The man, hearing the noise, instantly changed. His contemptuous expression turned wary, and a fire ignited in his eyes that made Arthur shudder involuntarily. He quickly glanced at them, assessing the situation in seconds, then, as if making a decision, said with firmness in his voice: «Seems you’ve got trouble. And I have a proposition you’ll find hard to refuse…» He leaned closer, lowering his voice: «If you want to save your skins, you’d better follow me.» He pulled a gold watch from his pocket, glanced at it quickly, and added: «Time’s running out.»

Edith looked at Arthur, and the fear in her eyes made him uneasy. It was a deep, animal fear, as if she sensed something terrible. He saw his own fears, his own confusion and despair reflected in her eyes. What do we do? her eyes seemed to scream. Trust this stranger, who, judging by his clothes and manners, was connected to this dangerous world, or try to escape on their own, with no idea how?

Scenes from The Maltese Falcon flashed before her eyes, where the characters were constantly drawn into intrigues and betrayals. She had always loved that film, but now there was no room for romance. The voices were getting closer, the footsteps louder. She had no time to think. She felt Arthur squeeze her hand, and that contact, like an electric shock, brought her back to reality. She knew that Arthur, despite all his grumbling and conservatism, would always be by her side, no matter what.

Arthur, in turn, glanced at Edith, trying to assess her condition. Her face was pale as a sheet, her lips trembling. He understood she was scared to death. His heart was racing, his mind in chaos. He had always been a cautious man, preferring a bird in the hand to two in the bush. But now, with his and Edith’s lives hanging by a thread, he had to make a decision in seconds. What did he even know about this stranger? Maybe he was one of these gangsters himself? Or maybe he genuinely wanted to help?

A quote from some ancient treatise flashed through his mind: «When standing on the edge of an abyss, any step could be your last.» He understood that any choice could be fatal, but inaction was not an option. He had to do something.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, and looked into Edith’s eyes. He saw his own determination, his readiness to take a risk, reflected in them. He gave her a barely perceptible nod, letting her know he had made a decision.

«Well,» Arthur replied, addressing the stranger. His voice sounded surprisingly calm, though everything inside him was shaking. «We agree.» He paused for a moment, gathering his courage, then added: «But we want to know where we’re going and what to expect.»

The man smirked, and a strange, almost sinister glint flashed in his eyes. «Oh, believe me, Mr… eh…» – he looked at them questioningly, expecting an answer – «you’re better off not knowing. Ignorance is bliss. Just follow me and don’t ask unnecessary questions. And if you do ask, make sure they’re the right ones.» He gestured for them to follow him. «Time’s running out,» he repeated, glancing at his watch again. The watch, by the way, was gold, with an engraving, and looked very expensive. That watch probably costs more than my entire apartment, Arthur thought.

Without another second’s hesitation, Edith and Arthur, like shadows clinging to the walls, followed the stranger, dissolving into the gloom of the alley. They left behind the city’s noise, the approaching voices, and the impending danger, stepping into an unknown full of secrets and perils.

Chapter 2

In the Embrace of the Night

The alley they turned into was narrow and filthy, as if created specifically for dark deeds. This is where they film the bleakest scenes for noir movies, Edith thought, trying not to look down.

The air was thick with the stifling smell of rot and dampness, mixed with the sharp odor of cheap tobacco – «roll-ups,» which, according to Arthur, all the workers smoked back then.

Dirty water squelched underfoot, reflecting the dim light of rare streetlamps, and Arthur tried his best to avoid puddles, afraid of soaking his old shoes. My feet are always cold as it is, he grumbled to himself.

Edith, walking behind him, held his hand tightly, as if afraid of getting lost in this gloomy maze. She was silent, trying not to breathe too deeply to avoid inhaling the stench. A line from some old poem echoed in her head: «A city of sin and vice.»

The stranger, walking confidently ahead as if he owned the place, didn’t even glance back. He walked fast, almost running, as if being chased. From time to time, he cast short, wary glances around, as if fearing they were being watched not only by the gangsters but by some other, even more dangerous forces. His confidence was both frightening and inspiring hope. I wonder who he is? thought Edith. She recalled a newspaper article she’d read years ago: «In Chicago, every third person is a former gangster.»

They walked in tense silence, only the sound of their footsteps and the steady drip of rain from the roofs disturbing the quiet of the night city. Arthur tried to get a better look at their guide’s face, but in the semi-darkness of the alley, it was nearly impossible. He only knew the man wore an expensive, custom-tailored suit and smelled of costly cologne. I wonder how much he earns? Arthur thought. He had never been good at making money.

Suddenly, the stranger stopped at an inconspicuous door deep in the alley, between two scuffed walls covered in incomprehensible graffiti. Probably where some avant-garde artists gather, Edith thought ironically. He pulled a set of old, time-darkened keys from his pocket and, selecting one, opened the door with a quiet creak. This door hasn’t been oiled in a hundred years, Arthur thought.

«Get in,» he said, gesturing for them to enter. His voice was quiet and somewhat weary, but held a strange authority. «And make it quick. We don’t have time for chatter.»

The door creaked open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor that smelled of damp and must. A dim bulb hanging from the ceiling on a dirty wire barely illuminated the space, casting strange shadows on the walls. The corridor was cluttered with old crates and boxes tied with rope. Arthur, stumbling over one, nearly fell, but Edith caught him. «Careful, you old fool!» she whispered, looking at him reproachfully. I really should start exercising, crossed Arthur’s mind.

Arthur and Edith, exchanging glances, cautiously stepped inside as if crossing a threshold into another world. Edith wrapped herself tighter in her coat, trying to warm up. «What is this place?» she whispered.

The stranger, making sure they were inside, locked the door with several turns of the key and turned to face them. In the dim light, Arthur finally got a good look at his face. It was stern, even somewhat grim, with deep wrinkles lining his forehead and cheeks. Life hasn’t been kind to him, Arthur thought. But his eyes, despite the weariness, shone with sharp intelligence and a strange, otherworldly sadness. A small scar was visible on his cheek, which Arthur assumed was from some street fight.

«My name is Jack,» he said, extending his hand to Arthur. His hand was strong and dry, with work-roughened fingers. «And I think,» he paused slightly, «we can be of use to each other.» His voice held a certain mystery, as if he knew something they didn’t.

Edith looked at him distrustfully. «Of use to each other? What do you mean?» she asked.

Jack smirked. «Believe me, lady, I have my reasons. But that can wait. Right now, we need to discuss something.»

«Of use to each other? What do you mean?» Edith, unable to hide her suspicion, stared at Jack as if trying to decipher his true intentions. Her eyes, usually shining with kindness and humor, now held only wariness and distrust. A line from an old movie she’d once watched with Arthur flashed through her mind: «In this city, even the cats carry knives.» Suddenly, Edith realized that perhaps this was exactly the kind of world they had stumbled into. «And how could we possibly be of use to someone like you?» she repeated, trying to sound confident, though everything inside her was clenched with fear. She felt like she was in the jaws of a predator. She scrutinized Jack from head to toe, noting every detail of his appearance: the impeccable suit, the perfectly polished shoes, the gold watch with its engraving. This gentleman’s watch probably costs more than all our furniture put together, a cynical thought crossed her mind. I wonder where he gets that kind of money.

Jack smiled, and a shadow of understanding seemed to flicker in his eyes. He probably saw not only fear but also a degree of skepticism in her. «Believe me, madam, I have good reason to think so,» he replied, his voice soft but with a steely firmness. «In Chicago, as you know, it’s every man for himself. And I’m no exception. But right now, we have more pressing matters. We need to get out of here, fast. It’s… unsettled around here. And I, believe me, am not a fan of unnecessary trouble.» He cast a quick glance at the door, as if expecting it to be broken down at any moment.

Edith and Arthur exchanged looks. Apparently, they had no time to think.

Jack, as if reading their thoughts, continued: «We don’t have much time, and, believe me, I’m not one to waste it. I know who’s after you. And I know why.» He paused, as if waiting for a reaction, then continued: «You’re needed by someone. And this ’someone’ might be able to help you.»

Edith and Arthur exchanged quick, nervous glances. Thousands of questions, seemingly without answers, raced through their minds like a kaleidoscope. Who was after them? Why were they needed? And, most importantly, could they trust this mysterious stranger? They recalled the old film The Suspect – where everything was mysterious at first, and then it got even worse.

«What do you mean, ’someone’? Who are we to be needed by anyone? We’re just retirees living a quiet life,» Arthur said, trying to sound calm, but his voice betrayed him with a tremble. He knew perfectly well that their quiet life was in the past, beyond the threshold of this strange, mysterious city. A line from his favorite detective novel came to mind: «In this city, no one knows what’s waiting for them around the corner.» It seemed they were now in the thick of that «unknown.»

Jack smirked, as if he enjoyed watching their confusion and dismay. «Don’t be so modest, Mr… what was your name again?» – he seemed to have forgotten their names. Or didn’t want to remember, emphasizing his superiority. «You and your wife are… remarkable people. You just don’t know it yet, which is hardly surprising.» He spoke as if they were characters in an exciting novel, and he was its ruthless narrator. He paused, flicking ash from his cigarette. «And someone is very keen to meet you. An influential man, and, believe me, he has connections you can’t even imagine.»

Edith, feeling goosebumps run down her spine like icy fingers, shuddered. This «someone» was a complete mystery to them, a dark figure in the approaching storm. «Who is this ’someone’? And what does he want from us?» she asked, trying to sound as firm as possible, as if putting up a shield against the impending danger, though inside, everything was churning like in a centrifuge.

She recalled an article in the Chicago Tribune from last year, with a loud front-page headline: «In the Web of Power: How Corruption is Choking Chicago!» The article spoke of shadowy deals, connections between politicians, police, and gangsters, of people who controlled the city from behind the scenes. There were photos of famous gangsters like Al Capone and anonymous silhouettes of influential officials. The caption under one photo read: «In Chicago, even God has to pay taxes.» And Edith thought: Have we fallen into this web? Do we now have to pay the price?

Jack exhaled a cloud of smoke, and in the dim light, his face seemed even more mysterious than before. «That, I can’t tell you right now. But believe me, madam, your interest will be rewarded. He can help you get back home, which I assume is your main concern right now. But in return, he will ask for something.»

Arthur frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, his eyes narrowing. «Ask for what? Money? We don’t have any. Never did.» His tone was sarcastic. He had always been a skeptic.

Jack laughed, and the sound was like a sinister chime in their ears. «Money? Money is small change, mister. Money has nothing to do with it. This man is interested in things that can’t be bought for any amount of money. He’s interested in your… story.»

Edith and Arthur looked at each other. They couldn’t imagine what «story» could possibly interest a stranger.

«Story?» Edith repeated, her voice trembling with excitement. The word sounded completely incomprehensible to her, like a foreign language. What did he mean? What «story» could two elderly people, whose lives were like a calm river flow, possibly have? They had no thrilling adventures, no secrets, no connections to the criminal world. Or so they thought. Maybe the past held secrets they weren’t even aware of? She recalled a quote from an old play: «We are all heroes in someone else’s drama.»

«Yes, your story,» Jack confirmed, his tone enigmatic. He tossed the cigarette butt into a tin can by the wall and turned to them, his gaze like a sharp knife. «He wants to hear your story. The whole thing, from beginning to end. He wants to know everything. And, believe me, it won’t be easy. After all, the truth, as they say, always lies somewhere in the middle, and sometimes – it’s just plain lost.» He paused, his gaze sliding over their faces as if assessing their resolve and looking for a hint of heroism. «Are you ready for that?»

Arthur nervously fiddled with the hem of his old coat, which was long overdue for the trash. He felt they had landed in some surreal play where he and Edith were the main characters. They, two ordinary retirees, were suddenly caught up in mysterious intrigues involving powerful people and their own memories. What if this «someone» was just a madman? And what if they ended up in even deeper trouble? He recalled a phrase from his friend, who, like him, enjoyed a drink: «Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get.»

«And what’s in it for us?» he asked, trying to hide his fear, hoping his voice sounded confident enough.

Jack smirked, as if amused by their bewilderment. «First, safety. As long as you’re with me, you’re safe. Second, a chance to return home, to your, I assume, quiet and peaceful suburb. And third… the opportunity to rewrite your story. Or at least change its ending.»

Edith and Arthur exchanged glances. Rewrite their story? What did he mean? It sounded strange and even frightening. Were they supposed to return to the past? And what if they changed something? Altering the past could have unpredictable consequences. She felt a pang in her heart.

At that moment, a noise echoed in the corridor – sharp, like thunder, the stomping of feet and fragments of rough phrases. Someone’s footsteps were growing louder, approaching at a terrifying speed, like a train derailed.

Jack instantly tensed, his face becoming an impenetrable mask, his gaze sharp and probing.

«Seems we’re out of time for long deliberations, my dears,» he said, his voice hard, like a general’s order before a decisive battle. «We need to leave. Right now. And no more questions.»

He grabbed Edith’s hand as if saving her from certain doom, and Arthur, gasping and stumbling, hurried after them, understanding that if he hesitated now, he would be left here forever.

Time was running out, like sand in a broken hourglass, and they had to make their choice – trust this stranger or meet their fate in this dirty alley.

They headed deeper into the corridor, into the unknown, hoping to save their lives, like characters in an old film fleeing an impending catastrophe. And Edith thought: If this is a movie, I demand a retake!

Chapter 3

Labyrinths of the Past

Jack confidently, like an experienced rat-catcher, led them through a narrow corridor that, due to its complexity, resembled the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. In Chicago in the 40s, by the way, there were plenty of such winding corridors, secret passages, and underground hideouts – a result of Prohibition and the mob’s bustling activity.

They passed several doors, behind which, judging by the muffled sounds, some hidden life was bustling: hushed voices, cheerful laughter, the clinking of glasses, music – probably from some underground jazz club. Arthur, trying to memorize the route, looked for landmarks: drawings on the walls, the number of doors, turns, but everything seemed identical and monotonous. The corridor, like a living creature, constantly twisted, turning now one way, now another, as if trying to confuse those within. Soon, Arthur was completely disoriented. I think I’m lost already, he thought, recalling the old saying: «Getting lost in a dark forest is half the trouble, but getting lost in someone else’s soul…»

«Where are we going, Jack?» Edith whispered, trying to keep up with her mysterious guide. She held Arthur’s hand tightly, and in this darkness, he felt like her only anchor, her support. She remembered lines from an Edgar Allan Poe poem: «All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.» Were they really in some kind of bad dream?

«To a safe place,» Jack replied without turning or slowing down. His voice held a confidence that Edith involuntarily envied. «No one will find us there. At least, not for a while.»

They walked in silence, concentrating on each step. Only their muffled footsteps echoed in the corridor. Suddenly, an old, crooked staircase leading down opened before them. The staircase seemed built in a time when people were twice as tall. Jack, without a second’s hesitation, began descending, his heavy footsteps echoing. Edith and Arthur, exchanging glances, followed him. «I hope these stairs hold,» Arthur muttered, holding onto the railing like a lifeline. The stairs were steep and slippery, as if designed to test one’s nerves. Arthur struggled to keep his balance, and Edith, afraid of falling, gripped the old, rusted handrail, digging her fingers into it. With each step, it grew colder and damper.

At the bottom of the stairs, a massive iron door awaited them, resembling the entrance to an ancient crypt or a cellar. Jack took a heavy, antique key from his pocket, one that had probably seen the days of Prohibition. He slowly inserted the key into the keyhole, turned it, and the door creaked open.

They found themselves in a large, semi-dark room that had apparently once been a basement or perhaps a storage cellar. The walls were covered with a thick layer of mold, and the air carried a musty smell of dampness, earth, and something else, unclear and eerie. In the corner stood an old, sagging couch that seemed to remember all the sorrows and joys of its former owners, and next to it lay a few empty whiskey bottles. A tattered newspaper lay on the couch. Someone had been here.

«Welcome to my humble abode,» Jack said with irony in his voice, surveying the gloomy shelter. «We’ll be safe here, for a while at least. If we’re lucky.»

Edith, looking around, shivered involuntarily from the cold. The basement, seemingly saturated with centuries of gloom, felt damp and unwelcoming, a refuge for lost souls. Her imagination immediately conjured scenes from old horror films she loved in her youth, where the most nightmarish things usually happened in such places. «And we’re supposed to be safe here?» she whispered, trying to hide her fear, but her voice trembled. A quote from some book echoed in her head: «The darkest place is under the candlestick.»