaggerated straightness, then said:
"Detective Jim…greetings!"
Then he shrieked in an annoying,sing-song voice:
"They went to investigate a murder!"
Jim narrowed his eyes:
"Calm down.I hear you… What murder? Where?"
The thief put his finger to his mouth, acting or perhaps truly afraid:
"Hmmm…I think they went to… the National Park."
Jim froze.
He whispered:
"What did you say…?"
The thief repeated, deliberately slowing down the words:
"The Na-tion-al Park.Have you gone deaf? Oh, my apologies… Great Detective!"
But Jim didn't hear him.
He wasn't hearing anything at that moment except one sound…
That fuzzy voice he heard last night from the walkie-talkie buried in the garden.
He approached the calendar hanging on the wall.
He read the date…
July 5th.
The same date he heard on the device.
The same crime scene…
The same details.
He rushed out, got into his car, and sped off towards the National Park.
When he arrived, the scene was crowded:
Police,detectives, forensics, press…
And all the voices overlapped as if coming from inside his head,not from reality.
Jim ran towards the body that was about to be zipped into the black bag.
He said in a choked voice:
"Stop…I need to take a look."
Someone tried to stop him, but he insisted with the stubbornness of a man who wants to face something he knows will change him:
"Just a look…that's all."
The bag was opened.
And his eyelashes froze.
A woman… in her mid-twenties.
A clear stab wound in her abdomen.
And the fingernails on her left hand…completely removed. Just like the serial killer 'Hell's Angel' crimes.
Jim took a step back.
Then another step.
As if the ground beneath his feet had become a memory.
He whispered in a voice that didn't sound like his own:
"Impossible…"
And his gaze shifted between the trees, the faces, and the sky…
As if the entire park had turned into a puzzle staring back at him.
As if the future… had come looking for him.