Dreaming While Underwater [M]

TW: Blood, mild emetophobia, and lots of profanity

First Original Fiction work

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On a bright, sunny day, a woman (...what is her name again?) woke up with a jolt to a truck horn, before she rested her head against a duffel bag.

Her head pulsed with pain while her ears rang, the world in front of her eyes swimming and warping. Even the parts of it she could see are familiar yet unfamiliar, blue skies and cool grass against her head, buildings jutting up above her. It could be anywhere back home. It could be nowhere back home.

How did she even get here? Her mind was foggy, all she could remember was crawling into her dorm bed, the springs pushing up against her spine after another exhausting Zoom lecture, then absolutely nothing. Maybe she ended up sleepwalking here? Even then, she hoped that someone would’ve stopped her before she fell asleep in the middle of a park, for fucks sake.

The woman wondered if there are bug bites all over her body now.

There’s the distinct taste of copper in her mouth, and she turned her head to spit it out onto the ground. Her body heaved, and she spat out more, blood mixing with bile. She was too out of it to notice or care.

There was a noise, a sudden rustling off to the side. Her eyes flicked over, and she saw the warped figure of a child, or someone very short. Their face was muddled, twisting and churning as if it was made of violent water. The woman heard their high voice, calling out to someone, their mother, their father.

it was in French, she noted. Her French was rusty, she stopped studying seriously years ago and just did it whenever she felt like it. It confused her, not the French being spoken, she could understand it fine, but people speaking French. Wasn't she in Philadelphia? Maybe she sleep-walked to Rittenhouse and slammed her head against the fountain and scared the shit out of some French guy’s child.

She laughed softly. Only someone like her could pull that off.

There was a shout, then someone wrapped their arms around her waist and pulled her up. Her head lolled to the side, and she felt blood and drool dripping from her mouth. If she was lucid, she would be horrified at how disgusting she was being.

There were two voices now, and the woman tried to concentrate on what they’re saying.

“We should… a hospital,” one of them said, a woman, the child’s mother, she thought. “She… bad… very sick.”

“No, what if someone…” The person carrying her said, probably the father, their voice nervous and high. “We don’t know… what…

Slowly, the person began to walk her away from the clearing. She saw the black duffel bag out of the corner of her eye, and she shouted, trying to squirm out of their grasp to reach it. Something in her seethed with panic over leaving the bag behind, even though she had no idea of its contents, she knew that they were important.

“My bag,” she gasps, trying to reach feebly towards it. “My bag, please, my bag, please please please…!”

“Okay, okay,” the man said in English, rubbing his fingers in comforting circles on her shoulder. “We’ll get it, we’ll get it.”

She watched as the child’s mother walked over to the bag and picked it up, struggling with its weight. it was safe. It won’t be left behind.

The woman closes her eyes, darkness rising to meet her as she loses consciousness.

---

When she wakes up again, her mind is clearer, and she also finally recalls her name, Ved. Her head’s agonizing throbbing has given way to a dull ache, perhaps because she’s lying on an actual bed. it was so soft, like laying in a soft downy pillow, and she felt something relax in her. She would’ve just laid there instead of moving, if she hadn’t felt blood filling her mouth once again.

She sat up, and grabbed a nearby trash can. Ved spat blood into it for a few moments, before looking around the room.

It was obviously someone’s spare room, probably the family that picked her up earlier. It was nicely furnished, with large fancy paintings both behind and in front of the bed, hanging on pale blue walls. The paint job is clean, unlike her dorm, where she could see chunks where the grey paint bled onto the ceiling. There’s a nightstand to her right, and on top of it are some generic saltine crackers and a bottle of water.

She swiped both of them quickly, getting to her feet. Her head still felt heavy in an odd way, but she was confident that she wouldn’t collapse onto the hardwood floor. There was a window to the right of the bed, and the woman walked over to it, peering out of it as she swished water in her cheeks.

The first thing she thought is that the skyline is extremely flat. it was mostly older, rustic buildings as far as the eye could see, things that she would expect in her part of the city. But when she craned her neck and peered out into the distance, she couldn’t find the distinctive twin skyscrapers of One and Two Liberty Towers.

That’s impossible, she thought, I should at least be able to see them in the distance. And even if this place is built behind it, well, if this is in Rittenhouse I should be able to see the Comcast towers. But they’re not there, everything is flat and scenic. It would have been beautiful in another scenario if she’d expected it.

Where am I?

She walked over, spat into the trash can again, before opening the saltines and devouring them. Something brushed against Ved’s leg as she walked, and she looked down at her ankle at some sort of brush-thing resting against it. She gripped it, not hard, but felt an odd tingling at her spine as if she had pulled at her arm or something…

Wait, what?

Ved twisted her body, trying to get a better view. What she could make out was the brush was connected to a long, scaly tube that poked out from the base of her jeans. Tracing it with a hand, it stopped at the base of her spine, fully connected to it. A tail. She had a fucking tail.

She sits on the bed and takes deep breaths. Okay, she thought, don’t panic. Don’t freak out, Ved. You woke up in a park, in a city you have no recollection of, with a tail. What could I do next instead of dry-heaving again?

Her hands quickly patted down the rest of her body, looking for irregularities. Everything else felt normal, looked normal on inspection, until she reached her head. As her hands traveled up her scalp, they ran into something smooth to the touch and solid. She wrapped her hands around the circumference of it, and felt an odd sensation, as if she was touching her fingernails. She gradually moved her hands up, shivering at the feeling, before there was a knock at the door.

“You can come in,” she said, her voice sounding raspy.

The door opened in front of her, very slowly. The man from earlier was in the doorway, with one long white hand balancing on the frame. He was rather tall, wearing a white t-shirt tucked into black jeans, with curly dark hair barely past his ears, and a long face. More than anything he looked like a teenager in an adult's body, gangly and awkward, hovering in the doorframe.

“Oh,” he said, his dark eyes wide. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, running a hand down her face. “More or less. I still feel pretty bad though.”

He walked to the bed quickly, and handed her two pills, both red. She downed them in one quick motion and nodded in thanks while gulping down water.

The two of them sat in an awkward, rather painful silence. The woman ran a hand down her face, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index fingers.

“So,” he asked finally, “What happened back there?”

“I have no clue,” she responded, before clearing her throat. “All I remember is going to bed after my Zoom class, and then waking up in Rittenhouse I guess, with blood in my mouth and a searing headache. Really starting to wonder if I got attacked while sleepwalking.”

“Also,” she continued, cutting the man off. “I have no clue what's going on here.” She gestured to her head and to her tail.

“That’s uh, not normally there. I don’t know how that happened either.”

“I’m a little lost,” he said, looking befuddled. “What do you mean by ‘Rittenhouse’?”

“Hm? Isn’t that the park I woke up in?”

“No, no it’s not,” he murmurs, the confusion morphing into concern, and he grabs her arm gently. “We found you in the Jardin du Luxembourg, in the 6th androssiment.”

That can’t be right, she thought to herself. Rittenhouse isn’t close to her dorms, but it was more feasible than whatever that is.

“Where do you think you are right now?” The man asked, looking at her sternly.

“Philadelphia,” she responded without thought.

He stared at her in shock, his mouth hanging open. He stammered for a few moments, before finally gathering his words together.

“I-I don’t know how or why, but you’re not in Philadelphia. You’re in Paris. France.”

“What?” The woman hissed, her eyes going wide. “No, no, no, no. That’s not possible. I don’t bring my passport along with me anymore. How could I even get on a plane to go there?”

She pulled the bag from underneath the bed, and shuffled through it. There was her Switch, her laptop, her phone, her screen tablet, charging cords, pencils, pens, headphones. The woman sifted through it, looking for any sort of passport or plane tickets, but only found her driver's license. Grabbing it, she examined it closely, before turning it towards the man.

“Seek, look! This is the only ID I have right now!” She exclaims. “There’s no way I could’ve traveled with just this…”

The man stared at it for a few moments, brow furrowing, before he started laughing loudly.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Look,” he snickered, pointing to the date. “It said you were born May 2nd 2000.”

“And?”

“Well, that would mean you wouldn’t have a driver’s license. You’d be five years old.”

“Huh?” She stared incredulously at him. “What do you mean? I’m Lisette Card. That’s my birthday, right there. I’m turning twenty-one in two months.”

The man looked at her like she had grown two heads, which to be honest, with how her day is going right now? That wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened to her.

“What year is it for you?” He asked, his face pale. “Right now?”

“It’s 2021,” she said firmly.

“No, that’s not right,” he said, a nervous smile on his face. “It’s 2006.”

Ved’s blood ran ice cold, so much so that she was surprised she hadn't frozen on the spot. There’s no way. There’s no way any of this is true. There’s no way any of this is real. She tried to speak, to deny this, but the words catch in her throat.

The man stared at her silently, his expression changing into one of pity.

“This must be a lot to take in,” he said softly, and Ved nodded.

At this point, any hysterical emotion was dulling, and all she felt is an overwhelming yet quiet horror. Part of her expected hysteria, everyone in the movies gets hysterical when things like this happen. But, perhaps it was the marathon of events, how they seemed to be revealed one after the other, that caused this feeling to run through her.

“I’m honestly surprised you believe me,” she said, her voice monotone.

“Well,” he said, scratching at the back of his head. “We, uh, looked through your bag while you were out... I hope you don’t mind, but we were… worried. My wife thought you were like, some sort of tech engineer, but I had this odd feeling about it, you know?”

Ved laughed softly, looking over at her bag. Between the screen and keyboard of her laptop, she saw a square slip of white paper sticking out. Gingerly, she opened it, pulled the paper out, and unfolded it.

It was in Korean, which thankfully is a language she knew, and it read:

You are 304 and you will

The author's handwriting is choppy, and whatever they wrote next is smudged beyond recognition. Just her fucking luck.

“What does it say?” The man asked, peeking over her shoulder, before turning to her. “Can you read that?”

Ved translated what was written for him, and he nodded.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Nope,” Ved said, putting it back in the bag. “No meaning to me at all.”

The first day of this new life and she already wanted a break. Wanted to go home, back to Philly in her own time, where she knew everyone even though the world is in a terrible predicament. If she was able to think rationally, she would maybe pontificate on how selfish she was being. But everything in her mind seemed to be existing within a haze, unable to be grasped fully.

She sighed and rubs her fingers into her temples.

“Lisette-”

“Ved,” she said, and the man blinks at her quickly. “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“Ved, how about we get you something to eat, hm? You look like you’re going to keel over from starvation.”

She nodded and smiled weakly.

“That sounds very nice. Thank you, Mr…”

“Just Hugo is fine,” he said with a smile and helps her to her feet. “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“Heh,” Ved said weakly, looking off to the side.

Before she turned away, out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a figure hovering in the window. They were barely visible, more like a black shadow, but Ved can make out their mouth. The figure was speaking something, but the words were inaudible. All she could do was watch their lips, and try to read them.

She blinked, and then they were gone. As if they were never there.

Fuck me, dude, she thought as Hugo lead her away, can I go three minutes without something weird happening to me?

2.

Spinal Scratch

“Daddy...”

Hugo groaned, running a long hand over his eyes. He could hear the street below, bustling with cars and people already. He still felt exhausted, even though he was pretty sure he got a full night's worth of sleep. Could he get away with sleeping a little longer…?

“Daddy!”

A pillow flew down over his head, and Hugo startled, sitting up in bed. Another pillow flew at him, but he’s able to block it with his forearms. He heard laughing, and turned to see his son’s brown doe-like eyes peeking above the bed.

“Oskie, what are you doing?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You have to get up!” Oscar shouted, and Hugo winced. “Mama said you have work today!”

“Alright, alright,” he groaned, swinging his legs across the bed and standing up.

He went through the motions of his routine, brushing his teeth, washing his face and so forth, but all he could think of was the person that should be sleeping in the room next to Oscar’s.

Martine had checked in on her before they had gone to bed, and she had been alive, but… All Hugo could think of was the state he found her in at the park. Blood caked into her hair, dried up all over her face, pouring from her gaping mouth as she had gasped and heaved. Ved was truly lucky that she even woke up after that…

He ran a hand down his face. All he thought about were those eyes, almost dead, glazed over and looking at him without any comprehension. With only a sliver of life. It sent chills up his spine, even now.

Hugo shut the bathroom door behind him, and walked out into the kitchen. Martine sat at the end of their long wooden table, her dark hair pulled up in a long ponytail. She smiled at him as he walked in, and he reached over to press a kiss to her round face.

“Good morning,” he hummed, sitting down at the table next to Martine. Oscar was sitting across from him, looking at his father above a large bowl of cereal.

“Is she up?” Hugo asked, looking over to his wife, who shook her head.

“No,” she said, before drinking some of her coffee. “But, she seemed fine when I checked in on her.”

Hugo felt himself relax a little at his wife’s words. Part of him was still nagging him, telling him to take Ved to a proper hospital, that there was no way she would rebound from whatever she went through in his house.

But, she’d been fine when she’d woken up after they’d driven her to their home, and carried her into it in the least-suspicious looking way possible. Tired, her body sagged down with some gigantic weight, but lucid enough to hold conversations. After the two revelations of her spatial and temporal displacement, she had devoured a plate of pasta he had made for her, showered to get all the blood off of her face, then was dead asleep by the time they had gotten actual supper together.

“I just worry about how she’s going to be today,” he sighed between bites of jam-covered toast. “I mean, even if she’s back to normal, remembering what happened might be too much for her.”

It was nearly too much for him. There was very little skepticism in his mind at this point. Even if she was lying, it didn’t explain how she had all that stuff on her, and it didn’t explain… the way she looked. She should be only a year older than Oscar right now, but looked like the kind of kid that would show up to dance at his shows. God...

As he ran his fingers over his eyebrows, he heard the creak of the bedroom door opening. He looked up to see the tall, reedy body of Ved. Her short hair was messier than before, the teal green strands (another thing she had insisted was completely new to her) sticking out between the massive black horns on top of her head. They were curved, sort of like a semi-circle, and curled forward behind her ears. Ved must have had clothes in that bag of hers, as she was wearing a black t-shirt with a tiger logo on it and gym shorts, not the bloody clothes currently sitting in his washer. She yawned, her mouth full of sharp fangs, and rubbed at her half open eyes with a lithe nearly-white hand.

“Mornin’” she grumbled in English, walking towards the table. Ved stopped suddenly, looking at the empty seat next to Hugo, before looking over at the two of them with wide eyes.

“Is this for me?”

“Yes,” Martine said with a soft smile. “Do you like it?”

Ved’s mouth broke into a smile, and she laughed lowly. Hugo noticed her tail flicking back and forth like a pleased cat.

“Mhm,” she said, sitting down. “It’s been a while since I’ve had breakfast made for me, thank you ma’am.”

“Really? Not even when you’re home?”

“Nope,” Ved said, sinking her fangs into her toast. “I’m self-sufficient. Mom makes me coffee before she leaves for work, but that’s it.”

“This is delicious, ma’am,” she turned to Martine, who smiled softly at her.

She quickly gets to work devouring the jam-covered toast and coffee that Martine had set out for her.

“You’re taking this rather well,” Hugo said with a small smile. “I was expecting you to freak out a little more.”

“No point,” Ved said, sipping her coffee. “It’s a waste of time. I can freak out all I want about it, but it can’t change my situation, you know. Better to just think about what I can do.”

Oscar stared at her, peeking from under his cereal bowl. It was almost adorable, how he was hiding, but a biting worry began to settle in his mind. Ved looked over at him and smiled, causing his son to flinch.

“Sorry about him,” Hugo said, patting Ved on the shoulder.

“No, no,” she replied, shaking her head. “I understand. I’m pretty sure I look very scary right now.”

“Besides, I’m used to it. Even before this I had a habit of scaring kids, eheh heh…”

After that, they ate in relative silence before the chaos of their early morning routine swept them away. Ved mostly sat off to the side, watching as Hugo gathered his things from her perch on the couch arm. As he put on his coat, he heard her call out to him.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a meeting,” he said, adjusting his grip on his large metal case. “About a tour.”

“A tour?” Ved asked, sitting up on the black sofa, her legs crossed. “Are you like, I don’t know, a booker? Bookie? Is that the word?”

“I don’t know,” he laughed. “But, no. I’m part of the band going on tour.”

Ved’s eyes go wide, and a childish glint sparkles in them. She sort of resembles the child she’s supposed to be, as she sits up on her haunches. Her tail flicked slightly, and Hugo wondered if she knew that it was moving.

“Cool…” she muttered to herself, before clearing her throat. “Well, have fun out there. I’ll be good.”

Hugo laughed, picking up the case, and walked out into the hallway.

---

The trip to the label’s office was unremarkable. No bleeding young adults with horns to take care of like yesterday. Hugo had met up with his bandmate and their manager and now laid across the leather couch in his manager’s living room, staring at the lime-green ceiling. The meeting let out after four crushing hours of talk of logistics, money, tech, amongst other things. It was necessary, Hugo knew that it was necessary to plan all of the spectacle, but it still felt like his mind had been melted into a sort of soup.

A loud clattering noise broke his concentration, and he looked down to see his manager setting a cup of water on the glass table in front of him. His manager, Thomas, hadn’t changed at all since they’d first met in the nineties. Maybe his face had wrinkled somewhat with time, but he still has the same long rectangular face with stubble he never bothered to shave, same long mop of dark hair, same cheery bouncy attitude. It was comforting to Hugo in a way, even after everything that has happened, some things stay the same.

“You look dead,” Thomas laughed, his hands on his hips. “Jet lag still?”

“Mmm,” Hugo said, picking up the water. “Had a stressful day yesterday.”

“Oho? Oscar being difficult?”

He’s almost tempted to tell Thomas the whole truth, about the park, hearing Oscar scream for him, finding the bloodied Ved. But he doesn’t. It’s a completely fantastical tale, and to be honest, if Hugo hadn’t had it happen to him, he wouldn’t have believed it. So...

“Yes. He’s been very cranky.”

“I figured,” his bandmate shouted from the other room. “He’s used to living in LA. It must be a lot for him, traveling to a strange land he barely remembers.”

“Well Paris has been strange in general lately,” Thomas mused, rubbing his beard. “Did I tell you two about what Camille saw a few days ago?”

“No, you didn’t,” Hugo said, sitting up straight. “What happened?”

Emmanuel, his bandmate, has entered the room now. His short brown hair stuck out all around his square white face, and one of his hands was at his stubble.

“Well,” Thomas said, leaning against a bright orange cabinet that seemed to contain all his records. “It was late at night, and she was in the alley behind the flat, putting the bins away…”

“She told me she had just set the recyclables down when she saw a big grey striped cat staring at her from the end of the alleyway.”

“Oh, so a stray cat,” Emmanuel said, picking at his ‘Yes’ t-shirt. “What’s so strange about that? I have a whole colony by my place.”

“Well, do your stray cats have forked tails?” Thomas asked, his eyes narrowed. He paused and waited for Emmanuel to respond. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Are you going to let me continue my fucking story?”

Emmanuel nodded, his hands slipping to his sides.

“Anyways, she saw this fork-tailed cat sitting in the alley, staring at her with bright yellow eyes --- because you know, it was dark outside --- and the two of them stared at each other until the cat got up on its haunches and started walking on two feet-”

The story is interrupted by Emmanuel suddenly bursting into peals of laughter. He bowled over, holding his sides as he laughed and laughed. Thomas’ face turned bright red, and his face contorted in anger as he watched.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Emmanuel exclaimed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Okay man, how much pot did the two of you smoke?”

“None!” Thomas spat, his foot tapping against the shag carpet. “If you’re gonna say shit like that, I might as well not tell you anything!”

“No no,” Hugo interjected, and Thomas looked over at him. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

Emmanuel looked at him with an impish look in his eyes, a smile wide on his face. Thomas glared at him through the corners of his eyes but continued regardless.

“The cat stood up on two legs and started walking closer to Camille,” he said, briefly interrupted by Emmanuel's snickering. “Shut it, Manu! Anyways, it walked close to Camille, who was frozen in place at this point, and stopped in front of her.”

“It stared at her again, before it opened its mouth and said ‘Hello, miss’ to her in perfect English-”

Emmanuel broke into hysterical laughter, grasping onto the wall for support.

“No way dude,” he said, his voice high. “You’re fucking with us.”

Hugo laughed with Manu, but deep down, he felt himself believing Thomas. After what happened with Ved, someone could tell him that aliens had landed on Paris a week ago, and he’d probably believe it.

He’s taken out of his thoughts by his ringtone, and he scrambled to grab his phone before it could vibrate off of the table. It’s from the home phone, probably Martine asking him where he was, so he answered the call.

“What’s up?” Hugo said, pressing his phone up against his ear.

“Hello,” a familiar voice said, her English crackling through the speakers. “It’s me, Ved. Miss Martine gave me your number.”

“Did she?” He said, a smile growing on his face. He can feel Emmanuel and Thomas staring at him.

“Yeah. I tried calling using my cell phone but it started acting strange. Didn’t want to fuck anything up further so I’m on the landline.”

“Well, why are you calling?”

“Miss Martine told me to call you. She’s coming with Oscar to meet you for lunch.”

Ved paused, and Hugo heard her shuffling in the background.

“She uh, made me call because her phone won’t be on,” Ved continued, her voice growing lower.

“Is that bothering you?” He asked.

“Mmh, yeah I guess,” she said noncommittally. “I wouldn’t be caught dead without one on. But…”

“Might just be a Ved thing?” He said with a grin. Hugo doesn’t want to say “future”, not while his bandmate and manager were watching him like a hawk.

“Ved thing, 2021 thing, whatever. Hey, could you do something for me though?”

“Like what?”

“Can you,” Ved started, before there’s an abrupt smash, then… “Sorry, moving a pan... Can you stop into a bookstore and get me some sort of French learning book? I meant to ask Miss Martine, but I forgot.”

“Just that?” Hugo laughed, rubbing his arm. “I thought you were going to ask me for something bigger, like a car engine or something.”

“Nope,” Ved replied, tapping her nails against something. “No, I’m not… technical like that. I just want to learn French. I’m probably gonna be here for a bit, so it would be better for me if I learned how to speak it properly.”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing the base of his neck. “Well if that’s all, see you later then?”

“Yep, see you.”

With that, Ved hung up, and Hugo found himself staring at the phone blankly for a minute before putting it down again. Hugo looked up into the curious stares of his friends.

“That was a friend of mine from L.A,” he lied, fidgeting with the buttons on his navy-blue shirt. “He just wanted me to pick up something for him while I was here.”

“Oh, I see,” Emmanuel said, leaning against the doorframe, and neither of them pried any further.

By the time Martine arrived, the three of them were deep in a discussion over drum machines, and Hugo hadn’t noticed her until he looked up at her from the couch. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore a long navy blue dress that seemed to float off of her. Oscar was by her side, pressed up against one of her legs.

“Sorry,” Hugo said, sitting up. “I didn’t notice you there.”

“That’s fine,” Martine said with a soft smile, before lowering her voice. “Did…?”

Hugo nodded. He opened his mouth to speak before Thomas interrupted him.

“Leaving us so soon, Hugo?” Thomas pouted.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly. “I promised I would spend the day with them earlier, both of us start working again tomorrow.”

“One last day with the family before you’re back in the trenches?” Emmanuel joked, a grin pulling at his lips. “Hey, maybe Oscar will find that English-speaking demon cat Thomas saw…”

“Oh, you’re just going to bring that up forever aren't you?” Thomas ranted, crossing his arms. “It really did speak English to me and Cammie! And you know what? It sounded just like a-”

“Was the cat big and scary?” Oscar asked suddenly, moving towards Thomas. “Like Ved?”

“Huh?” Thomas said, cocking his head to the side. “Who’s Ved?”

Hugo and Martine quickly shared nervous glances. Martine patted Oscar’s shoulder in an attempt to get him to stop, but he continued.

“She’s the dragon who lives in our house,” he explained, and gestured around his head. “Ved has big horns and big teeth and she’s watching over our house while we’re gone.”

Hugo blinked for a second, looking at his son, then Emmanuel, then Thomas. His blood has gone cold, and he shut his eyes and thought of any possible excuse he could use to explain away what his son had said. Then…

“Well, Oscar has quite the imagination,” Emmanuel said with a soft smile. “I guess he got that from you, then.”

Oh, Hugo thought, that’s right. His son is four years old. They both probably just thought he had an imaginary friend.

“Yeah,” he lied, trying to hide his relief. “He’s really incredible... Always drawing up new creatures…”

He reached over and ruffled Oscar's hair, who looked up at him.

“Come on,” Hugo said. “Let’s get some lunch, alright?”

The three of them left Thomas’ house, walking out onto the busy Paris streets. Hugo noticed that Oscar’s expression had darkened, and he walked with his thumb in his mouth, silent until they found their seats at a local restaurant not far from the house.

“Daddy, why did you lie to Uncle Manu?” He finally said as he sat down, staring at his father.

Hugo blinked and looked over to Martine, who seemed lost for an explanation.

“Well,” Hugo started, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t think Uncle Manu would’ve believed me. He didn’t believe Uncle Thomas.”

“Do you believe him?” Oscar asked, slapping his hands down on the table.

Hugo stayed silent for a few moments, drumming his fingers on the table. Finally, he spoke:

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t have believed him at all, but after Ved…”

He trailed off, closing his eyes. Everything has changed and changed so suddenly that it felt like his head was full of television static. It’s entirely possible that Ved’s time travel and condition could be a fluke event, one that would settle itself shortly. But, something just doesn’t feel right about that.

“Maybe the cat is Ved’s friend,” Oscar chirped, suddenly looking happier. “Maybe the cat’s guarding Uncle Thomas like Ved’s guarding the house!”

“Maybe,” Hugo smiled back, before he turned to Martine. “Ved didn’t want to come?”

“No, I think she’s not a big fan of crowds,” she said, thumb rubbing against her cheek. “I asked her if she wanted to, and she got all pale. Said that it was better she didn’t go just yet.”

“Huh,” Hugo said, but before he could pontificate on why Ved seemed so averse to going out, their food had arrived and his attention went elsewhere.

For most of the day, Hugo let Oscar lead them around Paris, which involved peeking into any toy shop, then wandering through the Cite de Sciences for several hours. Even though by the end of it Hugo felt as if his mind had melted, he was glad to spend time with his family before work swallowed him whole in a few days.

On the walk back to the Metro, something red caught his eye. He turned to face a small little bookshop, its red sign reading “Brigadoon Book Company” in bold light-yellow lettering.

“Let’s stop in here,” he said, turning to Martine, who was holding a very exhausted Oscar’s hand as he drooped forward. “I promised Ved I would get her a French learning book.”

“But Daddy!” Oscar shouted, before being shushed by his mother.

He twisted the doorknob, and stepped inside the building.

The first thought Hugo had was that it seemed bigger than it appeared, teal walls sprawling forward, covered with books of all sizes. In fact, it seemed that books covered everywhere that could reasonably hold them, desks, tables, bookshelves… It was overwhelming, especially with a small hallway that from what he could tell, opened to another similar room. How was he going to find that book?

As he walked in, he noticed a figure standing at a counter, staring at him. The man was about Ved’s age, with messy dark hair curling around his ears and jaw, and a round tan face, with patchy stubble visible on his face. He peered at Hugo through his round glasses, his gaze almost like a tiger’s.

Hugo felt a chill run up his spine, and he turned to look over at the closest table to him. Martine was at his side, and Oscar cowered by her legs, staring at the man at the counter.

Despite the clutter, he didn’t have to search long for a book. As soon as he laid eyes on the table closest to the door, his eye caught on one with a blue cover that read “Basic French” in English. That should work, but he couldn’t help but feel perturbed. It seemed too convenient for the book he needed to be right there…

He shook it off, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Don’t think too hard about it, he chastised himself, you just got lucky. Honest.

Martine’s already at the back of the store, hovering near the cashier at the counter, who looks more focused on the cash register, plunking numbers in. He walked over to his wife, and patted her on the back softly, causing her to turn.

“I got that book for Ved,” he said with a grin. “The one I told you about? It’s kinda funny, the book was just sitting there, almost as if it was waiting for me.”

Martine opened her mouth, probably to tease him about the book before another person’s voice interrupted her.

“You know Ved?” The cashier suddenly said in English, and the two whipped their heads to face him. He looked as serious as ever.

“Y-Yeah. Wait,” Martine said before she started wildly gesturing. “Super-tall, pale as a sheet, with bags under her eyes? That Ved?”

“Yes,” he said, bagging their book. Hugo noticed that he had a thick pair of rubber yellow gloves on. “We met in Korea. She knows me.”

Suddenly, Hugo felt as if someone had covered a hole in the puzzle of Ved’s past. Korea, of course! It made perfect sense.

As he put the bag down, he stopped and stared into Martine’s eyes.

“Tell her you saw me and I said to come see me, tell her it’s urgent. My name is Reach. She will know who I am.”

“Okay?” Martine asked, her eyes going wide.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, a small almost fox-like smile on his face. He did not speak again, and the three left the bookstore in a daze after he rang them up, books in hand.

The daze continued as they went onto the Metro, and Hugo found himself staring out of the train window and letting his mind race. First the book just magically being there, then the cashier suddenly knowing who Ved was… There was no doubt in his mind anymore that whatever happened that brought Ved here wasn’t a one-off accident.

Then what had happened? What force brought them all here?

The thought lingered in his mind even as they left the Metro station, and clamored into their apartment. Ved was sprawled across the living room couch, playing some video game she had hooked up to their television set that involved anthropomorphic animals in an island village. Oscar slid away from his mother and looked at the screen with curious eyes. Her head perked up as they walked closer, her green bangs covering her face, and a small smile grew on her lips.

“How was it?” She said, sitting up and crossing her legs. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” Hugo said, his voice sounding weird in his ears. He held the book out for her, and she quickly took it, her eyes lighting up.

“Thank you Hugo!” she beamed, tail thumping against the couch cushions, and he heard Martine barely conceal a snicker. “I’ll pay you back, promise.”

“That’s alright,” Martine said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “By the way, we saw someone who said he knew you.”

Ved’s tail stopped moving, and her face went white as a sheet. She stared at Martine, eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked, her voice choked.

“He needed to speak to you, urgently,” Martine continued, walking closer to the couch. “He said his name was… Reach? I think that was it?”

Ved’s face goes even paler, paler than what Hugo thought could be possible, and her mouth drops open.