The man moved up the front walk slowly, but not too slowly. He was cautious in his movements, but not cautious enough to be noticed by anyone; anyone but me of course.

This man warranted attention. He was the reason I was in this place. He was the reason I was in this time.

I steadied myself and clutched the gun tighter. I was ready.

Reaching the stoop, he took to the steps; tensed. I could see his anticipation rise as his movements betrayed his growing excitement.

He reached for the doorknob deliberately. Why wouldn’t he? This was his house after all.

The gun, held steady in my hand, was poised to do its job.

The knob turned slightly in his grasp before suddenly snapping back to its resting state.
The man’s hand was gone from the knob along with the rest of him; erased in an instant.

I slowly lowered the gun.

The door opened moments later and the same man appeared. He glanced around briefly as a look of disappointment crossed his face.

Time will not abide a paradox.
Neither will I.