“You’ve worked here for eight years,” Jessee adds.
“That can’t be…no.” My dreams of finishing medical school ping around in my head like loose beads. “I’m not a doctor.”
“You are. You’re one of the best…when you’re not being a douche.” She mumbles the second part, and Ahman holds a hand up to quiet her.
“It is the year 2026.”
I blink, waiting,willinghim to say ‘Just kidding.’ But he doesn’t. He watches me, letting this information sink in.
But I don’t let it. “Prove it.”
“Jessee?” Dr. Ahman glances over his shoulder, and she stands at attention. “Go grab today’s paper and Steven’s cell phone, please.”
She’s gone and back in seconds, thrusting the items over Ahman’s shoulders. He hands them to me without hesitation, wanting to prove his point. The caution in his demeanor is fading.
I eye them both prudently before gingerly taking the paper and my cell phone from his hands. But the shiny screen isn’t one I recognize.
“This isn’t—” I try, but Ahman presses the button on the side, and the screen powers on in my hand. A buffering circle disappears quickly before a photo of a woman graces the screen. Penetratingly beautiful green eyes, long brown hair, and a smile that can stop traffic. She looks familiar, but the persistent pain in my head makes placing her near impossible.
“Go to your contacts and find someone you recognize,” Dr. Ahman instructs.
I click the phone icon, and a long list of names pops up on the recently called list. Not many seem familiar at first. The typical Mom and Dad are there, but that could be anyone, and I don’t waste time opening the contact to compare the numbers to my own mother and father. I keep scrolling until a name I have known since sophomore year of college pops up.
Liam.
I arch a brow, apprehensive,then click the name.
“Jones, what’s up, man?” Liam’s muffled, unmistakable voice comes from the phone still sitting in my hand.
I hang up abruptly, full-blown, fiery anxiety coursing through my veins now. I frantically reach for the newspaper. It’s a wadded-up mess, and I sift through the sections until I get to the front page. Some headline about a town named Glendale is plastered on the front, and in tiny letters in the top right is the date.
January 18th, 2026.
My arms go limp, dropping the paper in my lap. My phone buzzes next to me as Liam’s face and mine pop up on the screen. But it’s not our faces like I remember. We’reolder. Wrinkles around our eyes and his mouth, his hair is thinner, and mine has gray in it. The photo disappears as his missed-call notification dings.
I sit up straighter, now clicking the camera icon and bringing it to my face. My hands shake as a withered version of myself is reflected back at me. A cut on my forehead and some bruising on my cheek and neck are clears signs of being attacked. Everything crashes into me like a wave.
“I…I don’t understand.” My words stammer as heat rises up my neck. My throat constricts, and the air in my lungs turns thick and sticky. The phone buzzes again, startling the phone out of my hands. Dr. Ahman clicks the button to silence it and sets it on the side table.
The room around me starts to sway, and a chalky taste forms in my mouth. “Can I have some water?” I croak out the words, and Ahman hands me a cup.
“I know this is all a bit alarming,” he says, “but we are going to run some tests and figure out the extent of it, alright? We’ll figure this out.”
I nod as he steps out, keeping my eyes pinned on the date on the newspaper now mocking me. Jessee must sense this because she pulls it out of my lap and sets itaside.
“So…” I begin to muster an apology, but she must sense that too and waves a hand at me.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a lot.” She gives me a gentle smile, one that tells me she knows me and I should trust her. But I’m not letting my guard down yet.
“So you don’t remember—”
Her words are cut short by a sudden commotion echoing down the hall.
“Steven!” a woman shouts before she barrels into the room, panting, with bloodshot eyes. She searches me frantically, her body not leaving the doorway, but her eyes tell me she would leap onto this bed if she could.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“That’s your wife.”
