Chapter 23: Saved Messages

Chapter 23: Chapter 23: Saved Messages

The house was quiet when Jared went in.

Zoey hadn’t come out.

’So that’s dinner.’

He stood in the kitchen doorway for a long moment, listening to the silence. He wasn’t going to eat cooked food tonight. That much was obvious. She wasn’t going to appear with a tray and a lecture.

He opened the breadbox, took out 2 loaves, and tucked them under his arm.

[That’s a sad dinner.]

’It’s fine.’

[It’s very beige.]

’It’s food.’

He climbed the stairs slowly, one hand on the rail. At the top, he turned left, toward his room, then stopped. Zoey’s door stood closed at the end of the hall, a thin line of light glowing under it.

He took a step toward it. Then another.

He stopped right outside and lifted a hand to knock. It hung in the air, a few inches from the wood. His fingers curled. He lowered it again, and instead leaned his forehead against the doorframe.

"Zoey," he said quietly.

There was no answer. He could hear her moving inside. A creak of the bed. A rustle of fabric.

"I’m sorry."

Nothing.

"I’m sorry. I’m not that kind of person. You know this. You know I’m not."

The silence stretched.

"I mean, I’m..." He stopped.

The words he wanted were right there, on the tip of his tongue. A story. A small, random memory from the hospital, back in his old life.

’I’m not a bully. I once held a kid’s hand and...’

Then the thought hit him, quiet and cold.

’It doesn’t matter.’

No one in this house knew that story. Zoey had never met that hospital, or that kid, or that version of him. It didn’t count for anything here. He wasn’t that Jared. In this world, he was a different Jared, with a different family and a sister, and none of it was his to explain away. He had put on this life like a coat that didn’t quite fit, and he would have to live in it, whether he liked it or not.

His throat tightened.

"I’m really sorry, Zoey," he said again, softer. "I mean it."

He waited.

Not a word came back. The light under the door flickered once, as though she had moved, and then settled.

He stood there a little longer. Then he straightened, pulled his shoulders back, and let out a slow breath.

’That’s fine. I’ll try again tomorrow.’

He walked down the hall to his own room, stepped inside, and shut the door quietly.

* * *

It wasn’t dark yet.

He checked the clock. About 5 pm.

Jared sat cross legged on the bed, tore the first loaf in half, and started eating. It was dry and a little stale. He chewed slowly, staring at the wall.

His mind kept drifting back to the yard. The wave. The squeal. The look on her face.

’Stop. Do something else.’

His eyes landed on the nightstand. A phone lay there, plugged into a charger, its screen dark. He hadn’t noticed it before. It was a sleek, expensive looking thing, with a cracked corner and a sticker of a cartoon dragon on the back.

He picked it up.

[Oh?]

’What?’

[You’re going to look through it.]

’It’s my phone.’

[It’s his phone.]

’It’s mine now.’

[Fine.]

He thumbed the screen awake. It unlocked at once, like it recognized his face. The wallpaper was a photo of two kids on a porch, one scowling, one grinning, a gap in her front teeth. He looked at it for a second, then swiped it away.

He started with the games. There were 3 of them, all simple, and he played each for a few minutes. A puzzle game with falling blocks. A racing game with terrible graphics. A strange farming sim where you raised miniature beasts and sold them to tiny, judgmental customers. He lost every round.

[You’re bad at games.]

’I’m out of practice.’

[You’re bad at games.]

Next he opened the saved messages. A few old texts from the parents. A voice memo from Zoey, 4 seconds long, just her laughing. A screenshot of a beast ranking list. A long, rambling thread with someone named Mark about nothing in particular.

He scrolled through them slowly, one by one.

[You know,] the system said, [this is a little stalker coded.]

"Oh, shut up," Jared muttered. "I’m literally him."

[Technically you’re the new tenant.]

"That’s not the same as a stalker."

[It’s the same energy.]

He kept scrolling.

Next was the gallery. Mostly blurry pictures of training sessions, a few of Zoey eating cake, a dozen of the Ground Dragon. Then the music app. A playlist titled Gate Runs. Then the weather. Then the bank.

He tapped the bank app, half expecting to see nothing.

A login screen flashed. Then a balance.

He read the number. Then he read it again, slower.

3,274,000 credits.

He sat very still.

"A couple million," he whispered.

[You’re rich.]

"I knew we were rich. I didn’t know I was rich."

[Congratulations. You’re a very wealthy teenager.]

A slow, uncontrollable smile spread across his face. It wasn’t greed exactly. It was something akin to Relief. A weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying slid off his shoulders. In his old life, he had counted coins to buy bandages for patients who couldn’t afford them. He had worked 18 hour shifts to pay for a bus pass. And now there was a number with 7 digits sitting quietly in his pocket.

’Thank you, Jared,’ he thought. ’Whoever you were.’

[He’d probably be thrilled you’re finally using his money.]

’Am I using it?’

[Not yet. But I have suggestions.]

He closed the app. There was one more icon on the screen, a small yellow square with a pencil on it. The notes app. He tapped it without thinking.

A list of entries unfolded. Short ones, mostly. Training schedules. A grocery list. A few random reminders. A half finished poem about a dragon. He scrolled down the dates.

He took another bite of bread.

Then he stopped chewing.

An entry sat near the middle of the list, dated October 31st. It was only one line.

I think I might like Zoey.

He stared at it. The bread sat in his mouth, forgotten. His eyes ran over the sentence again, slowly, word by word.

[You think?] the system said.

Jared swallowed. "What?"

[You think you might like Zoey?]

"That’s not me. Look, that’s..."

[I mean, it’s pretty obvious. You’ve been blushing all day.]

"No, look here."

[I’m looking. That’s a great confession. I’m so proud.]

"It’s not me saying it! It’s in the notes. It’s the old Jared. He wrote it. Read it, you idiot."

[Ohh.]

The system paused.

[Oh. That’s very different.]

Jared exhaled through his nose and kept reading. The note didn’t end after the first line. It continued below it, in smaller, messier lines.

He had always been grateful she was there. That was the first thing it said. When they were kids and their parents were away on raids and patrol, sometimes for months at a time, the house had been too big and too quiet. He had been scared of the dark. She’d climbed into his bed every night with a flashlight and told him bad jokes until he fell asleep. She’d packed his lunches, patched his scrapes, kicked his shins when he was being stubborn. He didn’t know what he would have done without her.

He was a privileged kid so his parents absence took a greater toll on him than it did her.

He didn’t know when it had started to feel different.

Jared lowered the phone slowly. He sat quietly with it in his lap for a moment. His heart was beating faster, though he couldn’t have said why.

’He liked her.’

[That’s a bit sweet.]

’It’s a lot.’

He picked up the phone again and kept scrolling. A few more notes. A gap of a week. Then another entry, this one dated November 22nd.

He read it.

I don’t think I like Zoey.

His stomach lurched.

Below it, one more line.

I know I love her.

Jared set the phone down on the blanket. He stared at it for a long time. He didn’t say anything.

He picked it back up and checked the date on the entry.

The 22nd.

He counted it out in his head, slowly, as if the numbers might change if he looked at them wrong. Then he did it again.

The 22nd was the day before he arrived.

’The day before.’

The original Jared had written that note, sat with it, and gone to bed. And somewhere between that night and the morning, something had happened. A boy had gone to sleep in this room, and a stranger had woken up in his place.

His throat felt very dry.

"System," he said quietly.

[Yes?]

"What exactly happens when transmigration occurs?"