Twenty Minutes

Natasha came home early today. Her head was killing her and she could barely walk straight in the corridor.

The keys. Where are the keys?

She searched her handbag, getting more frustrated by the second. Finally she just dumped everything out onto the floor.

There. The keyring.

It had this weird time-cycle design engraved on it. Rusty but kind of cool. She'd seen it at the thrift store yesterday and bought it without thinking twice.

She unlocked the door and went straight to the fridge. Grabbed the water bottle and started chugging.

The moment the water hit her throat, everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in her apartment anymore. She was standing outside in bright sunlight.

Her hometown.

No. No way.

She pulled out her phone with shaking hands. The date said yesterday. And the time was 3:00 PM.

Her stomach dropped. She'd read about it in the newspaper this morning - at 3:20 PM yesterday, a fire broke out at the hospital six blocks from here. She remembered thinking how awful it was. How she wished someone could've stopped it.

She had twenty minutes.

---

20 minutes.

That's it.

Before her mind could even grasp that she'd actually traveled back in time, her legs were already moving. She started running to catch a cab.

Her heart was pounding.

No time to think. No time to process any of this.

She hailed a cab and mumbled the hospital name to the driver.

The images kept playing in her mind on loop. The newspaper photos. The children, the adults, the elderly - the fire hadn't spared anyone.

*If only someone had switched off that electric oven in the hospital kitchen on time.*

She'd been repeating that line in her head since yesterday. Or was it tomorrow? Who knows anymore.

"Ma'am, we've reached the hospital," the driver called out.

She didn't have cash. She told him to wait a minute and bolted toward the hospital entrance, the driver shouting after her.

---

By now she knew the kitchen floor number - she'd dug through every detail of the news story yesterday.

She entered the elevator and hit the button for the 5th floor.

Yeah, that was it.

The doors started to close, then jerked open again.

The elevator wasn't working.

She checked her phone. 3:15 PM already.

Panic hit her hard.

Her whole body trembled but her legs moved before she could think.

The stairs.

Heart pounding in her ears, she ran as fast as she could.

3:17 PM

Time was moving too fast.

3:19 PM

She burst through the kitchen doors.

Staff members looked up, startled. She didn't stop.

"Switch off the oven! Switch it off!" she screamed.

They started toward her, confused, alarmed.

She ran to the ovens, shoving past a cook.

3:20 PM.

She reached for the switch and -

It was already off.

And then the explosion.

Fire erupted from the wall behind the oven. Not from the oven itself; from the wiring inside the wall.

Before she could process what was happening, everything went black.

---

Her head was throbbing again.

And now she heard it - the water bottle hitting the floor with a loud slam.

So what was that? A dream?

But it felt too real.

She collapsed onto the kitchen tiles.

When she opened her eyes again, it was dark outside. She checked her phone. 10:00 PM.

Her head still felt heavy, foggy.

She opened her browser with shaking hands and searched for the hospital fire.

The article loaded.

She gasped.

Everything was the same as she remembered from this morning's newspaper. The time. The location. The faulty wiring in the wall behind the kitchen ovens.

But there was one new detail:

Witnesses reported a young woman storming into the kitchen moments before the fire, screaming about the ovens. Her identity remains unknown.

Natasha scrolled down to the casualty list.

Her stomach turned to ice.

The number had gone up by one.

Four dead instead of three.

---

She fumbled and the phone slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor.

Was she a victim too?

How was that even possible?

She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming.

Her hands were shaking. Her knees felt weak.

She bent down and picked up the phone.

Wait.

She stared at it.

This wasn't her phone.

She checked again, turning it over in her hands. It looked like her phone, same model, same cracked screen protector, but the case was blue. Hers was black.

Her breath caught.

She fumbled for the light switch.

The room flooded with light, and her heart stopped.

The room was different.

Not completely. But noticeably. The couch was against the wrong wall. The curtains were a different color. That photo frame on the shelf - she'd never seen it before.

She spun around, searching for the keyring.

There - on the counter.

But it wasn't the rusty time-cycle keyring from the thrift store.

It was a small doll keychain. Bright plastic. Cheerful.

"What is happening?" she whispered.

Then louder: "What is HAPPENING?"

She started screaming.

---

She was terrified.

Her mind went blank.

If she died in that fire, then how was she alive here?

She had to be dreaming.

But then why was she waking up in a different room? With different things?

She ran to the bathroom mirror.

Her breath stopped.

Her hair was shorter. Just above her shoulders instead of mid-back.

And her shirt - she'd been wearing a black top when she came home. This one was red.

Something was off.

Something was definitely, horribly off.

What should she do?

The keyring. She needed the keyring. The original one.

That's it. That's the answer.

She grabbed a coat from the rack - not hers, but close enough. Found car keys on the counter. Also not hers.

She ran out the door.

---

She wasn't even sure this was her car.

She pressed the key fob.

A silver sedan across the street blinked its lights.

Close enough.

She got in and sped toward the thrift store, her hands gripping the wheel too tight.

Within minutes, she was there.

She ran to the door and pounded on it.

"Hello? Hello!"

No answer.

Closed.

She slumped against the door and slid down to sit on the pavement.

She'd have to wait until morning.

Her mind raced, trying to piece it together.

She didn't know how she'd traveled through time - or between timelines, or whatever this was.

She didn't know how any of it worked.

But she knew three things for certain:

One: The fire broke out at the hospital at 3:20 PM.

Two: The keyring had something to do with it.

Three: This was not her timeline.

So she sat there in the dark and started planning her next move.

---

Morning sunlight hit her face and she jolted awake.

She'd been thinking, calculating, working through possibilities since 10 PM. Now she was as ready as she'd ever be.

The moment the shop owner unlocked the door, she pushed inside.

She went straight to that corner. The familiar corner.

And there it was.

Rusty. Intriguing. Calling to her.

She grabbed it.

She didn't like it. She didn't trust it.

But she needed it desperately.

She paid and rushed back to the apartment.

---

Back home, she stood in the middle of the living room.

Step two.

She held the keyring in her palm, staring at it. The emotions swirling inside her were too complicated to name - fear, determination, curiosity, dread.

She traced the engraved time-cycle pattern with her finger.

The world tilted.

---

She opened her eyes.

She was standing at the gate of the hospital.

She checked the phone.

3:00 PM.

Twenty minutes. Again.

This time, she stayed calm. She had a plan.

She walked into the hospital and headed straight for the maintenance floor on the ground level.

She'd rehearsed every word in her head while sitting outside that thrift store all night.

When she found a maintenance worker, she flashed confidence she didn't feel.

"I'm from the safety inspection team. We need to check the electrical connections in the building. There's been a report of faulty wiring."

The man looked skeptical but tired enough not to argue.

3:15 PM.

She found the main electrical panel for the fifth floor kitchen. With shaking hands, she switched off the circuit.

The lights in the hallway flickered. Somewhere above, she heard the elevators grind to a halt.

This would work. It had to work.

She turned to leave and froze.

A trembling figure flew past her in the hallway. A young woman, panicked, rushing toward the elevator bank.

Natasha's breath caught.

That was her. The her from the first timeline. The her who didn't know the power was already cut.

She rushed after her past self; the trembling figure heading for the stairs.

She couldn't live in this wrong reality. She had to try again.

She reached the kitchen just in time.

3:20 PM.

The explosion tore through the fifth floor.

Natasha collapsed against the wall, gasping.

She'd cut the power.

She'd warned everyone.

She'd done everything right.

And still, the fire happened.

---

She woke up in a newer reality, again.

She checked her phone with shaking hands, already knowing what she'd find.

Five dead in hospital fire.

Five.

Three original victims. Two versions of herself.

She closed her eyes.

Again.

She again retrieved the keyring from the thrift store and traced it again.

---

This time, when the world stopped spinning, she opened her eyes to morning sunlight.

She checked the time: 9:00 AM.

Six hours before the fire.

She had time. She had to think differently.

She walked into the hospital calmly, like a visitor. No rushing. No panic. Just observation.

And then she found it.

On the third floor, she paused near a maintenance closet. Voices drifted through the gap in the door.

"- it's settled then. After the last shift leaves. Third floor utility room, behind the kitchen."

"Are you sure about this? People could get hurt."

"The insurance will cover it. We'll make sure the building's evacuated. I don't have a choice anymore - the creditors are closing in. If we don't get that payout, the hospital shuts down anyway. At least this way, we rebuild."

Natasha's blood ran cold.

Not an electrical fire.

Arson.

She followed the voices carefully, staying in the shadows. The employee left through a side exit.

The other man, older, well-dressed—headed toward the elevators.

She trailed him to the top floor.

The executive suite. Hospital administration.

She waited until he entered an office, then slipped close enough to read the nameplate: Director Malcolm Chen.

Through the glass wall, she could see his office.

Diplomas. Awards. And on the credenza behind his desk, old family photographs in ornate frames.

Her heart stopped.

In one photo, a man from what looked like the 1920s stood in front of this very hospital.

And hanging from his hand, clearly visible: The keyring.

The same time-cycle design. The same rusty metal.

She understood.

The ancestors knew. Someone in that family had seen something, known something, and created this keyring as a safeguard. A way to undo a terrible mistake before it happened.

And somehow, it had ended up in a thrift store, waiting for someone desperate enough, or foolish enough to use it.

Waiting for her.

---

She didn't have much time.

Natasha found a piece of hospital stationery in an empty office and began to write:

Director Chen,

I know about your plan for tonight. I know about the creditors. I know you think you have no choice.

But you do.

Buy a lottery ticket TODAY. Use these numbers:

She wrote down the winning numbers from yesterday's - no, tomorrow's - newspaper. The ones she'd seen on her phone while sitting outside the thrift store all night.

This will sound insane. But I'm asking you to trust me. Buy the ticket. The drawing is tonight at 8 PM. Check the numbers. You'll have your money.

Please. Don't set the fire.

The hospital can be saved another way.

She then used her phone to take a photo of the keyring. She printed the photo on the office printer and attached it to the letter.

At the bottom, she added:

*This belonged to your family. They wanted you to have another choice.*

She slipped the letter under his office door.

---

Then she left the hospital, walked back to the apartment that wasn't quite hers, and sat on the couch.

She looked at the photo of the keyring on her phone.

If this worked, if he listened, if he bought the ticket, if the timeline shifted - what would happen to her?

Would she remember any of this?

Would those other versions of her, the ones who died in the fire, simply... cease to exist?

She didn't know.

But she was so, so tired.

Natasha lay down on the unfamiliar couch, still clutching the phone, and closed her eyes.

---

She again woke to sunlight streaming through her window.

Her window.

She sat up slowly. The room was right. The black curtains. The couch against the correct wall. Her phone - the right phone - on the coffee table.

She grabbed it with trembling hands.

The date: Thursday. The day after the fire was supposed to happen.

She searched: hospital fire.

Nothing.

No articles. No news reports.

She searched for Director Malcolm Chen instead.

The first result made her breath catch:

Local Hospital Director Wins $15 Million Lottery, Pledges Funds to Facility Upgrades

There was a photo of him, beaming, holding an oversized check.

And in the background of the photo, barely visible on his desk: A rusty keyring with a time-cycle design.

Natasha's eyes filled with tears.

She looked down at her own hand.

The keyring was gone.

She didn't know if the other timelines still existed somewhere - the ones where versions of her had died trying to save people she'd never met. But here, in this timeline, everyone lived.

Including her.

Natasha took a shaky breath and smiled through her tears.

It was enough.

---