Lynn stared down at the kitchen table, her mind buzzing with questions, scenarios, and a deep, deep… disbelief. The past few hours seemed like a fever dream.
Across from her, was the cause—Jake. Or rather, the lack thereof. The man that went by the name of ‘Thesius’, devoured a burrito with unbridled enthusiasm. After each bite, he’d mutter, “Wonderful, wonderful,” his eyes wide with delight, and his mouth filled with tortilla and fillings.
Lynn glanced up briefly, taking in the scene: a man who claimed to be from another world, stuffing his face with takeout as if he’d never tasted anything so divine. It would’ve been amusing if it weren’t for the sheer absurdity of it. She let out a long breath, sinking further into her chair.
How’d this happen?
“Okay,” Lynn finally said, breaking the silence. “Let’s start simple. What happened to Jake?”
Thesius paused mid-bite, the burrito still hovering near his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and leaned back in his chair. “Somewhere on my dimension, I’d imagine,” he said with a casual shrug, as if discussing weekend plans.
“…That’s it? Somewhere?” Lynn’s brow furrowed.
“Well, yes,” he replied. “He’s taken over my body, so wherever my body was last, that’s where he’s likely to be.”
“And left to fend for himself?”
He shrugged again before having another go at his burrito. Lynn stared at him, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But before she could press him further, another question emerged. “What exactly can you do, magic-wise?”
Thesius’ face lit up at the question. He stood abruptly, apparently preparing some sort of demonstration,“Since you insist!”
Lynn’s hands shot up. “No, no—never mind. That’s not needed. Really.” The memory of the hospital scene flashed in her mind, and the last thing she needed was a hole in her tiny apartment. “Just… explain it to me. Sweet and short.”
Thesius sat back down, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “Fine. The short version is, I manipulate aura.”
“…That’s it?”
“Sweet and short, no?” he said with a smirk. “Here’s the problem, I do not have much aura left. In my dimension, everyone has Magic Captors—tiny, cup-like containers in their blood vessels that store aura. They’re constantly replenished by the body’s natural flow. Here? Absent. No captors. No aura. The little aura I brought with me is draining fast, and what’s left will soon return to my original body.”
Lynn nodded. “So… no more magic?”
Thesius nodded back gravely. “I’m lucky I’ve been able to do anything at all. Without Magic Captors, I’m essentially running on fumes.”
Lynn leaned back in her chair, absorbing the new info. “Okay. So why are you even here? How’d it happen?”
Thesius hesitated. “I’m searching for someone,” he said. “Someone whose existence is crucial to saving my entire dimension. Without them, my world will perish.”
These were heavy words. Lynn’s body froze. “Who?”
“I have but one clue,” Thesius said. “A single date—July 6th, 5 years ago.”
“That’s not much to go on,” Lynn said, frowning. “What even happened on that date?”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“It’s the date of the original dimension swap. On my dimension, it’s been over 300 years since then.”
“Three hundred!?”
“Yes,” he replied, uncharacteristically somber. “Listen. I did not come here lightly. If I fail…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Lynn studied him for a moment. His previously carefree demeanor was now replaced with something more earnest and raw. She sighed, rubbing her temples.
Well, my life was getting kinda boring anyways.
Then, surprising herself, Lynn spoke. “I’ll help you.”
Thesius, however, didn’t look very surprised. “Of course you will.”
“Woah, what does that mean?”
“Nothing particular,” he said as he went back to his burrito. “Where should we begin?” His voice now muffled.
Lynn perked up, gesturing at the laptop. “A computer.”
***
Marcus Weaver slumped into the worn-out chair in his cramped cubicle. The lights flickered overhead, illuminating his cluttered workspace. The walls surrounding him plastered with yellowed clippings of old articles that had once sparked his journalistic ambition. “Supernatural Lights at the White House!” headlined one. “Secret Governmental Experiments Exposed!” proclaimed another.
These were relics of a career that had once promised greatness, now reduced to a cautionary tale in the newsroom.
“Hey, Sherlock,” a voice called out, accompanied by the thud of a file landing on his desk. “Right up your alley.”
Marcus looked up to see Jennifer, a fellow reporter, her expression barely concealing mockery. She tapped the label on the report: Strange sightings at Saint L?we’s Hospital.
Jennifer chuckled before spinning on her heel and sauntering away. Marcus frowned but opened the folder regardless. Most would have tossed it aside, but he had learned that great stories began with seemingly insignificant details. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
***
Saint L?we’s hospital lobby was disappointingly ordinary. Sterile and bureaucratic. Marcus approached the front desk, flashing his press badge, the laminated identification that he hoped would shield against any potential resistance.
A middle-aged nurse with tired eyes looked up as he approached.
“Marcus Weaver, The QSBC Tribune,” he said, using his professional voice. “I’m investigating the incident from a few days ago. The one with the unusual… occurrence.”
The nurse’s reaction was telling. A subtle shift in posture, a quick glance to her colleague, and some hesitation before speaking.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.
Marcus pressed on. “Witnesses reported a strange event a few days ago. An unusual incident involving a man who seemed… out of place?”
Another glance, and carefully constructed response. “Hospital Policy prevents me from discussing patient details any further.”
But Marcus was good at reading people, and this nurse had clearly been instructed on what to do if anyone came asking.
When Marcus requested to review the security footage, the response was instant. “The footage from that day? Unfortunately corrupted,” the administrator on duty said, shaking his head. “Must have been the power surge.”
Corrupted? Convenient.
He pressed on, asking for the incident reports and witness statements. And as expected, discrepancies. Times that didn’t quite match. Descriptions that seemed deliberately vague. Only one witness statement caught his attention. A brief mention of two individuals rather than one—a male and a female.
Marcus stepped outside, the evening sunlight chipping away at his skin. Nothing stood out to him on the street, but his gaze settled on a modest convenience store across the way. Perfect vantage point. It was small, with a flickering neon “OPEN” sign in the window, but most importantly, security cameras. He was in luck, these businesses didn’t often keep comprehensive security footage.
Inside, the store smelled faintly of bleach. Behind the counter stood a young man in his early twenties, scrolling through his phone. Marcus approached casually.
“Busy day?” he asked, making small talk.
The cashier shrugged. “Same as always.”
Marcus dove in. “I see you got cameras upfront, bit overkill, no?”
“Nah, recent robbery,” the cashier responded.
“I’m a journalist looking into an incident at the hospital. Any chance your security cameras might have caught something?”
The cashier raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know.”
“Well, why don’t I have a look at it then.”
The young man tensed up slightly. “Store policy. I can’t just show footage to anyone.”
Policy. One of the greatest enemies of a journalist.
A crisp twenty-dollar bill magically appeared on the counter. Sometimes, journalistic investigations required… flexibility.
The cashier glanced around, pocketed the bill, then led Marcus to a small back room where a monitor displayed several grainy feeds.
“Show me the feed from 2 days ago, starting at 9 a.m.,” Marcus said.
The cashier navigated to the time frame, and the footage began to play. Marcus leaned in, watching.
And he saw everything.
