Fracture

(Masculine Voice) “What if there is no way to truly die?”

Jonah listened to his favorite podcast, The Rabbit Hole, as he zig-zaged the familiar potholes of King Street.

“What if you exist in far too many dimensions to be destroyed—even if you tried?

"Choices create paths and collapse them. Some choices are more significant than others.

"We call these nodes. We can identify them, but we can’t predict them.”

Jonah became distracted by the oldest house on King Street. The one with the rigged mailbox and the broken porch-door that opened and shut with the wind. There were warped, dark areas over portions of the home, signs it had withstood a fire.

“Every night we dream, however unremembered, we perform path maintenance.”

A hollow clash, like metal on wood, rang out suddenly from the direction of the ramshackle house. Jonah froze.

“That dream you had that made absolutely no sense, random details from deleted files.”

Jonah looked around at the few passersby who seemed unbothered by the loud sound.

Jonah walked slowly toward the house. He told himself that it must’ve just been a branch falling or the old dwelling finally collapsing in on itself. The night was still, except for the distant sound of traffic. But then came a voice—sharp, panicked, then cut short.

“The dream of witnessing your own demise. That’s a tricky one.”

He hesitated, then stepped onto the creaking porch. A narrow wedge of light leaked through the gap in the door like it dared him to look.

“Could be an avoided path, witnessed as a deletion. Or—”

Jonah leaned forward. Just a glance.

Through the crack, he saw movement—two men in dark clothes, face masks covered their nose and mouth.

They were struggling with someone tied to a chair. Rope gnawed into his wrists. The victim’s head lolled forward, blood half-dried down his temple.

The light caught his face.

“—perhaps you are charting a new course in the aftermath of your own death.”

Jonah slowly removed his earbuds.

His breath stopped.

The man in the chair...was him.

Not just similar—identical. Same jacket. Same scuffed boots.

“What the hell—” Jonah whispered.

One of the masked men turned quick toward the door. For a moment, Jonah thought he’d been seen. The man lowered his mask.

Jonah staggered back. The face beneath the mask was his too.

Older, maybe—a few gray strands in the hairline, a harder look in the eyes.

The second perpetrator lifts his mask as well, as if sensing eyes on him. Jonah’s jaw dropped as he saw yet another version of himself. Slightly younger, but him all the same.

Three men in one room that look exactly like him.

This can’t be real, he thought

The one in the chair spotted him and screamed something muffled by duct tape. The older Jonah raised a small device, sleek and metallic with a flashing light. He pressed a button.

The air felt like pressure. The room distorted and bent like a mirage. Objects shifted and phased between shapes.

A dull pop, and the house was empty.

The door swung open to nothing but hot air and an overturned chair.

Jonah stumbled inside. The ropes lay slack on the floor, ends frayed and smoldering. A faint charge sizzled in the air, buzzing at the moisture on his skin.

He ran a hand over the back of the chair. It was warm.

“Hello?” he called.

Silence.

Jonah turned in a slow circle. He saw his reflection in the windowpane—except it didn’t move when he did.

It just stared back.

Jonah practically fell out of the house, heart pounding. The street was quiet but subtly off. Vivid colors. Longer shadows.

When he pulled out his phone, the lock screen photo of his sister momentarily glitched and showed an image of three of him standing together.

Jonah immediately dropped his phone.

The next day...

Jonah hadn’t left his apartment all day. He hadn’t slept either. He was jittery. His mind plunged into strange and unfamiliar space. Every time his eyes closed, he saw the two masked versions of himself over the bound one—the flash of the strange device, the way the air tightened.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller.

Jonah hesitated, then answered.

A voice, calm and simmering—like static:

“Musical chairs, Jonah. Do you hear the ensemble?”

“Who is this?”

“The violinist. We need to meet. If you don’t, he dies.”

“Who—”

“You.”

The line clicked dead.

Jonah stared at the phone. Then it buzzed again.

💬Message:

1010 Kilimanjaro

Subway station. 🔪

.........................

Jonah reluctantly walked toward the abandoned subway station on, Kilimanjaro. A dark mold slowly swallowed the building whole from the base upward.

One of Jonah’s lookalikes materialized like he shapeshifted from shadow into form, stroking the strings of an invisible violin. “Do you hear it, Jonah?”

Jonah still couldn’t believe his eyes. It was like watching himself make a complete fool of himself and he was powerless to stop it. “Who are you?”

The masked man said nothing and continued his performance.

“What do you want?”

The masked man stopped. “Better question.” He began circling Jonah. “I want to make a deal.”

“O—kay.”

“I want you to choose which one of us gets to live.”

“Why do you look like me?”

Jonah's twin looked offended. “Why do you look like me, Jonah?”

“I’m being serious.”

The man tugged down his face mask and stepped toward Jonah with an insincere smirk. “You can call me, One. We used to be close, you and me. I helped you through a lot of hard times. When everyone else turned their back on you.” He eyed Jonah from head to toe. “Now look at you, all grown up. Entitled.”

Jonah had heard enough. “I’m leaving—I’m calling the police.”

“I really don’t think you’ve thought that threat through.” One, clapped his hands. “Say that five times fast!”

Jonah pulled out his phone and turned to walk away.

One, leaped out in front of him. “Hi, my name is Jonah Anthony, and I’m really scared right now because two of me are holding one of me hostage and I don’t know what to do. Please send help.”

Jonah lowered his phone.

One was doubled-over in laughter. “Look, all we’re asking for is your help. You agree, and I’ll tell you everything. I’ll even hand you someone who knows where your sister is.”

Jonah stared down familiar eyes. “You’re lying.”

“Could be,” One shrugs. “But you hope I’m not.”

“And if I don’t?” Jonah asked.

One pulled his phone from the pocket of his flannel. He held it up so Jonah could see the screen. It’s a video of Jonah's captive lookalike.

“Two, make Jonah a believer.” One, slowly raised an arm, theatrically.

Two, Jonah’s younger lookalike, pulled a knife and walked over to the captive. He swiped.

The captive groaned. A small incision opened across his cheek.

Jonah felt a sting. He pressed his hand against his cheek, then gasped as he viewed his smeared red fingertips.

“See, Jonah, you and, Three—you’re connected. He is you. From the future, of course. Took us a lot of convincing to get him to join our cause. And by, convincing, I mean—rope—Jonah. Rope.

The feeling of disgust as Jonah stared at a man who looked exactly like him was odd. It was like hating what he saw in the mirror.

“Three, is the version of you, that makes Two and I no longer relevant. He is the self-righteous asshole who thinks he’s too good for us. Who reaches the top and kicks the ladder, if you know what I mean. After we left the foster home, you started changing.”

Jonah notices, One, grinding his thumb into each one of his fingertips. It’s a pressure point exercise. Jonah used to do it all the time. “I had to. The anger was consuming me.”

“That fire kept us warm during a lot of long nights, Jonah. When the desert is the coldest. But then again, what could I expect from a guy who turned his back on his own sister?”

“Hey! I searched everywhere for her!” Jonah shouted, as he grabbed One by the collar. “You don’t know anything!”

One held his hands up in surrender. “That’s the Jonah I remember. I had forgotten what adrenaline felt like coursing through the veins.” One shivered with excitement.

“So, you want revenge—is that it? To make me suffer.”

One straightened his collar, balanced on one leg, crossed his other over his knee, and began stroking his invisible violin. “I want you to find someone for me. Her name is Ariadne Evers. And that name may not mean much to you right now but, trust me, she’s been able to hide in plain sight for far too long.”

“I’m not hurting anyone.”

“Easy, Jonah. No one said anything about hurting her. Just make contact. She’ll do the rest.”

“And then we’re done. You won’t hurt...Three?”

“And then,” One walked up to Jonah, patted him on the chest, “I give you your next assignment.”

.....................

Ariadne Evers...

Search 1of1....

Last known address....

Occupation....

Images...

.......................

That Night...

Jonah’s bike skids up to a nondescript office building. He couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this. Deep breath. He walked up to the door expecting to be greeted by some, earpiece-suit and tie-dark sunglasses, muscle. Which would’ve been perfect since he didn’t want to go in anyway. But when he walked through the lobby door—nothing. No pat- down, no alarm. Not even so much as a glance in his direction from the business-dressed men and women walking by. Their focus was dead ahead.

Strangely unwavering.

Jonah looked down at a photo of Ariadne on his phone. The only lead he had on her occupation title was, partner, so his first thought was to find law firms.

Then, he turned.

Collided.

Photos and files spilled everywhere.

“Sorry, I—”

“No, no, I'm sorry—”

Jonah realized he was staring at Ariadne. And the shocked look on her face said she recognized him too.

Jonah zoomed in on a few of the photos and recognized landmarks, and in one of them—himself. "Is that—?”

Ariadne snaps out of her shock-daze. “I can explain—I can explain,” she whispers, gathering the scattered materials.

“But not here. Follow me.”

Ariadne quickly guided Jonah down the hallway and to the elevator. “How did you find me?” She asked, repeatedly pressing the sixth floor.

“You’re not exactly a ghost. I got the address to this place from a simple Scrape search.”

“Let me rephrase—how did you know to look for me?”

Jonah paused. “Someone told me you would know how to find my sister.”

The doors parted.

“Someone?” Ariadne momentarily studied Jonah. Like a pass of a detector wand. “Follow me.”

White floors and metal doors. Not what Jonah was expecting.

Ariadne lead Jonah into a room with a single laptop on a metal desk.

“Have a seat,” she said, and slid out the chair for him.

Jonah sat, slowly. “Why do you recognize me when I have no idea who you are?”

Ariadne took a seat atop the desk. “Do you remember anything that happened back at the orphanage, Jonah?”

“I-I left. Never looked back. I never even wanted to remember that place exis— how do you know about the orphanage?”

“Have you been taking your meds?”

Jonah began to feel slightly uncomfortable and defensive. “What are you talk—I don’t need them. I don’t need medication, I feel much better without—been, much better without it. It was making me depressed and-and nauseous.”

Ariadne cleared her throat and adjusted herself. “There’s a—protocol, Jonah. It’s psychological. And it’s designed to activate when you’ve stopped taking your meds. Its function is to create a scenario, of urgency or instruction, that would ultimately lead you to an agent in the field—such as myself.”

Jonah felt a chill that his body fought.

Ariadne continued. “It was originally developed by the military for use in psychological warfare but then co-opted by the CIA for its potential in the retrieval of rogue assets.

“I recognize you because I was one of three agents assigned to you—after the incident.”

Jonah was almost afraid to even ask. “What incident?”

“You—,” Ariadne takes a deep breath, “—became convinced that you were part of some secret cloning program. You became absolutely possessed by this idea that you and all the others at the orphanage were clones.”

Jonah’s head started to throb. Like old memories were pushing and shoving their way from the depths of his psyche to the forefront.

“You burned the orphanage to the ground, Jonah. We almost managed to get everyone out. But we couldn’t save your sister.”

“No.” Jonah became choked. Then angry. “NO!” He pounded the desk and started pacing.

“Jonah, calm down,” Ariadne said before inching her way behind the desk. She reached beneath it and pressed a black button.

Jonah fumbled with his phone, searching for the text thread between himself and, One. He searched, and searched—and found nothing. It was as if it had never happened.

Ariadne reached into one of the desk drawers and retrieved a silver device with a flashing light.

Jonah ducked and covered his head. “No, wait!”

His fear confused Ariadne, she stared at the device then back at Jonah. “It’s a recorder, Jonah. It only records audio, see: My name is Ariadne Evers, and I am with former patient, Jonah Anthony.” Ariadne held out the device and played back the audio:

“My name is Ariadne Evers, and I am with former patient, Jonah Anthony.”

Jonah hesitated, he slowly peeked out from his shell of cover.

Just then, through the door walked—black suit and tie-earpiece-black sunglasses. Four of them.

Jonah very calmly relaxed his posture.

“I’ll just see myself out,” he said, nonchalant.

Ariadne’s expression went flat. “Where you gonna go, Jonah? You’re home.”

Silence...

Jonah knocked over the laptop and darted out the door so fast he had to slide to catch his balance.

He was in full sprint down the hallway.

“Jonah!” A man turned.

“Jonah!” Then another.

“Jonah!” A woman yelled, as she emerged from one of the rooms, then she leaped after him.

“Jonah! Let us help you!” An entire group, now after him, said in one loud roar.

Jonah couldn’t believe it. Before, no one would so much as sniff his direction. Now they’re all a pack of wild dogs, barking after him.

Jonah threw and knocked over anything that wasn’t secured to the floor to slow his growing number of pursuers.

They hurdled everything. Climbed anything. Stumbled and kept pressing forward.

Jonah ran by a water station and doubled-back. He yanked the large jug from its hose and began dumping it out behind him as he ran.

The hounds, slid, clawed, and trampled one another. Still shouting his name.

When Jonah made it to the elevator, he tossed the jug and mashed the “close door” button. The cries became desperate—angry—agonizing.

Jonah hunched over to catch his breath, he watched the floor numbers as if he could make them change faster.

5...

4...

3...

2...

Lobby...

*Ding.

Jonah prepared himself for flight, but when he burst out of the elevator—no one cared. The business-attired men and women of the lobby didn’t even acknowledge Jonah’s presence. “What the hell is this place.” Jonah whispered, his walk stumbled to a jog.

Once out the door, he jumped on his bike and pedaled for King Street.

The old house.

Where it all started.

............................

But when Jonah rounded the corner of King Street, he stopped cold. No broken mailbox. No blackened porch with a broken door. It was as if it was never even there. Just a row of pristine houses.

Jonah began to feel weak. He dragged himself off his bike. Another look down the long row of uniform houses and he wondered if he had dreamed it all.

Sound became warbled and Jonah could see a trail behind his hands as he moved them across his face. Shapes distorted, colors smeared and became lucid. As Jonah dropped to his knees, heavy-eyed, he saw Ariadne and three dark suits approach him.

“What did you do to me?” Jonah slurred, right before everything went dark.

Ariadne pulled out her phone and began dialing.

“It’s me.

I’ve got him.

He has no idea what really happened. He doesn’t remember a thing. Poor guy still thinks he has a sister.

Nope—nothing about the program. He looked lost even when I mentioned it.

The new meds worked perfectly. I think we have everything we need to begin the next phase of clinical trials.”

Jonah’s phone buzzed on the ground next to his folded body.

💬Message:

Unknown Number

“Do you hear it, Jonah?”

🎻