The photograph remained in Charles’ hand long after he left Emelia’s supposed residence. He had taken them out to stare again. Emelia’s smile seemed strangely alive beneath the yellow glow of the streetlights. He traced the edge of the picture with his thumb, then touched the small silver pendant resting in his other palm. She had worn it almost every day in the hospital. He remembered that much. Sometimes it had rested against her neck while she leaned over him to adjust his bandages. Other times he had watched it sway gently as she laughed at something he said. Those memories were few, but they were more real than anything else connected to his forgotten past. In fact, those were the only memories he had with him at that moment. He slipped both items carefully into his pocket and looked around. The street was unfamiliar. Shops were closing one after another. Metal shutters rolled down with harsh rattling sounds, and the few pedestrians still outside hurried along as though trying to outrun the coming night. Charles frowned. The route back to the Simmers mansion should have been easy to remember. He repeated it silently in his head and chose a direction. Nearly two hours later, he found himself standing at a junction he did not recognize. The glowing clock above a closed pharmacy read 10:03 p.m. He stopped beneath a flickering streetlight and turned slowly. Nothing looked familiar. A nervous breath escaped his nostrils. "No... but... how?" He had to find the courage to call Caroline. Although he broke the house rule, he believed that she would sympathize with him. And… forgive him at least. He reached into his pocket for his phone. He pressed the power button, yet the phone didn't respond with the usual animated wallpaper. He tried again. And again. After the fourth try, the screen remained dark as the night itself. Then he gave up, realizing the battery had died. Charles had been so eager to leave the house that he had forgotten to ensure that the battery was full. Charles closed his eyes briefly. Perfect, just perfect. Thunder rumbled somewhere beyond the city, low and distant at first. A cool wind swept through the street, carrying the smell of rain-soaked dust. Charles felt the cold on his skin and shivered. He looked up. A deep sigh escaped his lips. "Just another perfect day this is." Dark clouds had gathered, but Charles couldn't see them through the night. Then a second rumble followed, louder this time, with a striking lightning. A tree nearby caught the lightning bolt, and a branch was immediately severed. Charles narrowly escaped the hit when he left where he stood. The first drops of rain began to fall. "I... am so dead." Charles quickened his pace, scanning the roadside for shelter. Most of the shops were already locked, their entrances protected by narrow concrete sheds or roof sheets that extended over the pavement. Near the corner of the street, he found a shelter. The shop’s shutters were closed, and a wooden bench sat beneath the shelter. He lowered himself onto it with a tired sigh. Rain began to fall properly now, drumming steadily against the metal roofing above him. The rampaging pour blew moisture onto his skin. For a while, he listened to the pounding rants of the downpour. The city grew quieter with every passing minute. Cars became fewer. Voices faded. Only the rain remained. Charles pulled the photograph from his pocket again. In the dim light, Emelia’s face looked softer. At a time when Charles’ life had been reduced to nothingness, the photograph he held was his only comfort. "Where did you go, Emelia?" he murmured. The daunting question disappeared into the sound of the rain. He opened his palm and looked at the pendant once more. The small silver chain glimmered faintly beneath the streetlight. He closed his fingers around it carefully, as though afraid it might vanish too. A strange heaviness settled over him as he recalled Anna’s tear-filled eyes, the funeral crowd, the impossible recognition on that woman’s face. The address the cleaner gave him had returned Emelia’s abandoned photograph. And now... a city that no longer seemed willing to lead him back home. Another crack of thunder echoed overhead. Charles leaned back against the cold wall of the shop. Exhaustion crept through his body like a worm. His eyes burned from the long day, and the steady rhythm of the rain began to blur his thoughts. He tucked the photograph safely inside his jacket and kept the pendant in his hand. For a long moment, he stared at it, drawing what little comfort he could from the cold piece of silver. If he held onto it, perhaps he could still find Emelia again. Still clutching the pendant, Charles drifted into an uneasy sleep beneath the closed shop’s shed. … Elsewhere, a black jeep roared on the wet road. It was dawn, and the rain had retreated to wherever it had come from. Inside the jeep, there was heavy tension. Matilda folded her arms tightly across her chest and turned toward the driver. “Julius, you told me we would return home early. How am I supposed to explain myself?” Julius tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He had endured her complaints throughout the entire journey until then. “This again?” he muttered. “Yes, this again. I’m tired of making excuses every time.” The jeep suddenly jerked as Julius stepped on the brakes, forcing the tires to screech desperately to an abrupt stop. The road’s wetness caused the jeep to skid. It halted at the edge of a ditch. Like a commander, the screeching sound caused the argument to cease. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Julius pushed the door open and got out of the vehicle. Rainwater still glistened on the road beneath the fading streetlights. Matilda followed him immediately. “So, what am I going to say when I get home?” she demanded. “Another lie? Another story? I’m tired of lying anymore.” Julius turned sharply toward her. “Lower your voice.” “Why should I? You promised me we’d be back before midnight.” “You’re making a scene.” “No, Julius. You made the scene the moment you decided that my life could wait while you did whatever you wanted.” His jaw tightened. “Be careful, Matilda,” he warned. “Or else…” “Else what?” she shot back, stepping closer, stretching her chest toward him. “What can you do?” Julius’ eyes darkened. “You’re pushing me to the wall, Matilda.” “And what if I am?” she challenged. “I’m tired of your threats.” For a brief moment, silence lingered between them. Then Julius reached inside his jacket. In his hand was a metal glinting beneath the streetlight. A gun? How did the argument get to this? Julius pointed it directly at her. Matilda froze for only the smallest moment. Then she gave a bitter, unbelieving laugh. “What can you do?” she said, her voice trembling more with anger than fear. “I dare you to shoot.” “Matilda, you’re dari…” POW! The gunshot shook the quiet street. Matilda never thought Julius could go this far. Her eyes opened wide in disbelief. Her body swayed, and slowly, she collapsed onto the wet asphalt. The silence that followed felt unreal. Julius stared at her, horrified by what he had done. Really, anger could destroy things. The gun slipped from his trembling hand and fell onto the road. Panic took over. He stumbled backward, rushed to the jeep, yanked the door open, and jumped inside. The engine roared, and the black jeep sped away into the fading darkness, leaving the gun behind on the rain-soaked street. The echo of the gunshot travelled through the empty neighborhood. Beneath the closed shop’s shed, Charles jerked awake by the deafening boom. His heart slammed against his chest. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. The darkness was beginning to dissolve. Dawn was creeping slowly across the city, painting the wet street in a dull grey light. The rain had stopped. He thought the sound had come from a dream. And then… A jeep sped past in front of him. The violent drive brought him to reality as its tires sprayed water under the shed, further reminding him of the downpour the night before. Charles stared after the jeep, confused. What was that about? Looking at where the jeep had sped from, his gaze dropped to the object lying on the pavement. Charles went close to inspect what had been left on the road. A shotgun. His stomach tightened. For some time, he was at a loss. What should he do? And then… A hoarse female voice coupled with heavy breathing caught his attention. Charles followed immediately, realizing what might have happened. Moving closer to the source of the sound, he saw a woman lying on the asphalt street. “Hel… me”, she pleaded through gasps for air. Dark blood had spread across the wet concrete, mixing with the rainwater and forming thin red streams that crept toward the gutter. What the… Charles rushed immediately to her side. His hand lifted her. “Stay with me.” To his horror, it was the woman’s final breath. She collapsed in his arms. “Oh my God…” Charles panicked. He wanted to call for help, but no one else was there. He was alone with a dead woman and a phone that was out of battery. Before he could think of what to do, a distant siren suddenly broke the morning silence. As if by instinct, Charles turned toward the sound. It was getting closer. The police? Should he run? Charles was at a loss and indecisive. Before he could decide, tires screeched on the street. It was a police vehicle that was on patrol, obviously. Doors flew open. Flashlights snapped toward him. “Police! Don’t move!” “Drop your weapon!” Charles froze. His mouth opened as if to protest but… “Don’t move.” Two police officers approached him with flashlights, blinding his vision. “Hands on your head!” Charles obeyed instinctively as the gun slipped from his trembling hands. Still staring at the dead woman as though the scene might suddenly make sense. Rough hands grabbed his arms, and cold metal cuffs snapped around his wrists. Click. One of the police officers took photos of the scene and called an ambulance, which arrived in minutes. They took the dead body away. As the officers pulled him toward the police vehicle, Charles looked back one last time at the woman being dragged into the ambulance. He had woken up with no memory of who he truly was. Now, before he could even find the woman he was searching for, he was being taken away for a murder he did not commit.

Police Don't Move