’Help!’’

The word clawed at the back of his throat, begging for release, but time slipped away like sand through his fingers. Blinded by an overwhelming burst of white light, he watched everything around him dissolve as he plummeted through an abyss of nothingness.

And then, all of the sudden, darkness consumed him. For what felt like forever, he was suspended in silence, feeling only his heart pounding in his chest. Was he even alive? The next sensation was an icy chill that invaded his bones. He was shaking, the rough surface beneath him biting into his skin, while the air heavy heavy with moisture. Rain began to fall, each drops a sharp reminder of reality. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his vision returning like the dawn after a long night. Gray buildings became focused, people hurriedly passed him by, old cars crawling along the very busy street.

“Boy, are you alright?” a voice broke through the silence. Felix turned to see a stranger.
“I... I...” His voice faltered, betraying him, and the look of fear that washed over the stranger sent them scurrying away. It took every ounce of strength he could muster to push himself up from the ground.

“I need a phone,” he murmured to himself. A fierce wind whipped around him, soaking his clothes, making them cling heavily to his frame. He glanced at his palms in horror, realizing they were stained red. Memories began to filter back: a man chasing him, the echo of terror in a tunnel, Vivien—his aunt—shot, they said. Was she gone? For real. Tears pooled in his eyes, blurring the world around him.

“Miss!” he called out to the next passerby, a younger woman whose expression was oddly distorted as if everyone looked strange to him now. “I’m lost. Can you lend me a phone to call my aunt?”

“A phone? If you need to reach someone, there’s a booth over there,” she replied, pointing to a distant very odd structure.

“Oh, can’t you just let me use yours? A quick text will do; you can type it for me,” he pleaded. “Boy, are you alright? Did you get lost?” Her voice grew edged with concern.

“Yes...” His legs felt like jelly, the world around him spinning.

“Boy…” The panic in her voice deepened, and he felt her hands grasp him as consciousness slipped away yet again, darkness swallowing him whole.

When he awoke, he was in a muted gray room, trembling. This time, he was cocooned in a soft bed, a blanket wrapped around him like a shield. Two pairs of worried eyes hovered above him—a doctor, evident by his crisp white coat, and a police officer in a blue uniform.

“Good evening, young fellow. I’m Officer Zaigraev. May I know your name?”

“Felix Voronov, sir,” he replied, his voice still shaky. “Do you know your parents' names and where you live?” “

Emma and Boris Voronov. We live in Saint Petersburg.”

“And how did you end up in Saskylakhl?”

“I don’t remember.” The officer raised an eyebrow, his demeanor shifting from stern to skeptical. He was an older man, quite intimidating, which only heightened Felix’s feverish anxiety.

“When were you born?”

“December 22, 2012.”

“2012?” The officer dropped his pen, disbelief etched across his face.

“Yes.”

“Felix, do you know what date it is?” the doctor asked. “It’s...” The words eluded him. “It’s November... the 20-something of November 2024.” His voice cracked, and he caught the exchange of alarmed glances between the two.

“Did he hit his head?” the officer asked in a hushed tone, but Felix was too aware to miss it.

“He has a high temperature; he’s confused. Has anyone reported a missing child?”

“Not in our region. I’ll need to make a few calls when I’m back at the station, but we should involve social services. It could be child abuse.”

“Wait! I know who I am... and I’m not abused!”

“Child, try to rest. I’ll stop by tomorrow, alright?”

“Can you give me a phone so I can call—or at least text—my family?”

“Give me their number so I can call them.”

“8 812 234-56-78.”

“What is this nonsense?”

“It’s my aunt’s number! I have to make sure she’s alright!”

“This is no phone number. Are you playing with us?” The officer’s frustration simmered, and he stuffed his notebook into his pocket, eyeing Felix as if he had done something heinous. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, a silent plea for understanding. The doctor shook his head in the background.

“Let’s talk to him tomorrow. He’s too unwell right now.” Sadness and anger filled the room, Felix wanted both, to scream and them and cry, but he did neither, as he knew he had to make these man to listen to him. His frustration was growing. They could see that on his face, especially his deep green eyes.

“Wait! Why? I’m not unwell enough to tell you who I am, and it is her number!” He realized he was yelling, his voice rising above the sterile room.

“Boy, this isn’t anyone’s phone. You don’t know how you ended up here, let alone it’s June, June 1993, not a bloody 2024. Time traveler,” the officer scoffed, but the laughter that followed was barely concealed beneath layers of irritation.

“Rest that pretty blond head of yours. I’ll come to see you tomorrow, alright?” 1993. The word echoed in his mind, a bell tolling ominously. Felix struggled to comprehend it. No, no, no... Panic surged within him, tightening like a vice. It couldn’t be true. “How? Why? I need to go back!” His voice rose in a crescendo of desperation, and the commotion summoned nurses who rushed in, ready to administer a sedative that would lull him into sleep. But even as the world faded, his thoughts spiraled wildly. How was he supposed to return? How had he ended up here? All he could grasp were fleeting images of running through dark tunnels, his heart pounding with fear.