TEN
The sun was setting as Caitlin and Caleb approached Hawthorne’s house. The simple, red house was set back about 50 feet from the sidewalk, with its walkway and bushes, looked like any other small, suburban house. With its dark red paint and shutters, it had an antique simplicity about it. It was modest.
Still, one could tell it was different. It exuded history.
They both stood there, looking at it, and a silence fell over them.
“I thought it would be bigger,” Caitlin said.
Caleb stood there, furrowing his brows.
“What’s wrong?”
“I remember this house,” Caleb said. “I’m not sure from when. But I seem to remember it being somewhere else.”
Caitlin looked at him, at his perfectly sculpted features, and marveled at how much he remembered. She wondered what it was like to remember so
