Echoes of Time

Chapter 17 - Keith's POV: The Shadows of Memory

Keith was only 4 years old, but he had always been a precocious child, with a memory sharp as a knife. He still remembered that night as though it had been yesterday. His uncle—Adeline's father—had bent down to him and said in his usual soft but serious voice, "Take care of Adeline. She'll need you, Keith. You're her protector now." Keith had nodded, although he barely understood what was happening. He was curious, and in that curiosity, little Keith had sneaked into his uncle and aunt's lab.

The Monroe laboratory had always been shrouded in mystery. Even though Keith was young, the air around the lab seemed heavy, as if the walls themselves were holding secrets too dangerous for the world to know. The glass walls sparkled under the dim light, and the lab was filled with strange instruments. Tables lined with beakers, mechanical clocks, and long mathematical formulas scribbled on the boards made the place look like something out of a dream. Keith's little heart raced with excitement and fear as he tiptoed through the cluttered lab.

He crouched behind one of the tables, peeking up just enough to watch his uncle and aunt. They were speaking in hushed voices, too low for him to hear properly. His aunt, her hair tied back in a messy bun, was working furiously on a device—a large, complicated contraption made of brass, glass, and wires that crackled with energy. Keith could only make out a few words between the hum of the machine and the soft ticking of dozens of clocks surrounding them.

Words like "time dilation," "quantum singularity," and "space-time fabric" floated around the room, but they meant nothing to Keith at the time. He remembered the look on their faces—the determination in his uncle's eyes, the nervousness in his aunt's furrowed brow. And the hourglass—he remembered the hourglass clearly. It was on the main table, glowing softly in a way that no ordinary hourglass should.

Keith's uncle had explained to him once, during one of their rare quiet moments, that time was like a river. "It flows forward, Keith," he had said, "but sometimes, with enough knowledge, we can bend it, slow it, or maybe even travel along it."

That night, the river was about to be tested.

The machine sparked to life, gears spinning and electricity crackling in the air. Little Keith watched with wide eyes as his uncle adjusted dials and his aunt flipped switches. The room grew warmer, the lights dimmed, and a low hum filled the air. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, the machine roared louder than a storm, and for a split second, everything froze. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

Keith remembered feeling a cold chill run down his spine. It was unnatural—like the very essence of the universe had been shaken.

But something went wrong.

The machine sputtered, and a deafening crack filled the air. His aunt screamed, his uncle's voice called out, but it was too late. In a flash of bright light, the experiment collapsed, sending a shockwave that knocked Keith off his feet. He scrambled up in time to see both his aunt and uncle fall—lifeless. Their bodies lay motionless on the floor, as if time itself had consumed them.

The young boy didn't understand death at that age, but he knew something was terribly wrong. He ran out of the lab, screaming and crying, terrified of what he had just witnessed. What he didn't know was that as he fled, the remains of their souls—his uncle and aunt—had followed him. Their consciousnesses, fragmented and disoriented, had become trapped between moments in time, unable to move forward or back.

Keith ran home, locking himself in his room, but the souls of Adeline's parents lingered, like shadows in the corners of his vision. Only Keith could see them, hear their faint whispers, feel their lingering presence. It was the burden of the Monroe bloodline—a gift, or rather a curse, that allowed them to perceive the dead who had tampered with the fabric of time.

Keith would often catch glimpses of them in the following years—his uncle's ghostly hand reaching out, his aunt's eyes filled with confusion, trying to remember who they were and why they were stuck in this world. It terrified him, but it also filled him with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He had always believed it was his fault for sneaking into the lab that night, for being a curious little boy who had caused a disaster.

That night, he lay in bed, listening to the faint ticking of the hourglass that now belonged to him. It had once been his uncle's most prized possession, and now, it was his burden to bear. His hands trembled as he held it close, watching the sandstorm whirl inside, knowing it held the key to time itself—but also knowing the risk that came with using it. If he tampered with time, the consequences would be devastating. His uncle and aunt's failed experiment had already left them trapped in limbo, wandering as lost souls. If he did anything to alter the past, Adeline could suffer the same fate.

And that was something Keith could never allow.

The ticking of the hourglass grew louder in the silence of the night, a reminder of the weight he carried—of the promise he had made to protect Adeline, even if it meant protecting her from himself. He couldn't let her know. He couldn't involve her in this, no matter how much it hurt to keep his distance.

He remembered his uncle's final words before the experiment had gone wrong: "Time isn't something to be played with, Keith. It's dangerous. And if we fail, we pay the price."

Keith closed his eyes, the weight of responsibility heavy on his chest. He had been paying the price for 24 years. Now, it was Adeline's turn to feel the consequences of their family's cursed fate.

But he had to protect her from it—no matter whatit took.