The Passenger
Part 1: Souvenir
(You chose: You Brought Something Back With You.)
Everyone brings something home from vacation.
Sand in their shoes.
Souvenirs in their luggage.
Memories they swear they’ll never forget.
You… you bring home rocks.
Not large ones.
Nothing ridiculous.
Just small pieces of the places you’ve been.
A fragment from the dinosaur coast in Lourinhã.
A shell from a beach in Jersey.
A piece of the earth pyramids in Ritten.
To you it’s better than any trinket money could buy.
They sit tucked between the plants in your office and along the windowsill in the kitchen, little anchors of memory collected over the years.
Your wife has always found it amusing.
“You collect rocks as if they were postcards.”
She says it with a smile, usually while shaking her head.
You tell her rocks are better.
Postcards lie.
Rocks were actually there.
Hawaii had been her idea.
A family trip.
Seven days.
No work.
No phones unless necessary.
Just the four of you.
You, your wife, your daughter, and your son.
It had been good for all of you.
Better than good, really.
The kids spent hours swimming until their fingers became raisins.
Your son became obsessed with geckos.
Your daughter insisted on learning every tropical bird name she could.
She also insisted she needed fancy binoculars.
Or “bonno-colors,” as your son called them.
You couldn’t help but get them for her.
It was nice to see her passionate about something beyond the strange microcosm of being a preteen in America.
Your wife laughed more this week than she had in months.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, a thought kept surfacing.
We needed this.
By the sixth day, everyone was sunburned, tired, and beginning to feel the heaviness that comes near the end of a trip.
That was the day you drove to the volcanic park.
Black earth stretched farther than seemed possible.
The sight itself made you feel a way you didn’t know was possible… so insignificant and in complete awe simultaneously.
Hardened lava fields looked less like landscape and more like the remains of something ancient that had burned itself into silence.
The wind carried sulfur and salt.
The kids were unimpressed.
Your son lasted eleven minutes before asking when lunch was.
Your daughter made it twenty-three before announcing she was bored.
Your wife laughed.
“You wanted culture.”
Your daughter crossed her arms.
“I wanted to see a Warbling White-eye before we left.”
You have no idea what that is.
It sounds terrifying though.
Eventually the trail curved toward the parking area, and your family moved ahead while you hung back for a moment.
That’s when you saw it.
A stone no bigger than your palm.
Black.
Smooth.
Almost polished.
It stood out immediately.
Not because it was flashy.
Because everything around it looked jagged and rough.
This looked… intentional.
You crouch and pick it up.
Run your finger across the top and around the edges.
Yup, this one is coming home with you.
Your daughter’s voice breaks the silence behind you.
“Dad?”
You glance over your shoulder.
She’s standing a few feet away, squinting at your hand.
“Are you keeping that one?”
You smile and slide the stone into your pocket.
“Yeah. I think this one will look good with the plants back home.”
She hesitates.
“Mom said we’re not supposed to take things.”
You let out a small laugh.
“It’s just a rock. No one will miss it in a place like this. ”
She looks at you suspiciously and turns back toward the others.
You stand there another moment, hand resting over the stone in your pocket.
You take a deep breath.
A good way to end the trip.
That night, back at the hotel, exhaustion settles over everyone.
The kids crash first.
Your wife falls asleep curled up on the couch.
Back door open ever so slightly as the nighttime breeze rolls in.
You head into the bathroom to brush your teeth.
Dull lighting hums overhead.
Water runs.
Toothbrush in hand, you reach into your pocket and place the stone beside the sink.
That’s when you notice it.
Something inside it.
You lean closer.
Embedded deep in the black glass is a single golden strand.
Hair-thin.
Almost impossible to see unless the light catches it.
Weird.
In that moment, you hear whistling outside.
Faint at first.
Then closer.
You head to the back door as it gets louder.
Something about it feels unsettling, so you slide the door closed.
Still brushing your teeth you head back to the bathroom.
Wait.
You stop suddenly at the threshold of the bathroom door.
The stone moved.
It now sits inches closer to the basin.
You must have moved it before heading to close the door.
You pick up the stone and hold it in the palm of your hand.
You have to admit it’s pretty unique.
You finish up and turn off the faucet.
As you take one final glance in the mirror, something feels wrong.
It takes your brain half a second to understand why.
Someone is standing behind you.
A shape darker than the room around it.
Shoulders.
Head.
No face.
Just presence.
You spin around.
Nothing.
Empty bathroom.
Open doorway.
Silence.
Your heart pounds against your ribs momentarily.
Gotta love those small doses of adrenaline.
It’s been a long day… you chalk it up to that.
You snatch the rock and shove it into your toiletry bag.
Tomorrow you go home.
~ ~ ~
The flight is rough.
Turbulence rattles the cabin hard enough to wake half the passengers.
Your wife grips the armrest.
Your son cries once before passing out again.
Your daughter sleeps through all of it.
By the time you land, everyone is exhausted.
No one talks much during baggage claim.
The drive home feels endless.
Rain mists across the windshield.
The highway is mostly empty.
At this point, you’re the only one awake.
For the first time all day, the car is quiet.
Just tires against wet pavement.
Just the hum of the engine.
Just home getting closer.
You adjust the rearview mirror.
Only slightly.
Your daughter sleeps against the glass.
Your son’s head tilts sideways under his blanket.
And between them…
Someone is sitting upright.
A fourth passenger.
Too large to be a child.
Too still to be real.
Its face obscured by the shifting highway shadows.
But the eyes…
The eyes are open.
And staring directly at you.
It blinks.
End of Part 1.
***
Part 2 - Don’t Do That
It blinks once.
You stop breathing.
Not intentionally.
Waiting for something.
To see where this goes.
Rain streaks across the windshield in long silver lines.
The tires peeling water off the wet pavement.
Everyone inside the car completely unaware.
You glance toward your wife.
Still asleep.
Head tilted toward the window.
Mouth slightly parted.
You check your children next.
Your daughter hasn’t moved.
Your son’s blanket has slipped halfway down his chest.
Both sleeping.
Safe.
For now.
You look back to the mirror.
It is still there.
Sitting perfectly upright between them.
Its eyes catch just enough of the dashboard glow to reflect back at you.
An eerie reflection.
Black mirrors bending the space around them like a fisheye lens.
Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
A strange feeling crawls through you.
Not panic.
Not exactly fear.
Something sharper.
More intimate.
Violation.
This space is yours.
This car.
This road.
This family.
No one should be here.
No one should be near them.
You swallow.
Barely louder than breath, you say…
“Is there a reason why you’re here?”
The thing does not move.
Its gaze never leaves yours.
Only silence answers.
You glance back at the road.
A few seconds pass.
You look again.
Still there.
Still watching.
This time, your voice comes out firmer.
More controlled.
More deliberate.
“I asked you a question.”
A pause.
Then…
“Is there a reason why you’re here?”
Something changes.
Not in its posture.
Not in its eyes.
Its mouth.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the lower half of its face begins to move.
Not speaking.
Not mouthing words.
Moving in subtle waves.
Rising.
Falling.
Tiny motions so delicate your mind nearly rejects them.
At first they seem random.
Then the pattern becomes impossible to ignore.
There is sound now.
So quiet it almost disappears beneath the rain.
Not speech.
Not humming.
Not singing.
Something between all three.
Soft undulations of sound that rise and fall with a strange fluid rhythm.
Like wind moving through leaves.
Like distant branches swaying against one another in darkness.
The pattern repeats.
…….Again.
…Again.
Again.
Something cold settles into your chest.
No.
You shake it off.
The feeling that starts to consume you.
“Stop doing that.”
The sound continues.
You reach up and adjust the rearview mirror.
Only slightly.
The thing remains centered.
Unmoving.
Its mouth still working in those subtle, hypnotic waves.
The pattern repeats.
Again.
…Again.
……Again.
You know what it is saying.
You refuse to let yourself think the words.
The road begins to blur.
Rain.
Lights.
Lane markings.
All of it slipping to the edges.
The only thing left is the mirror.
The eyes.
The sound.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The sounds of a horn.
Distant at first.
Starts to rise.
You jerk violently.
Headlights.
An oncoming car.
You’re on the wrong side of the road.
You wrench the wheel hard.
Tires scream.
Your wife jolts awake.
The car fishtails across wet pavement before skidding onto the shoulder.
You slam the brakes.
Everything lurches.
Silence.
Broken by –
“Daniel!”
Your wife’s voice.
Worried.
Panicked.
“What just happened?”
You collect yourself.
“Yeah… it’s late.”
Trying to comfort her…
“I guess someone on the other side of the road wasn’t paying attention.”
(A small lie.)
You finally turn toward her.
She looks shaken but okay.
You reach for her instinctively.
“You alright?”
She nods.
“I’m okay.”
You turn toward the back seat.
Parental instinct takes over.
“Elijah? Cassie?”
Your son is crying now.
Your daughter looks disoriented but unharmed.
Both alive.
Both safe.
Good.
…Good.
Then your eyes move.
Center seat.
Empty.
Gone.
You scan the back seat again.
Nothing.
No fourth passenger.
No impossible figure.
Nothing between them.
You slowly look back toward the mirror.
Just…
Your own reflection.
Staring back at you.
End of Part 2.
***
You chose: Check the rock in your bag.
Part 3 - The Rock
Just...
Your own reflection.
Staring back at you.
...
Once Elijah’s soft sniffles settle, the silence inside the SUV is deafening.
"Daniel..."
Your wife turns toward you, still trying to steady her breathing.
"What just happened?"
You don't answer.
Not because you're ignoring her.
Because something else has your attention.
You unbuckle your seatbelt.
The click almost echoes in the cabin.
The driver's door opens.
Cool air rushes in.
"Daniel?"
You don't look back.
"I just need to check something."
You make your way around to the rear of the SUV.
Rain spits lightly from the low gray sky onto your skin.
The pavement glistens beneath the distant glow of the city.
You press the button.
The rear hatch slowly lifts for what feels like forever.
Suitcases.
Duffel bags.
A backpack.
You begin moving them aside.
Quickly.
Behind you, your wife watches for another moment.
"What are you looking for?"
You unzip another bag.
Not this one.
You set it aside.
Finally...
Your toiletry bag.
"I'll explain in a second."
You don't.
She waits.
Another moment passes.
Then she lets out a quiet huff.
"...Okay."
The passenger door closes.
You kneel underneath the open hatch.
Unzip the toiletry bag.
Your fingers find the smooth black stone almost immediately.
The instant your skin touches it...
Heat.
Electricity.
Not painful, but…
You pull your hand back on instinct.
It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that shift.
The stone slips from your fingers.
Tink.
…Tink.
It bounces once against the bumper...
...then disappears beneath the SUV.
You close your eyes.
"...Seriously?"
Grabbing your phone, you switch on the flashlight and crouch beside the rear tire.
The beam cuts beneath the vehicle.
…There…
Resting only a few feet away.
You stretch your arm underneath.
Your fingertips brush the stone.
This time you don't hesitate.
You wrap your hand around it.
The light from your phone catches your arm beneath the SUV.
Only...
it isn't the arm you’ve been living in.
Not anymore.
The shape is different.
The skin.
You simply close your fingers around the stone...
...and pull it back.
Carefully, you set the rock on top of your phone.
The warmth immediately fades.
For a brief moment...
everything returns.
Your eyes settle on the stone.
Deep within the polished black glass...
the single golden strand glows.
Not brightly.
Just enough.
A slow pulse.
Alive.
You stare at it.
“…Oh no."
The word leaves your mouth before you realize you've spoken.
You glance toward the SUV.
Cassie is rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Your wife is comforting Elijah.
Neither of them is looking.
Good.
You pick up the toiletry bag.
Hold it open with one hand.
Your eyes drift back to the car one last time.
Still...
no one is watching.
You reach for the stone.
The moment your fingers close around it...
your body betrays you.
For a moment time slows down.
The figure standing beside the SUV is no longer the husband...
No longer the father...
No longer Daniel.
You drop the stone into the bag.
Zip.
You shake your head.
You were naive to think you could bring it back with you.
Nostalgia got the best of you.
You take a slow breath.
One hand reaches for the rear hatch.
You begin lowering it.
Halfway down...
You stop.
Elijah.
He's staring directly at you.
Not crying.
Not speaking.
Just...
staring.
His little face caught somewhere between confusion...
and shock.
He doesn't look away.
Neither do you.
Did he see?
***
Part 4 - Home
(You chose: The entity from the backseat appears again.)
The rain continues.
Elijah never looks away.
Neither do you.
Then...
a familiar feeling settles over you.
In front of you.
Slowly...
you raise your eyes.
Twenty feet away, standing at the edge of the shoulder, is the figure from the backseat.
Motionless.
Waiting.
In your peripheral vision, you notice your wife drawing Elijah’s attention.
Talking quietly with your kids.
You gently lower the rear hatch until it clicks shut.
The figure remains perfectly still.
You begin walking toward it.
Some might find the black, tar-like figure quite frightening.
For you… nothing could be further from the truth.
Each step feels… well…
You can’t escape the feeling of happiness, if only for a brief moment.
You stop about five feet away.
The rain falls between the two of you.
For several long moments...
neither of you speaks.
Then...
the melody returns.
Low.
Patient.
Ancient.
Not through your ears.
Through your mind.
You understand every sound.
You simply haven't heard your own language...
in nearly twelve rotations around Earth's star source.
"...Brother."
The word settles over you.
You close your eyes.
He continues.
“It's been a long time."
The melody shifts.
Changing.
Adapting.
Until...
it becomes English.
"I wasn't sure you would still remember."
I mean… how could you forget?
“I remember."
"You've become comfortable in the Fourth Reality."
The Fourth.
That’s what humans would probably call four-dimensional existence.
Home exists in what humans might one day describe as the Seventh.
You glance back toward the SUV.
"My family is in there."
"I know."
A pause.
He says, "Cassie."
You feel a lump in your human throat begin to form.
"Elijah."
Some of these feelings still surprise you when they come up.
Even that surprises you.
"You know their names."
"They're my… what do you call them here? Niece? Nephew?”
You study him for a long moment.
"You've been watching."
"We all have."
The words aren't threatening.
Only true.
Silence settles between you again.
Finally...
your eyes drift toward the toiletry bag still hanging from your hand.
His reflective black eyes follow your gaze.
"I'm curious..."
"...why you brought a piece of home back with you."
You don't answer.
"You knew what it would do."
"I thought..."
You stop yourself.
"...I thought it wouldn't matter here."
His expression softens.
"So did I."
Your fingers tighten around the bag.
"I still have years."
"You do."
"So why are you here?"
He doesn't answer immediately.
Instead...
he looks toward the dark outline of the Hawaiian stone hidden inside the bag.
Then back to you.
"Because you came home.”
The words linger.
You were only doing what you thought a good husband would do.
She wanted to see the States differently.
Thought the kids would love what the islands had to offer.
You shake your head.
"This wasn't supposed to happen."
"No… It wasn't."
A long silence passes.
Finally...
he speaks again.
"The First have become aware."
Something inside you sinks.
"The First..."
You haven't spoken that name...
in nearly twelve rotations.
If you were to describe the sound associated with The First to a human, you wouldn’t call it melodic.
It’s closer to a fear frequency.
Something designed to inspire compliance… and order.
"They know you've chosen this life."
"I was always coming back."
"Were you?"
You look toward your wife.
She is watching through the windshield now.
Confused.
Waiting.
You look back at your brother.
"I don't know anymore."
Even through that form, his eyes appear sympathetic.
You feel neither judgment.
Nor anger.
Only sadness.
"I came because I could still reach you first."
Your voice barely rises above the rain.
"...Reach me before who?"
"The others."
Another silence.
"They won't understand…
…They never wanted this assignment…
They tolerated it….
…They believed twenty rotations would never change you…
However, I knew the day you left it would be this way.”
His eyes drift toward the SUV.
"They didn't expect you to become human."
You almost laugh.
"I never became human."
"No."
His voice is gentle.
"You became something far more dangerous."
You always hated when he was right.
"You loved them."
You feel defensive.
"They are my family."
"I know… in a way, they're my family too."
Your eyes search his face.
Trying to remember what his face looks like at home, not here.
"I can still protect you."
Hope rears its ugly head.
Then disappears when he follows it up with…
"But I cannot protect them."
The rain feels heavier as it lands on your skin.
Behind you...
your wife opens the passenger door.
"Daniel?"
You don't turn.
Not yet.
***
Part 5: Dimensions
(You chose: Go with him and continue the path to Story 16.)
“Daniel?”
Your wife’s voice carries across the road.
You don’t answer.
—
Your eyes remain fixed on the being standing in front of you.
“They won’t stop unless I go with you? Am I understanding that correctly?”
Your brother studies you for a long moment before speaking.
“I’ve searched. I’ve spent time inside the capsule looking for another outcome… I couldn’t find one.”
He hesitates briefly before continuing.
“The First believe removing the anchor has placed every dimensional construct at risk.”
You can’t help yourself.
Your eyes roll.
A very human gesture.
One you’ve grown rather fond of.
Your brother tilts his head.
“…What?”
You let out a tired laugh.
“Nothing... it’s just…”
You shake your head as your mind drifts from amusement to disappointment.
“…it’s just a rock.”
You can sense part of him agrees with you.
“I wasn’t planning on transforming in front of my family.”
His expression seemingly softens through his inhuman face.
“I know.”
You glance down at the toiletry bag still hanging from your hand.
“I honestly didn’t think it would still work once we left Hawaii.”
You look back at him hoping he has some sort of answer for that.
“I picked it up…nothing happened.”
“It was never the island,” your brother says quietly. “It was always you.”
You find yourself growing frustrated.
You don’t want to hear this.
“The anchor simply reminded you.”
You realize why he has come now.
“…Elijah saw me, didn’t he?”
Your brother nods.
“He did.”
Silence settles between you.
As though you are both searching for a way out of this.
Behind you, your wife leans back out the passenger window.
“Daniel? What are you doing? You’re getting soaked!”
You look over your shoulder.
“Just another minute… we’ll get going.”
She gives you an exaggerated thumbs up before disappearing back inside the SUV.
A smile drifts for a moment across your face.
It’s probably for the best.
She can’t see him.
You turn back toward your brother.
“If I go with you…”
“…they’ll leave my family alone?”
“There are futures where they do.”
“And if I stay?”
“There are none where they remain untouched.”
You already knew the answer.
You just needed to hear someone else say it.
Your fingers tighten around the handle of the toiletry bag.
After a long silence you remind him.
“…it’s been a while since I’ve traveled.”
Your brother nods.
“It has.”
You slowly unzip the bag and look down at the volcanic stone.
The golden thread beneath its surface glows softly.
Waiting for you.
“I don’t remember.”
Your brother says nothing.
You pick up the stone.
Comforting.
A familiar of sorts.
“…I don’t remember how.”
Another quiet silence.
Then a minor request… “Remind me.”
Your brother steps closer.
“You’ve only forgotten because you’ve convinced yourself there was something to forget.”
You look at him.
“What do I do?”
“You stop holding on.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ve spent twelve Earth rotations convincing yourself this was all you were. Successfully I might add.”
He places a hand over yours, closing your fingers gently around the stone.
“You aren’t becoming something.”
His voice is almost a whisper.
“You’re remembering.”
You nod.
Slowly…
you close your eyes.
You stop resisting.
The darkness beneath your skin spreads effortlessly.
Not consuming you.
Returning.
There is no pain.
No euphoric rush.
No explosion.
No white saving light.
Only the strange sensation that you’ve been holding your breath.
Then…
you finally exhale.
Something inside you relaxes.
You start remembering.
Not names… not places…
… you begin remembering how you used to perceive.
Before every thought became words.
Before every moment insisted on existing one after another.
Before the concept of before had any meaning at all.
You remember what silence feels like.
Not the absence of sound.
A place. A space. Of purity.
You’ve been around in the 4D plane long enough to hear stories of those that have experienced fragments of this moment.
They referred to it as a NDE or Near Death Experience.
If only they knew how deep the rabbit hole goes.
A gentle pressure begins to build.
Opening you up as a version of you feels the rain continuing to fall on your skin.
As the sound of cars continues along the highway.
Nothing around you has changed.
And at the same time, you could argue everything has.
The way you’re experiencing it has.
Time no longer carries you forward.
It simply…
exists.
Flashes emerge as distorted still picture frames.
Then you become aware of the space surrounding them…
Your first breath.
Meeting your wife.
The day Cassie was born.
Holding Elijah for the first time.
Picking up the stone.
Standing here.
They are no longer lined up.
They exist together in the nothing and in the now.
For a moment…
you think you’re moving.
Then you realize…
nothing is moving.
You are inside it.
At the same time…
you become aware of yourself outside it.
Both are true.
Neither feels impossible.
The golden thread burns brighter.
Anchoring you.
Holding you to the life you chose.
Your family.
Your laughter.
Your grief.
Your love.
Your trauma.
Unbound.
All fades.
Darkness surrounds you.
Its presence, beckoning you home.
Weightlessness combined with that noisy void of nothingness.
Tiny pulses of light drift around you.
The fog and heaviness of your previous perception dissipates.
Until finally…
You’re here.
⸻
The Fifth.
There is no floor.
No sky.
No horizon.
Only openness.
It’s the construct they have decided to meet you in.
A blank canvas of sorts floating in space.
Nearly white.
Curved structure.
How incredibly boring, you think to yourself.
It isn’t a true representation of the Fifth.
That in itself would be difficult to explain.
What you can describe in words is that in this very moment living currents of light weave through the space.
Bold, commanding figures emerge.
Nearly translucent.
Never holding one shape for long.
Streams of light move beneath their surface.
Each stream flows outward.
Connecting to another.
Then another.
Then another.
Until every being is joined.
A single living network.
Their shadow selves move beneath them.
Independent.
Alive.
A vibration ripples through the network.
You don’t hear it.
However, you do understand it.
Only then…
does your conditioned human mind translate it into words.
“Daniel.”
The vibration continues.
“That is the name you have chosen these past twelve Earth rotations. We will honor it while you are here.”
The living network brightens.
Suddenly, your experience of the Fourth realm unfolds around you.
Lines stretch endlessly.
Time looping.
Memories stacking.
Your life.
Every choice.
Every possibility.
The moment your hand closed around the volcanic stone glows brighter than all the others.
The network pulses.
“You altered your anchor.”
“Your singular identity within the Fourth can no longer be maintained.”
“Your true form will continue to emerge.”
“You cannot remain.”
You study the endless branches.
Then quietly ask, “So your answer is to erase the life I chose?”
The network ripples.
“We erase nothing.”
“We preserve.”
A long silence.
Finally…
“Preserve reality by erasing my mission?”
“By concluding it.”
You smile sadly.
“It stopped being a mission a long time ago.”
Another silence.
“It became my life.”
The network brightens.
“You have become attached.”
“Yes. And I think…”
You look across the endless connections of your life.
“…that’s the point.”
Silence fills the Fifth.
You point to the branches of light that represent your time there.
“You fear dimensions collapsing. You fear realities ending. You’ve shown me futures where your existence disappears.”
You look up at the shifting, amoeba-like forms that make up The First.
“But you’ve never shown me…what comes after.”
Nothing answers.
“You’ve spent so long preserving reality that you’ve forgotten that reality has always been becoming something else.”
The light flowing through the network flickers.
You look once more at the branch where your family still exists.
“They taught me something.”
The network waits.
“Life is lonely. Whether you have a family… or no one at all. But loneliness has never meant we’re alone.”
You look at your brother and then back at The First.
“We’re all becoming. And maybe… that’s what you’ve forgotten.”
A hum begins to resonate through the construct.
Shadows dance through the cornerless space
Then…
The Fifth falls silent.
Deep within the living network of The First…
something feels as though it is changing.
A sound rises from inside you.
A frequency that reaches every entity within the construct.
Your realization cannot be ignored.
“We are ALL passengers!”
Silence.
A single channel of light severs from the living network.
The construct lurches violently.
The sensation catches you off guard.
Like being shaken inside a fish tank.
Another strand breaks free.
Then another.
The once-perfect harmony dissolves into overlapping frequencies.
You turn to your brother.
“What’s happening?”
He stares at the fractured network.
His voice is barely a whisper.
“…A fracture… they’ve begun to question.”
To be continued in Story 16…
