Chapter Three: The Source

“So, Mother died,” I said factually, still unable to wrap my head around it. First, my sister was way older than I could ever imagine, and I was 17. If she’d told me that I retained my youthful appearance, that wouldn’t be a problem for me.

But less than 24 hours before, I was a vegetable of an old man, and waking up and still feeling slight pains didn’t add up. Aside from the fact that I wasn’t meant to be able to walk ever again, I was meant to be half-dead from the intensity of the crash. It was a monster truck going at breakneck speed.

“Yes, she did. And she wanted to apologize.” Grace fidgeted, but I didn’t know why; I didn’t want to hear it. It was probably something sad or something that did not correlate with the current situation.

“Don’t worry about it; I never held a grudge. Now, can I tell you my side of the story?” I asked, waiting for my time to speak. I started to mentally file the issues I was experiencing, and one thing stood out: I had no recollection of 50 years.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Ready. I want to understand how exactly you were able to retain your youthfulness,” she teased, and I cracked a smile. I wasn’t sure she’d believe me.

“First, I saw you yesterday. Mum was ragging on me as usual, and I left the house to get the groceries. I rode my bicycle without a care in the world, and well, I got into a crash. I heard a voice call out to me before the crash, but it was too late. And when I was about to die, I heard a voice talk to me about a second chance. I don’t recognize it, so I can’t tell you where it’s from. I was creeped out too, but I took it. And opened my eyes. Here I am,” I finished, and Grace’s weathered face was contorted with concern.

I knew she wouldn’t believe me; I wasn’t sure I believed myself.

“Well, you still talk like I remember anyway. So, are you saying this voice gave you a second chance? How’s that possible?” Grace was obviously interested in my story, which was funny because I didn’t think she was the type to take the things I said seriously. But something must have happened to change her.

“I don’t know myself. But that voice felt like a god for some reason. And yes, I’m not superstitious or hung up about something like that, but what else would explain it?” I was glad for a listening ear, and Grace smiled, patting my hands and listening to me. It felt truly amazing to be heard and seen.

“Oops, visiting hours are over. You need to rest. I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said, all motherly. I couldn’t reconcile with the image of the teenage Grace, who loved makeup and fashion. The woman before me was weathered and had a tough exterior.

I wondered what she’d gone through, but I couldn’t ask; it just felt wrong.

I sat on my bed, and suddenly, I could hear Grace’s voice. Even though she’d left the room and was far from where I was, I could hear her voice as clear as day.

"sshowing signs of dementia. It’s been over fifty years, and I don’t understand the reverse aging process, but it hurts me to see him this way. He’s my only brother. And he’s lost his mind.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; it felt like a betrayal of uncharted proportions. The room felt restrictive; my breath was coming out in ragged gasps, but I made sure I didn’t make any loud sounds to make sure the doctor didn’t rush in. I calmed my racing heart and listened again.

"This is uncommon; I can’t tell you we’ve ever dealt with this before. And based on his words, he’s cognitively sound. There’s no sign of anything wrong with him. Which is curious because he’s not meant to be able to move after fifty years this way. He isn’t even meant to have lengthy conversations, but here he is. We examined his brain waves before, and I don’t know how to say this, but the accident affected his ability to speak. At least, days ago. But now, we can’t use the same values as before; they no longer matter. And he’s your brother; did you notice anything different?”

“Do you expect me to just roll over and accept that the brother I lost all those years ago is alive and well? He doesn’t even look tired or sick. He looks exactly like he did when we were teenagers, and that cockiness is present. I don’t believe his story, but I can’t cancel it out. And I hate myself for hoping, but what if it’s true? What if the phenomenon changed him?”

I could hear the shuffling of chairs, but I kept listening. It was clear someone stood up.

“I don’t know; the phenomenon has given people powers, but I haven’t heard about this before. I’ll ask those in my field, and I hope I can give you a concise explanation the next time you come.”

I stopped listening and then focused on the “phenomenon” they mentioned. Was it responsible for the world going to hell? And the floating buildings? Everything was wrong; I didn’t remember the world being so futuristic yet feeling so despondent. It was definitely not a world I wanted to belong to.

I was fine; I could feel it. I had nothing particularly wrong with me; my legs were as sturdy as ever, and my brain was as active as it’d ever been.

So, they were either wrong or...

I changed.

I couldn’t tell which was scarier.