“Come in here.” He loosened my hand from Maman’s necklace, pulling me toward him, into his office, the door snicking shut behind us, triggering a flash of image and idea: a splintered door swinging open, light filtering in. On one side, a before; on the other side, an after. Even if a person stepped right back through the door, that action would still be after; the body would be altered in some way for having stepped through—even if the alteration were as simple as growing five seconds older.
