Chapter 10: Faces of a Single Time

  [Oweis’s Apartment – The Next Morning]

  He woke to the sound of the alarm.

  He didn’t move immediately. He lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for a mistake… though he didn’t know what kind.

  He rose. He prepared coffee subconsciously.

  He paused while holding the cup.

  Its weight felt heavier than it should be… or lighter. He couldn’t decide. He moved on.

  At the door, he reached for the handle, then pulled back. He took a step toward the stove. It was off. Despite that, he approached and turned the knob again, but with excessive slowness, standing over it a second longer than necessary.

  "Nothing happened..." he whispered, unaware he was speaking aloud.

  He left.

  At the traffic light, the signal was green.

  Everyone moved.

  His body lagged by half a heartbeat.

  It wasn't hesitation.

  It was a slight discrepancy between what he saw… and how he responded to it.

  He crossed a step behind the others.

  A man beside him suddenly stumbled, even though the ground was level. The man looked around confused, as if he had misjudged the distance.

  Oweis didn’t notice.

  Minutes later, he retraced his steps back to the apartment for no apparent reason.

  [Vigo – Later / Underground Parking Garage]

  The parking lot was nearly empty. Cold fluorescent lighting cast long shadows across the concrete floor.

  Oweis walked slowly toward his car, every step feeling alien, as if the ground beneath his feet were vibrating despite its stillness.

  He reached the car, pulled out the keys, opened the door, and sat behind the wheel without starting the engine. Everything looked normal… yet he felt something was different.

  The steering wheel was under his hands.

  The sensation was delayed.

  As if the signal arrived… after the action.

  For some reason, he stared at the concrete pillar in front of him.

  Oweis turned the key. The engine roared to life, but the sound felt as if it arrived late—or perhaps faster than he expected. He pressed the accelerator gently.

  The pillar was suddenly very close.

  It didn't approach gradually.

  The distance simply jumped.

  A single moment where all space was compressed.

  The car surged with more power than he anticipated.

  CRASH.

  He hit the concrete pillar from two meters away. His body slammed against the steering wheel; a brief black void followed.

  Silence…

  No. Not silence.

  A ringing.

  Sharp. Continuous.

  He opened his eyes slowly.

  The car’s ceiling.

  The airbag hadn't deployed.

  "…Am I—"

  He stopped. His voice came out hoarse.

  He tried to move his shoulder.

  A sharp pain shot through his chest.

  Good. The pain was clear.

  He moved his fingers.

  One… two… three…

  They moved.

  He hadn't lost sensation.

  He swallowed. The taste was metallic.

  "I'm alive."

  His head throbbed. Not a normal headache, but a heavy pulse, as if the blood were striking from the inside.

  He breathed.

  The inhalation came with difficulty.

  He held it for half a second, confirming his lungs worked.

  He let it out slowly.

  Again.

  The sound in his ears hadn't vanished, but it felt a little more distant.

  He looked at his hands.

  Steady.

  But his perception of them… was lagging.

  He swallowed his fear.

  "Focus."

  He breathed again.

  Air in. Air out.

  Good.

  Now he could think.

  He struggled out of the car, took two steps back, and looked at the front of the vehicle.

  A clear dent. Not massive… but not something that could be ignored.

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  He exhaled sharply.

  "No… no…"

  He approached and touched the metal with his fingers, as if confirming that what he saw was real.

  "This is a rental car…"

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  "How much is this going to cost me now…"

  Silence.

  He looked at the pillar again.

  The distance looked normal. Ordinary.

  He shook his head slowly.

  "I was slow… I was just slow."

  It wasn't a conviction; it was an attempt to stabilize his narrative of reality.

  He ran a hand over his face.

  The problem wasn't the dent.

  The problem was that moment… when the distance suddenly vanished.

  He swallowed hard.

  "If this happens again…"

  He stopped.

  He looked at his hands.

  "No. I need to get checked out immediately."

  "I don't think I can go on living like this."

  [Later – General Clinic]

  "The impact was light. No fractures. But I’ll order a precautionary head scan."

  Oweis remained silent.

  "You said the distance felt as if it were compressed?"

  "Yes."

  The doctor paused for a moment.

  "Did you actually see the object move… or was it an internal sensation?"

  "I don't know."

  "Was it accompanied by a headache? Flashes of light? Dizziness?"

  He shook his head.

  The doctor took notes.

  "Alright. I can't link this solely to the accident. As I said, we’ll do a head scan as a precaution. And I want a basic blood panel."

  Oweis looked up, frustrated.

  "But this happened moments before the accident! And... it's not the first time!"

  The doctor looked at him carefully, realizing he needed to explain further.

  "I understand. If the symptoms began before the accident, that changes things. What you described—feeling a change in distance or a lag in perceiving objects—is not a common symptom of minor accidents. However, it could be related to nervous tension or constant psychological pressure, especially if you've been under a lot of stress lately."

  (The doctor pauses briefly to write more notes)

  "I can't say for certain until we have more accurate tests. I’ll prescribe some sedatives to help reduce the nervous tension. But if the symptoms persist or recur, we may need further tests to rule out other neurological or psychological issues."

  Oweis nodded: "Alright… thank you."

  [Outside the Clinic]

  Oweis sat in Matthias’s car and shut the door. He let out a long exhale, as if trying to push something heavy out of his chest.

  Matthias, starting the engine, looked at him for a moment and then asked in an uncharacteristically soft tone:

  "How did it go?"

  Oweis stared into the void ahead, his mind preoccupied.

  "He said my brain is exhausted... that I need rest. Scans and tests…"

  (Silence)

  Matthias offered a small smile, trying to lighten the mood, but it was faint, and concern was visible in his eyes.

  "Doesn't sound great, but at least you don't have much to do these days. Take it easy."

  Oweis nodded slowly, but he didn't respond immediately. His words seemed to come out without his will, as if he were trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

  "Yeah… you're right."

  (Silence, then a slow sigh)

  "Let’s go to the pharmacy first."

  The car set off. But the road was long, and the further they got from the white building, the more Oweis’s hollow eyes seemed to carry a greater weight.

  The weariness the doctor had left in his chest had become a tangible burden now. It hadn't vanished. Instead, it had turned into an indirect question, shaking him more than the doctor’s actual words.

  Matthias was driving, but Oweis wasn't sure of anything—not even of his own stillness.

  Oweis’s suffering might seem unique, but it wasn't the only one of its kind. Elsewhere, hundreds of kilometers away, the Serrano family was slowly unraveling, unaware that their days were spinning in a closed loop, bearing a mysterious resemblance to what Oweis was enduring.

  [Serrano Family Home – Barcelona | Daytime]

  From the outside, the Serrano house looked reassuringly ordinary: a small balcony with flowers, curtains drifting lazily in the breeze, and a child’s bike overturned near the grass.

  Alfredo paused for a moment before knocking on the door.

  He said quietly to Ariel:

  "If you notice anything, tell me first."

  Ariel simply nodded.

  The door opened seconds later. Maria Serrano led them into the lounge. She was in her mid-thirties, tidy in appearance, but her shoulders were slightly tense. She sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped.

  Beside her sat the two children.

  Luis, eight years old, was sitting too straight, occasionally looking at the floor.

  Carla, five years old, was hugging her doll and swinging her foot back and forth.

  Opposite them sat Alfredo and Ariel.

  Alfredo extended his hand for a handshake, his tone businesslike and devoid of any pretension.

  "Thank you for having us, Mrs. Serrano. I am Alfredo, from the Unconventional Crimes Unit... referred to as the UCU."

  He paused for a brief second, as if choosing his words with surgical precision, then continued:

  "Normally, we do not intervene directly. However, the request you submitted through the online portal caught our attention. There are elements in your report that exceed the scope of a traditional investigation—and that falls precisely within our jurisdiction."

  Maria nodded quickly. "Yes… thank you for coming. Honestly, I don't know if it’s worth all this. Maybe… I’m overreacting a little."

  She said the last sentence as if she were justifying it to herself more than to them.

  "You told us about repetitive behaviors in the children," Alfredo said. "Can you explain that again?"

  Maria sighed, then shook her head with slight impatience. "Nothing serious. Just… they seem stuck in a routine. Children. You know how it is."

  Alfredo didn't interrupt her.

  She continued: "Sometimes Luis wakes up and asks me: 'Are we still in the same day?'—and if I say no... he looks at me as if I’m joking."

  Ariel looked up. "And yet, you said they claim 'today is the same'."

  Maria’s fingers moved nervously. "Yes… they said it once or twice. Children say strange things."

  "And Carla tells me: 'Mom, I don't like this day, it's too much like yesterday...'"

  Alfredo looked directly at the children, his tone softening. "Luis, can you tell me how your day was today?"

  Luis raised his head slowly, thought for a moment, frowned, and then said: "I don't know. I woke up… and Mom said 'Good morning.' Like every time. Then we ate… then I sat here."

  "What about yesterday… do you remember anything?" Alfredo asked.

  "Like… like today," Luis whispered.

  "And do you do different things sometimes?" Alfredo continued.

  "I don't remember… but I feel like I did something," Luis answered, trying to recall.

  Carla interrupted in a faint voice: "But the TV shows the same episode."

  She then continued:

  "Where did this toy come from, Luis?"

  Maria turned quickly:

  "What are you talking about? It's your old toy."

  Carla didn't argue; she just stared at her.

  Ariel had been silent for most of the time, but his eyes were moving between the children and the mother with a strange focus. For a moment, when Carla spoke about the old toy, Ariel’s fingers trembled slightly on his knee, as if he had picked up on something. But he didn't move.

  "Are you sure, Carla, that you haven't played with it before?" Alfredo asked.

  "Yes," Carla said with simple confidence.

  "And when did you buy this toy for her?" Alfredo followed up.

  "About two weeks ago," Maria replied.

  Alfredo: "What do you mean by the TV showing the same episode, little one?"

  Carla: "This episode… it doesn't change."

  Alfredo: "Really? Do you remember what happened in yesterday’s episode?"

  Carla looked at him and smiled slightly. "I forgot."

  "When did all this start?"

  "Two weeks ago as well… but the effect wasn't like it is now," Maria said in a worried tone.

  Ariel asked gently: "Do you two remember anything different? A day that wasn't like this?"

  Luis frowned. "I feel like… I forgot something."

  He said it without sadness, but with pure confusion.

  When Luis said "I feel like I forgot something," Ariel leaned his head forward slightly, as if trying to hear something hidden. At that moment, Alfredo turned toward him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question, but Ariel gave a small nod: "Nothing clear yet."

  "Forgot what?" Alfredo asked.

  Luis shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

  A short silence prevailed.

  Maria stood up suddenly, as if wanting to break the atmosphere. "Would you like some coffee? Or water?"

  "No, thank you," Alfredo said quietly.

  He noticed a small notebook on the table. "Is this one of the children's notebooks?"

  "Carla’s," Maria answered quickly.

  Alfredo picked it up and opened it. The pages were filled with simple drawings… and at the top of every page, the same date: October 15th.

  But the handwriting was inconsistent.

  He looked up. "Do you write the date for her?"

  Maria gave a tense, light laugh. "No. She insists on writing it herself. A phase… isn't it?"

  Alfredo didn't comment.

  "Did something important happen on this date?" he asked.

  Maria froze for a fraction of a second. It was barely noticeable. "No. An ordinary day."

  Alfredo replaced the notebook and stood up slowly. He began to walk around the lounge. He touched the table, looked at the toys, the arrangement of the room.

  "Where do the children spend most of their time?" he asked.

  "Here," Maria replied. "In the lounge. I like to keep an eye on them always."

  Alfredo stopped near the middle of the room. He looked around. "I see."

  He said it without explanation.

  Maria looked at him with an anxiety she couldn't hide this time. "Is there something unnatural?"

  He hesitated for a moment, then said: "It's not clear yet… I’ll need to ask you something else."

  "Go ahead."

  "Did—"

  Alfredo’s phone suddenly rang, shattering the quiet.

  "Excuse me a moment."

  He stepped away and answered: "Hello, who is this?"

  The voice on the other end: "Mr. Alfredo?"

  "Yes."

  "I am Detective Maver Holmer."

  Alfredo was silent for a moment. Then he said: "…How can I help you?"

  The voice came through agitated: "Let’s meet at the address I’m sending you."

  Alfredo looked toward Maria and her children, then said firmly: "I don't have time right now, but I will come to you after I finish my work. Send me the address."

  "Thank you…"

  "I’ll be there soon. Goodbye."

  He ended the call and turned his gaze back to the lounge.

  To be continued...