After returning to the lighthouse, we made our final preparations with desperate haste. Jack ensured all lighthouse equipment was in optimal condition, examining the various mechanical apparatus to guarantee the lamp would function continuously throughout the impending tempest. I focused on studying the three pocket watches, searching for clues about the "correct distribution" my grandmother had mentioned in her letter.
Outside, the storm drew ever closer, lightning streaking across the heavens with increasing frequency, thunder rumbling ominously, and waves crashing against the lighthouse base with the force of a giant's footfalls. According to Jack's barometer readings, this would be the most ferocious storm to batter Fog Point in a decade.
At three in the afternoon, two hours and forty-seven minutes remained until the critical moment, and one hour until the mayor's possible arrival. We sat at the round table on the lighthouse's middle level, spreading out all our collected materials—Jack's notes, "Joseph's" letter, passages from Arthur Howard's journal, and the brief message left by my grandmother.
"The three pocket watches function only when in the right hands," I read this sentence repeatedly. "What constitutes the 'right' distribution?"
Jack pondered, his fingers gently tapping the table. "If we assume one person must hold two watches to control the direction of crossing, and the other person takes the third to stabilise the rift, then the question becomes—who should cross over, and who should remain behind?"
This question hung heavily in the air. Just as I was about to respond, I caught a strange sound emanating from the top of the lighthouse—like soft footsteps, barely discernible amidst the howling gale.
"Someone's up there," Jack said alertly, quickly rising to his feet.
We carefully ascended the spiral staircase to the top of the lighthouse. As we pushed open the door to the observation platform, the fierce wind nearly wrenched it from our grasp. Rain had begun to fall sideways, stinging our faces like countless tiny needles.
The observation platform stood empty, but the lighthouse's main lamp was behaving strangely—the light was no longer its normal white, but instead emitted a faint blue luminescence, almost identical to the glow from the pocket watches. Even more peculiar, the main lamp seemed to be flickering in an irregular rhythm, neither conforming to its normal rotation pattern nor resembling a mechanical malfunction.
"This is some sort of signal," Jack said in amazement, squinting at the flickering light. "Like Morse code, but not quite the same."
I approached the main lamp, feeling an odd warmth—not from the lamp's heat, but from some deeper energy. When I extended my hand near the light, the pocket watch against my chest suddenly grew warm, perfectly synchronised with the lamp's flickering.
"Jack, look!" I exclaimed, withdrawing my watch. The face no longer displayed the time, but instead showed a series of symbols that changed in rhythm with the flickering light.
Jack also produced his watch and discovered the same phenomenon. When we placed the two watches side by side, the symbols formed a complete sequence.
"This is a language," Jack said softly. "One I've never encountered before, but somehow, I can comprehend parts of it."
Strangely, I experienced the same sensation—the symbols should have been entirely foreign to me, yet some intuition allowed me to recognise patterns and meanings within them.
"It's saying... the door of time is about to open," I translated slowly. "Three keys, three choices, three destinies."
Jack continued the translation: "The first key points to the past, the second to the present, the third to the future. Only when all three keys turn simultaneously can the door safely open and close."
We exchanged astonished glances. This wasn't merely about who held which watch, but about connecting three different points in time.
Just then, lightning struck the lighthouse, making the entire structure tremble. The blue light from the main lamp suddenly intensified, projecting a human-shaped shadow on the wall. But there was no one in the lighthouse besides ourselves.
The shadow began to move, as if an invisible visitor were touring the lighthouse. Then, miraculously, the shadow began to speak—the voice seemed to emanate from a great distance, fragmentary yet distinctly audible.
"El...la..." the voice called, with an ethereal echo. "Lis...ten to...me..."
I recognised the voice with a shock that ran through my entire being: "Grandmother?"
"Time...is short," the voice continued. "The three...watches...must be...separated. Past...present...future...three eras...must connect...to stabilise...the cycle."
"What does that mean?" I called out to the shadow. "What should we do?"
"Jack...must...go home," the voice responded. "But 'home'...where is it?...That is...for you...both...to decide."
"How do we distribute the three watches?" Jack asked urgently.
The shadow seemed to turn toward Jack: "One...for the past...Arthur is...ready. One...for the present...to guard the lighthouse. One...for the future...to guide the way."
Another lightning bolt slashed across the sky, and the shadow began to blur. "My time...is up," the voice grew fainter. "Remember...the choice...is not about...leaving or staying...but about...where...you truly belong. Time...will take you...home...if you...allow it."
The final sentence was barely audible:
"Trust...each other...more than...you trust...fate."
With a blinding flash, both the shadow and the blue light vanished simultaneously, and the lighthouse's main lamp returned to its normal white brilliance, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
Jack and I stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to speak. This supernatural experience transcended our understanding, yet it provided crucial guidance.
"Was that truly your grandmother?" Jack finally asked, awe suffusing his voice.
"I believe so," I answered softly. "Somehow, she became a messenger of time, bringing us information across the boundaries of time and space."
We returned to the middle level, re-examining the three pocket watches and the information we'd just received. "One for the past, one for the present, one for the future," I pondered this phrase repeatedly. "Does this mean the three watches must be distributed across three different time periods?"
Jack nodded thoughtfully: "Arthur already possesses one in 1826, that's the 'past.' 'Present' refers to 1925, and 'future' to 2025."
"But there are only two of us," I said, perplexed. "How can we deliver three watches to three different points in time?"
Jack's expression grew resolute: "I believe I understand. One person must cross over, taking one watch; the other person must remain in 1925, keeping the second watch; and the third watch..."
"The third watch must somehow be conveyed to another time point," I completed his thought. "But how?"
We contemplated this for a moment, then suddenly, Jack's eyes brightened with realisation: "We've been assuming there are only two choices—return to 2025 or remain in 1925. But there's a third possibility—journeying to 1826, just as 'Joseph' did."
This idea was startling, yet it perfectly explained "Joseph's" existence and my grandmother's cryptic hints. Three time points, three watches, three possible destinies.
Just as we were deeply immersed in discussing this new discovery, the clamour of carriages and voices erupted from outside the lighthouse—the mayor and his people had arrived early.
"Blast," Jack muttered, rushing to the window. "They're ahead of schedule."
Through the window, we observed the mayor leading at least ten people, carrying various tools and equipment, already beginning to ascend the slope toward the lighthouse.
"We need to buy time," I said urgently. "There's still an hour and forty-five minutes until 5:47."
Jack swiftly made a decision: "I'll deal with them. You continue studying the watches, try to understand how to correctly distribute them across the three time points."
He clasped my hand tightly: "Whatever happens, Ella, remember our agreement—we face this together, no longer prisoners of fate, but masters of our own destiny."
I nodded, watching him hurry downstairs to confront the uninvited guests. Turning to face the three pocket watches, I drew a deep breath, realising that what we were about to face was not merely the challenge of traversing time and space, but a more profound choice—which era did we truly belong to? The distant past, the familiar present, or the unknown future?
Time was ebbing away, and the crucial moment approached inexorably. As the messenger of time, my grandmother had provided guidance, but ultimately, we would have to make the final choice ourselves.