Radjerd sits on the plush twin sized bed, staring up at the smooth white ceiling. This room is meant to be a temporary holding cell for him—he can’t even tell how much time has gone by since he’s been in here. He was allowed to roam the halls, but he didn’t bother. It’s not like the people here would let him go—damn Aleck made sure of that.

Not only was Aleck lacking in his signature cologne, but he also couldn’t make out a word of Antillan. It’s challenging to comprehend, especially when Radjerd and Aleck had shared quite a few stories about the older man’s past. Aleck proposed to his wife at seventeen; Merise had fallen pregnant. While it should have been a cautionary tale, Aleck told Radjerd that Merise was his best friend—he would have proposed anyway. A baby, however, seemed like the perfect excuse to commit—and prove himself as a lover, and father. It’s one of Radjerd’s favourite Aleck stories. Imagining someone as high-strung as Fitz being brought into the world by two passionate teenagers was ironic and humorous.

Yet, Fitz didn’t exist in this world. In his place was Cordelia Firthe, a perplexing woman in a black strapless dress. She had nerve. She had attitude. She had curves. She had to be younger than Fitz. If Cordelia was the same age as the blond, he’d be shocked.

She did not look thirty-two.

Radjerd watches through the window—outside was a long narrow hallway. A man in a white lab coat walks by—paying no mind to his presence. God, how much longer were they going to keep him trapped? Radjerd had to resort to his imagination to pass the time, which, he’s no stranger to. He spent most of his early twenties behind bars—the cards that life dealt him weren’t so kind. He had talked his way out of many fights. His tall stature didn’t hurt, either. It took two perilous years, plus a rehabilitation program to bring him to the light—and he was grateful for it. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, but all he knew is that he needed the education to get there. The University of Thermidor was a school that focused on Art and the Art of Commerce. He wouldn’t have picked it on his own, but his program had ties to the University—he was part of a pilot program, which meant, his tuition would be covered. He had a single room near the outskirts of campus (no one felt comfortable being situated next to an ex-criminal)—thinking about it—the peace and quiet he experienced for those four years was likely the reason he became so averse to noise pollution. Before, he used to sleep through the noise like a baby, and now—even the slightest sound will wake him up.

His empty plate on the grey metal desk reminds him how tired he was of meat and cheese plates. These damn people kept him fed with finger foods—he should have tried to escape when he had the chance, but violence would cause more trouble than he was already in. If he tried to break out—he might get jail time for his stint at the Firthe Manor. Radjerd groans as he sees a stain on his grey sweatpants. This was not his choice in fashion—far from it. He hated sweatpants. His leather jacket hangs over the end of his bedframe—while his jeans were being washed. He hopes they’ll be delivered tomorrow—it’s hard to understand what’s happening when no one here could communicate with him. At least he could keep himself cleanly shaven—they were kind enough to present him with the amenities he needed. Lucky for him, Willa Corp’s holding cell was a cozy room. At least there were two books written in his language. Judging by the new book smell, they were purchased just for him. Reading helped when his imagination became too much to bear—when thoughts of Aleck, Fitz, and that fracture flooded his thoughts. Had that watch really transferred him to another reality? One where Aleck hadn’t detonated the watch—at least, for now. But, if he made it through, that meant that Fitz had to as well. If Radjerd ended up in Aleck Firthe’s office, where did that leave Fitz?

Did he die?

A harrowing thought, it was too much to bear. He’d rather think of prison.

Radjerd grabs the glossy paperback from his end-table. The premise of the book was simple, a man washing up ashore with no memories of who he was, or where he came from. Except, with a twist. He had a locket in his hand—a picture of a woman and two children inside. Maybe, that’s what happened to his father. No, his father didn’t leave by accident—he left his mother, sister and him on purpose.

He stops mid-page, lowering his book. He can hear muffled voices from outside his room, both female and Weltish. One, an average looking woman with short brown hair wearing a white lab coat, the other woman is tall, her sleek black hair reached down to her waistline. She wasn’t wearing a lab coat. As the taller woman steps forward, her steel blue eyes meet contact with Radjerd’s violet ones. She looks slightly younger than the brunette, but she’s definitely an adult. She briskly turns around, her long dark hair swishing from the motion. She looked Weltish, but hair that dark and luscious usually donned the heads of St. Antillan women.

Radjerd hears the creak of the door handle, his head turns as it opens.

The brunette woman steps inside. <Good evening.>

Was it? Radjerd didn’t even know how many days he spent in this place. It’s not like he had a window to the outside world. Wait… This woman spoke Antillan. Thank God!

<…Evening.> Mild annoyance creeps in.

<I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I don’t live in the area, and I was in the middle of a couple of things. My name’s Phoebe Willa—my mother is in charge, really. I only mitigate when necessary.> She leans out her hand, keeping her distance from Radjerd. It’s fair, he couldn’t hide his displeasure. At least someone could speak Antillan. He didn’t realize how little Antillan was spoken in Glade Bay—if this place was even called Glade Bay… <We’re not in the business of …detaining people. Was your stay alright? Did you get enough to eat? I hope our grounds were comfortable.> If Radjerd wasn’t miffed, he could say that she was easy on the eyes.

<It works. Endured much worse.> He keeps it short, not in the mood to talk. Even if he was relieved to use his voice—he hadn’t heard it in quite some time. He closes his eyes—now wasn’t the time to be hostile. It’s time to use the charm Fitz praised him for. <That is, in my line of work. Forgive me if I seem grouchy, I know you’re just doing your job.>

<I…I have to say, I appreciate that you recognize that. Most wouldn’t be so forgiving in your …position, as it were. I know I wouldn’t have appreciated being locked up in a place where I could barely understand the language. I promise things will get better from here.> The woman’s cute when she smiles, her cheeks rosy as her lips reveal pearly white teeth.

<I appreciate your consideration, Phoebe.> Radjerd relaxes, looking down at her hand, a glimmering band rests on her ring finger. <You’re married?>

<Oh, yes!> She moves her hand towards the fluorescent light. <I thought this ring was too flashy, but my husband insisted it was becoming.> Radjerd can see what she means. Under her white lab coat, she wore a plain black t-shirt and fitted jeans. Her brown eyes reflect the glitter of her gold ring. Maybe he had a thing for married ladies—after all—this wasn’t the first time he came across a cute brunette girl with a ring on her finger.

Phoebe turns serious. <Listen, I won’t waste your time. You’re here under investigation—Mr. Firthe filled us in—you claim to be from a different reality?>

Radjerd stares at her blankly.

<I don’t expect you to be open with me right this minute—I get why you’re mad. I’d be mad too if I were you—locking you up without any real method of communication is cruel, and I’m really, really sorry.>

<Don’t blame yourself.> Radjerd’s finding it hard to stay in character.

Phoebe sits down, crossing her legs as she speaks, <To give you a briefing—we deal with paranormal occurrences—but I won’t bore you with the details. In Glade Bay, we’ve been commissioned by the Firthe Family to investigate branching realities, parallel dimensions, and time travel.> She looks to the woman outside his room, who is sneaking glances at Radjerd. It’s starting to annoy him.

<Doesn’t your friend know it’s rude to stare?> Radjerd cocks a brow.

<Pay her no mind, she’s here to observe.> Phoebe watches carefully—almost giving the young woman a warning look. After, she gives Radjerd her full attention. <We don’t know a lot about dimension travel, but we were hoping you can tell us how you did it. Of course, it won’t be without benefit to you. The more you’re able to tell us, the sooner I can let you go.> This Phoebe woman was expecting a lot more than he could offer. I did it by accident wasn’t exactly helpful. Radjerd knew nothing about how this stuff worked—that was Fitz’s department. If Fitz was here, all of this would have been resolved in seconds. What the hell would he do if he were in Radjerd’s shoes?

<How do you know I’m not faking it?> Radjerd asks out of curiosity.

Phoebe bites her bottom lip; her brown eyes emanate concern. <I’ve done my research on you before coming here. I believe you’re the real deal.>

There’s something about the way she delivers that tidbit that worries him. Did he want to find out what his other self was up to?

<Identity theft is common, and I wanted to rule it out before I started to question you. If it wasn’t for my investigation, I might have doubted Aleck’s story.> The worry in her face throws Radjerd off.

<Do you have a reason not to trust him?> His curiosity piques.

<No, it’s not that. Aleck can be a little on the idealistic side. He usually makes a big deal over nothing. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that he saw a break-in as a sign of some sort.> Phoebe rolls her eyes.

Now that sounds like the Aleck he knows. Radjerd braces himself.

<Listen… If you can help us get a better understanding of your dimension, I can compensate you handsomely.>

<Wait, how do you know what I said? Aleck couldn’t understand me.

Phoebe says simply, <Cordelia told him.>

Right. That made perfect sense.

At that moment, inspiration overwhelms Radjerd.

Cordelia didn’t believe him when he told her Aleck’s watch destroyed his dimension. She told Aleck despite her disbelief. Either there was a part of her that believed him, or, she wasn’t very smart. If it was the latter—Radjerd has an idea. If he could feed Cordelia incorrect pieces of Intel, there’s no way Aleck could finalize that watch. He already shared what had happened because of the watch, but if he could embellish it—there’s already proof that Aleck listens to her. He could cease production on that watch entirely, and, be released from the clutches of Willa Corp. Once he secured his freedom, he could search for Fitz.

<Alright, I’ll talk. But, on one condition.>

<And that is?> Phoebe leans forward.

<I want to talk to Aleck’s daughter.> It feels off to say it—but in this reality—it’s true. <I have some questions that need answering, and I think she’s the only one who can help.> It’s a half-truth; the more he knew about Cordelia, the more he could figure out where Fitz might be. He doesn’t understand why yet, but that’s what his gut is telling him. There’s a chance the two are the same person—no—he’s not going to see Cordelia as Hot Lady Fitz.

Surprise flashes across Phoebe’s face. <You want to talk to Cordelia?>

<The two of you met?> Which, would make Cordelia a liar if so. She claimed she knew nothing about Willa Corp.

<Cordelia’s never stepped foot into Willa Corp. Not even family members are cleared unless there is a special reason for it—even if she’s related.>

Related to Aleck Firthe, she meant.

<Uh, just hold on a second. I’ll be right back.>

Phoebe shuffles out of the room—instantly talking to the black-haired girl. Who the heck was she, and why was she staring at him with those doe-like eyes? Was it someone who knows this dimension’s version of himself—or knew? He had no idea what became of this world’s Radjerd …if he even existed.

Whatever Phoebe told her made the girl leave, and quickly.

<What did you say to her?> Radjerd asks as Phoebe enters the room.

<Never mind that.> She looks at Radjerd with speculation. <What troubles me is Cordelia. What if she doesn’t want to speak with you? Given how the two of you met, it’s understandable.>

<There are questions I have that only she can answer. I feel it’s fair for both parties involved.>

Phoebe sighs, exasperation drapes through her. <It is if Cordelia agrees. But, if Cordelia’s presence will make you talk, I will give her clearance to enter—please no funny business. I’m risking a lot by bringing her here.>

<And why is that?>

Phoebe remains tight lipped.

Radjerd nods, <I figured you weren’t going to tell me.>

<If she does agree to meet with you, remember this. Anything confidential is best said to me. There’s a high possibility that Cordelia will echo everything you say back to her father.>

What Phoebe doesn’t know—that’s exactly what he’s counting on.