thetrickster

The Trickster

Monica sat in the outdoor café, sipping at a coffee she didn't want. She was watching for someone, and preferred the anonymity of the busy café. The cars roared by on the Paris streets.

Finally she saw him. He stepped out from a hotel across the street, arm in arm with a lovely dark-haired French woman. The two giggled at some joke unknown to Monica, and kissed softly. She could faintly hear the conversation across the street, talk of dinner and drinks, decisions.

Monica stood up. She left money for the bill, and stepped out of the café. She was going back to her own hotel. As she stepped out the gate, the man across the street happened to lay eyes on her. They made eye contact for a brief moment only, long enough for her to see his expression change, the color drain from his face. She darted away quickly in the crowd, ignoring the sound of the man calling to her frantically, the running footsteps...

Monica Emery had come to Paris , where her husband Seth was supposed to be on a business trip. Their marriage was only two years old, and Seth expressed passionate love for Monica. She did not get the sense he was a womanizer when she met him. And yet, since they were married, it seemed she was always hearing about him carrying on with another woman.

About 6 months ago, she had confronted Seth about his rumored infidelities, as the evidence of their factuality piled up. He broke down in tears, confessed, and swore he loved no one as much as her, and he would never do it again. She had forgiven him the first time, so earnest were his pleas, so apparently genuine his regret.

But the rumors didn't stop, the “inside information” from family and friends, about Seth's dalliances. Fed up, Monica decided to follow him on his business trip, find out if he really was being unfaithful again. Today she learned that the rumors were true.

Back in her hotel room, she sat on her bed, feeling numb. She didn't know how to feel about the situation anymore. She never would have guessed that Seth would do this to her in a million years.

Laying down on the bed, the grief and uncertainty of the last few months finally started to catch up with her, and she began to weep furiously. She could feel her mobile phone buzzing violently on the corner of the bed where she'd left it. She picked it up, and saw that it was Seth calling her. She paused for a moment, and then put the phone down. Seth was the last person she wanted to talk to; she would not let him hear her sounding so distraught.

A couple of hours later, Monica finally pulled herself together. Sitting up, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was red and streaked, her eyes swollen. Sighing, she looked at the phone again, and saw that Seth had called not once, but about 20 times. She turned the phone off and fell asleep.

***

Seth walked frantically up and down the streets of Paris . She had been here—he saw her. What was my wife doing here? Checking up on me?

Regardless of the reason, Seth knew he had been caught again, and he didn't know if Monica would be there for him when he got home. He had a headache, and his heart was pounding. God, I have to find her...she has to talk to me...

Seth didn't even know why he cheated on Monica. He truly did love her—she was the love of his life. He knew that she was not like other women the first time he saw her. When she agreed to marry him, he was the happiest man alive. But within a couple of months, he had degenerated into a kind of sad paranoia. What if she got bored with him? What if she found another man? Did she have another man? He became increasingly anxious and depressed, even though Monica didn't do or say anything that was suggestive of any problem. He protected himself by being emotionally distant from her, and then by picking up with other women. He knew he was hurting her, but he couldn't stop himself.

In the past, Monica had given him another chance when he was caught. Now, he was not so sure she would extend that kindness again. He had seen the look on her face. And now she would not answer his calls. Returning to his own hotel room, he paced restlessly, talking to himself, continually hitting re-dial on his phone. He swore angrily every time he got her voice mail. What is going on? Where is she? Please, Monica, don't torture me like this...

The next morning Monica awoke, packed her bags, and checked out of the hotel. Just as she stepped into a taxi, she saw her husband walking up the street. She dove into the back seat quickly. “Emmenez-moi à l'aéroport, s'il vous plait.”

When she arrived home, she felt totally drained. She unpacked her suitcase, and laid down on their bed. She started to feel restless—the hurt and anger inside of her seemed to take on a life of its own, running up and down from her chest to her stomach and back again. Eventually she got up and looked for something mundane to do, to take her mind off of that thing she could not change. She walked into the laundry room, and took a load of towels from the dryer. She carried them up to the living room, lost in her own thoughts as she sat down to the task of folding.

As she made her way to the bottom of the laundry basket, she suddenly had the strange feeling that she was not alone. Slowly she looked up from towel in her lap, and as her eyes panned upward, she saw a pair of feet with black shoes, and a pair of legs wearing jeans. Her eyes widened as she continued to look up, now seeing a torso with a white button-up shirt, and finally the face and head...

What in the world?...

She saw the man in front of her, but she didn't believe it. It was not possible, not rational. The man looked back at her wide-eyed, as if to speak, but not quite knowing what to say. He was a young man, probably in his twenties. The two stared at each other, neither quite absorbing the fact that the other was there, but perfectly aware of each other.

She knew him.

***

Tuesday was Seth's last day in Paris , and he could not get away fast enough. Monica had ignored his calls for the last two days. He was barely able to concentrate on his work, and he combed the streets looking for her to no avail. He had to get home and find out what was waiting for him.

The taxi dropped him off in front of their flat. His heart began to race again, and he felt nauseous. Every step he took towards his front door felt weighted down, like he was walking under water. Finally, he reached the door and opened it.

Walking inside, he tentatively called for Monica. He heard her footsteps, and she came to meet him in the breezeway. “Why hello, Seth,” she said pleasantly. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Monica! I...why were you there?!...I looked for you...oh God, I'm sorry...please don't leave me...I...”

She looked at him incredulously. “Seth! What in the world is the matter with you? What are you talking about?”

“Monica, I saw you in Paris ...you saw me with that woman...”

“ Paris ? Me? What woman?”

“Come now, Monica, you know what I'm talking about!”

She shook her head. “Seth, I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't taken any trips to Paris . I've been here at home the whole time you were gone. And by the way, I was worried—when did you intend to call me?”

“Call...you...Monica, I've been calling you frantically for the last two days! You haven't answered a single call!”

Monica looked at him, puzzled. “Well, now, that's certainly strange. My phone never rang, and nothing is showing up on my call list. Did you call my mobile phone?”

“I've called both phones at least a hundred times!!!”

Monica shook her head again. “Seth, there are no messages on the answerphone, nor on my mobile. Come, let's look.” Monica pulled out her phone, and showed Seth the empty call list. She also showed him the “0 messages” flashing on the answerphone.

“Monica, I'm not crazy! I know the house number and your number! I've been sick to death about it!”

Monica looked at him almost pityingly. “Now, Seth, you're obviously overworked and stressed out. Come into the living room, sit down. I'll fix you a drink.”

“But Monica...” He didn't know if he should just shut up now or continue pursuing the issue.

“Now, now Seth, you really need to relax.” She poured him a brandy, and gently massaged his shoulders. Seth downed the brandy, feeling totally confused. He was happy that his wife wasn't angry, but mystified at the turn of events. Was he losing his mind?

He turned at looked at her with pleading eyes. “Monica, darling, I'm glad that you're being so kind—but I know I saw you! And...and...I'd been having dinner with that woman again.”

Monica laughed. “Oh, Seth, you really are imagining things! You promised me you would never cheat again, and I know you wouldn't break a promise. Such nonsense! Another woman indeed!” She continued to massage his shoulders.

Seth was dumbfounded. What the hell is going on? I just openly confessed my infidelity, and she dismisses it like a joke...why isn't she angry? The adrenaline rush he had anticipating her negative reaction now fizzled, and he was left with a horrible headache and stomach ache. He groaned slightly.

Monica stood up. “Poor baby—are you hungry at all?”

“Oh...um...I don't think so darling...my stomach is in a knot, and I have a ghastly headache...”

“Well then, you ought to get to bed, get some rest. All this travel must be catching up with you!”

Seth gave in, and went upstairs. As he walked up the stairs, Monica watched him. He did not see the smirk on her face.

He could hear her moving around the kitchen, straightening up, humming merrily to herself. His paranoia returned. What if she intends to get rid of me somehow? I know she was there...she has to be hiding something...

But the next morning Seth awoke feeling almost normal, and over the course of the week, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Monica was as cheerful as ever, and there didn't seem to be anything sinister about it. He began to doubt himself. Maybe I didn't see her. Maybe I just felt guilty, and imagined I saw her. Yes, that must be it.

He did notice one strange thing. On the third floor of their flat, there was an unused bedroom. They had contemplated using it as an office, but in the end they decided to make it a guest room, even though they rarely had any guests. There was a bed, a dresser, and a chair in the room, nothing else. Some linens were stored in the drawers, but the room had been otherwise neglected. Now Monica seemed to be going up to the third floor room on an almost daily basis. She had been doing laundry and getting out the Fall linens, so Seth didn't think anything of it the first couple of times. But it started to become a regular habit.

Several times he was on the verge of asking Monica what she was doing up there. But he always ended up being distracted before getting to ask, and by the time he remembered, he decided it probably was no big deal. For what they paid every month for the flat, it was probably better that all of the rooms were properly used.

***

Soon Seth had to go away on business again. He was unsure about what he would end up doing about his mistress. Part of him wanted to see her again, in spite of what had happened. Monica had caught them, or he imagined that Monica had caught them. While he had convinced himself that it was just a manifestation of his guilt, he was superstitious enough to regard it as a warning nonetheless. He decided against it.

He called Monica when he arrived. She seemed distracted, but it was as though she was distracted with thoughts or a project of her own. She didn't mention what was on her mind. The call went well enough, so Seth felt things were all right.

The days went by, and the calls were more upbeat; in fact, at times, Monica was almost giddy, which was very much unlike her. While he didn't expect her to be sad, he wondered why she was so manically happy. He finally decided to ask her about it.

“Darling, I'm pleased that you're so happy these days. But what has changed? You're not doing drugs or anything, are you?”

Maura laughed. “No, sweetheart, I'm not doing drugs. I'm just—I don't know, in a good mood all the time.”

“I see. Nothing new? No plans?”

“No, nothing special. I may take a walk in the park later, but that's about it.”

“Good, good—I hear the weather is gorgeous. I'm envious—usually we have beautiful weather here, but it's been rainy and cold.”

“Oh, never mind that, you're always feeling hot anyway! You probably love the cold weather.”

Seth laughed. It was true—he seemed to be perpetually sweating. “I can't argue with that, darling.” He paused. “I really miss you.”

“Yes, honey, I miss you too.” Her tone was not too convincing.

“Are you sure? It sounds like you've forgotten about me by now!”

“Oh no, I haven't forgotten about you. I think about you every day.”

He smiled on his end of the phone. “Hopefully you're thinking of me in a good way.”

“Of course, darling. Why would I think anything else?”

“No reason, except that I keep abandoning you on these trips.”

He heard her laugh. “No you haven't.”

“Well, I'm glad you feel that way darling. I should let you go—we will talk tomorrow?”

“Of course. Love you darling—have a wonderful evening.”

“I love you too, and you do the same.”

Seth hung up the phone with a mixture of guilt and unease. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

***

After his meetings that day, Seth went out for drinks with Stanley, one of his colleagues. Seth didn't always like drinking with Stanley ; by the time the work day was over, he really didn't want to ponder deep subjects, something Stanley had a habit of doing. Today, however, he was anxious for a distraction from his own dilemmas, so he was looking to have something else to think about.

Stanley 's latest pontification regarded an article he'd recently read on the idea of a holographic universe. “Imagine that,” he said to Seth. “Physicists are finding more and more evidence for the idea that the universe is infinite in possibility, limited only by our interpretation.”

“I don't follow you. How does that work?”

Stanley stretched, crossed his legs, and settled back into his lecturing pose. “It starts with the multiple worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics. There are many things that happen at the particle level that don't appear to follow any laws of physics at all—they're completely random. The multiple worlds interpretation suggests that the outcomes only appear random because we make linear assumptions about the outcome—time is linear, things move from point A to point B, the cause has a predictable effect. In fact, time isn't linear, and all possible outcomes are actually occurring at the same time. Your limited awareness makes you see only one of them. Therefore, the universe as we know it is just a collection of our interpretations.”

Seth rubbed his head. “That's a little hard to swallow, Stanley . I mean, you and I are sitting here, but we could also be a million other places—and while we're at it, everything we ever were or will be is also happening right now.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Stanley , now sitting up. “Your childhood, adolescence, most of your adult life up until now—it's all happening right now. You're only aware of your life as Seth at this moment.”

“Well, that would make time travel irrelevant, I would think.”

“Well, since our interpretations don't include things happening in other worlds—or other dimensions, if you like—time travel would be more like an awareness of something happening in one of those other worlds.”

“And how would that happen?”

“Quantum interference. Something would have to cause the different ‘worlds' to interact with each other. There has to be some catalyst.”

“Like what?”

Stanley laughed. “Search me. It's all theoretical. No one has seen it in action.”

Seth looked puzzled. “So, what kind of evidence do they have for this?”

Stanley shrugged. “Right now, most of it is mathematical evidence. The numbers add up, the theory is a possible explanation for a lot of strange behavior at the quantum level. I've heard that an experiment has been devised to test this theory, but I've not heard any details yet.”

Seth sipped at his drink, and paused. “Well, that would be interesting to see. I just can't wrap my mind around it.” He glanced at his watch. “We'd best get going Stanley —we have to start again bright and early tomorrow morning, and it's already 11:00.”

The two men paid for their drinks and left.

***

The next day, Seth received a call from his friend Eric.

“Hullo, Seth—what have you been up to?”

“I'm in Paris, Eric, remember?”

“Are you there? When did you go?”

“Oh, I've been here about a week.”

“Well, now, I'm very confused then.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, I just saw you out with your wife yesterday.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah—you were holding hands, heading off towards the center of town. You did look a bit younger, though—did you color your hair?”

Seth began to feel a tightening in his chest. “No I haven't. That couldn't have been me.”

“Well, it certainly looked like you, just more like you did—oh, I don't know—20 years ago? I thought maybe you were trying to look younger.”

“Well, it wasn't me. Thank you for telling me, though. I need to get to the bottom of this.”

“That certainly is strange, Seth—I'm sorry, I didn't want to cause any trouble. But really, I thought it was you.”

“Did you talk to Monica or this other person?”

“No—Karen and I saw them on the other side of the street, but they weren't looking at us. Too far away to call out.”

“I see. Well, I'll call Monica and see if I can solve the mystery.”

When Seth hung up the phone, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Monica must be having an affair. That's why she doesn't miss me. That's why she's so nonchalant about my affairs...how could she do this to me? He was furiously angry, and felt somehow vindicated with regard to his own infidelities.

But then he felt guilty again. Maybe she feels she can cheat on me because she knows I've cheated on her...but she dismissed my last confession as nonsense...oh God, I feel dizzy...

Seth dialed the house phone. Monica picked up.

“Hello, darling! This is a surprise.”

“Indeed it is. I spoke to Eric today, and you've got some explaining to do.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He said he saw you with another man that looks like me.”

“Did he?”

“Yes he did.”

“Hmm. Well, I don't know what to say about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just what I said—I don't know what to say about Eric's comment.”

“Look Monica, were you out with another man or not?” His voice was becoming irritable.

“No sweetheart, I was not out with another man. I would not go out with any man but you.”

Seth sighed. “Well, then, who did he see you with? He said the bloke looked like me, just younger.”

“I just told you darling—I would not go anywhere with another man. Only you.”

“So you're telling me that Eric is lying?”

“I didn't say that. I said that I don't know what to say about his comment. I certainly haven't been out with another man.”

Seth gave another sigh. “All right darling, maybe he mistook someone else for you.”

“Possibly.”

“I—I'm sorry, Monica. Being away so much...”

She laughed. “Nonsense, Seth. You've not been away at all.”

“What do you mean I haven't been away?”

“I have you here.”

“Um...I don't follow you.”

“You're here with me.”

“Monica, I can't be there with you. I'm in Paris .”

“Yes, darling. You're in Paris , and you're also here.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Monica...what you're saying makes no sense at all.”

She sighed. “I know it sounds weird honey. But you really are in both places. I don't pretend to understand it, it's just an observed fact.”

Seth now began to become alarmed. “Monica, is there someone in the house with you who claims to be me?”

“No. The only other person here is you, not someone claiming to be you.”

“Monica for God's sake,” he was yelling now, exasperated. “If someone else is in the house with you, it can't be me!”

“Seth, I would swear on my mother's grave that no one has been in this house but you.”

Seth groaned and sat down. Now he felt really dizzy. “All right, darling, all right—if you say so. Look, I'm going to get going—I'm sorry to have troubled you. But I think you're under a lot of stress right now, sweetheart, and should get some rest.”

She laughed. “I'm fine, Seth, really I am.”

“Hmm. Yes, well, I will talk to you tomorrow then. I love you darling.”

“I love you too.”

After hanging up the phone, Seth didn't know whether he needed to lay down or whether he wanted to rush to the airport to get home. He was so worked up that it was making him exhausted. There had to be another man in his house—if there wasn't—how could he be in two places at once? His conversation with Stanley came back to him, and he was wishing they never had it. He was sure that all of this talk of non-linear time was just muddling the issue. In the end, he fell into a restless sleep, with no resolution to his concern. He would be leaving Paris in a few days—he would just have to see what was what upon returning home.

***

Friday finally came, and Seth flew home. When the taxi dropped him off in front of their flat, he felt uneasy. Certainly not as anxious as he was after the last trip; but his home life was becoming more of a mystery to him than ever. Sighing, he climbed the steps and entered the house, calling out to Monica.

Monica appeared, looking absolutely radiant. It wasn't her clothes or hair, or anything special—her face just radiated happiness. Seth stared at her, feeling both aroused and mystified. The phone call from Eric still haunted him, and Monica's response to it. Yet, in looking around, it did not appear that anyone had been at the house in his absence. She came over and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.

“Hello, darling, I'm so glad you're home,” she said, kissing him again. Seth threw his coat on the sofa, dropped his luggage, and put his arms around her. “Me too,” he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. After kissing her a few more times, he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He carried her all the way into the bedroom, and lay her down. Monica giggled, obviously delighted. Clothes came off and were flung everywhere; about a half an hour later, they both lay on the bed, snuggled together.

Monica finally got up and began to re-dress herself. “You must be starved, sweetheart. I should get dinner started.”

Seth agreed that he was hungry, so he also roused himself and began to get dressed.

As he was putting his pants back on, he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps above him. He froze, and listened. He shot a glance at Monica. She was still buttoning up her shirt, and did not seem to notice.

“Monica!”

She looked up. “Hmm?”

“Listen! Do you hear that?”

She paused and listened. “I don't hear anything. What do you hear?”

“Footsteps.”

“Footsteps? Where?”

“Above us—in the spare room upstairs.”

She scowled, and listened. “No, I have to say I don't hear anything.”

“I'm going to go upstairs and check.” Seth moved quickly from the room, but walked gingerly towards the stairs. He could still hear movement and scuffling. Cautiously, he opened the door.

Nothing.

He opened the closet door in the room, looked under the bed, looked all over. There was no one in the room at all. He started to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he was overcome by a sense of terror, a need to get out of the room immediately. He hastened to leave, pulling the door shut behind him.

Monica was already in the kitchen making dinner when he came downstairs. “What was up there, sweetheart? Anything?”

Seth looked perturbed. “Not a damn thing. I checked every corner. I know I heard footsteps and scuffling up there!”

Monica looked at him sympathetically. “Well, I didn't hear anything myself. Maybe it only sounded like it was coming from upstairs?”

“It was above me. There's nothing else above me in that room except—well, that other room.”

She sighed. “Well, if nothing's there, then we have nothing to worry about, unless there's a mouse or something that we can't see. Try not to worry about it, honey.”

Weary, Seth sat down at the table and rubbed his head. He had a wonderful welcome home, and now he felt like the footsteps were an intrusion that deflated his high. Monica brought him a beer, and set his supper down in front of him. They ate in silence. He was still thinking about what he'd heard. He knew he hadn't imagined it. Suddenly he thought of something.

“Monica, before I left for Paris this time, I'd noticed that you were going up to that third floor room quite often. What do you do up there?”

Monica looked up at him, a surprised and questioning look on her face. She became thoughtful. “Yes, I guess I do go up there a bit often now. I had been taking out the warmer linens and the duvet now that the weather is cooling off. I liked it up there, so since then I've been doing my reading and knitting and such up there some days. The view from the window is lovely.”

“Sweetheart, will you do me a favor and stay away from that room?”

“What? Why? What's wrong?”

Seth shook his head. “I don't know...I...just felt an overwhelming oppressiveness up there...like something was up there and wanted me to leave.”

Monica stared at him. “You don't think the room is haunted, do you?”

Seth sighed, and looked down. “You know I don't believe in such things. But...something is weird up there. I just wouldn't want anything to happen to you...I guess it sounds silly...but...”

“Seth...” Monica chose her words carefully, “I think all of this travel and all of the stress you've been under lately has really grated on your nerves. You need to relax and not worry so much, honey. Your eyes are so tired, you always look so exhausted. I worry about your health...I think maybe you need some time off to rest.”

“Oh for heaven's sake, Monica, I'm not imagining things!”

“Now, Seth,” she said in a soothing voice. “I didn't say that you were imagining things. If there is something up there, I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it. I really do like that room and don't want to stay away. If it makes you feel better, I won't go up there for that long.”

“But why do you need to go up there? You never went up there before, and it didn't bother you.”

“I don't know, Seth—it gives you a bad feeling, it gives me a good feeling. I hadn't noticed it previously. If you don't like the room, you don't need to go up there. I'll make sure I'm not up there when you're around, so you don't have to worry about going in there.”

“But Monica, I feel like you're in danger going up there!”

“Oh, Seth, now really. I've been going up there the whole time you've been gone, and nothing has happened to me.”

“I don't know about that, Monica. Something has changed—you're positively radiant these days.”

“And you're saying that's a bad thing?”

“No, no, it's a very good thing—but...”

“...you think it has something to do with the room?” Monica sounded incredulous.

“I didn't say that. I'm just noticing things that are a bit different. Those two things happen to be coincidentally close together in time, that's all.”

Monica shook her head. “Now Seth, you're looking for relationships between events that aren't there. I'm happier because I've been able to spend more time doing the things that I like. And today, I knew you were coming home, and was so happy to see you.”

“What about that remark you made about me being here while I was there?”

“Well, you are here. I never feel like you've left, so I'm never lonely.”

“Monica, that is not the same thing as what you said. The implication was that I was physically here while I was also in Paris.”

“What would make you think such a thing?”

“Oh, I don't know—Eric saying he saw you with a younger version of me?”

“Now, Seth, we already went over that. I don't go out with any man but you.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Monica, you're really not answering my questions, and I'm getting frustrated.”

She moved from her chair across from Seth, and now sat next to him, taking his hands. “Sweetheart, I am really concerned about you. You seem very paranoid about something going on here. I can assure you that nothing is going on. No other men have been here, nothing negative has happened, everything is just really good right now. I am going to insist that you get yourself to bed, get some rest, and take some time for yourself—go for walks, read, watch movies—whatever will help you relax. I think once you unwind a bit, you'll have a different perspective on things. And I'll do whatever you need to help you.”

Seth was quiet. Finally he said, “Please, Monica, just do one thing for me, irrational as it is.”

“You want me to stay out of that room?”

“Yes. Please. Just for now.”

She sighed. “All right, Seth, I won't go up there if it will make you feel better.”

“Thank you, Monica. It will make me feel a lot better.”

Over the next few weeks, Seth tried to take Monica's advice. He spent more time doing the things he really enjoyed, that he'd put aside as work became more demanding. But every time he felt like he was starting to de-stress, he would hear noises in that upstairs room again. Banging, scuffling, the creaking of the bedsprings, footsteps. And every time he threw open the door, no one was there. It was making him crazy.

The breakdown finally happened one Saturday night.

Seth had been muttering and raving all day. He was tense, frustrated, and angry at himself for not being able to control his paranoia about the sounds upstairs. He snapped at Monica several times when she asked him innocent questions, and she ended up avoiding him the rest of the day. He felt badly later, as though he should apologize, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. There was tension in the air as the two climbed into bed. Monica fell asleep rather quickly, but Seth just lay there; it seemed that every muscle in his body was tight, every nerve was on edge.

Suddenly he heard it again. Footsteps. And whistling. From upstairs.

Sweating profusely, he stood up and walked towards the stairs as he had a thousand times before. But this time was different. He saw a light under the door, and a shadow moving to and fro. Shaking, he reached for the door handle, and opened the door. What he saw inside was....

...himself.

When Seth woke up, he was in a whitewashed hospital room. Light streamed in through a nearby window. Looking around, he saw Monica watching him anxiously from the visitor's chair in the room.

“Monica? What happened? How did I get here?”

“You fainted, Seth. I heard you shriek and collapse. You were outside the bedroom door upstairs. I tried to revive you, but I couldn't. I ended up calling for the ambulance.”

“What about the room?”

“The room? What about it?”

“There was...there was someone in there. The light was on. I ran into him.”

“You ran into him? What did he look like?”

“Like...like me.”

“I don't know, Seth—when I came upstairs the door to the room was open, but the lights were out, and no one else was around.”

“Monica?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

He licked his dry lips. “Do you think I've lost my mind?”

She looked down, not sure what to say. “I think you've been under stress and had a breakdown, honey. And I think you'll recover. You just need some time.”

“Monica?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever heard of multiple worlds theory? Or quantum interference?”

She shook her head. “No, honey. That's all Greek to me.”

“I wonder...Stan and I talked about it...about the idea that our whole life is happening now, but we only perceive one thing at a time...”

“I don't know, Seth. I guess it's possible. Why do you bring that up?”

“I wonder...if maybe I'm perceiving myself as I was before? I mean, the me I ran into was younger...and didn't Eric say he saw you with a younger version of me?”

At that moment the doctor came in with a nurse. The nurse gave Seth some medication. After a few questions, the doctor asked Monica if she would come outside, as Seth needed some rest. She went over and kissed Seth goodbye. “I'll be back tomorrow honey, we'll talk more then. Get some rest.”

When they stepped outside, the doctor told her he'd prescribed a sedative and an anti-depressant for Seth. He felt it was a nervous breakdown bringing on a temporary psychosis. Monica nodded. “That sounds sensible. He really does need his rest—he's been seeing strange things.”

Returning home, Monica took off her coat and put down her purse. The young man was waiting for her in the kitchen. Smiling, she walked over and gave him a kiss. Arm in arm, they went upstairs to the third floor bedroom together.