"AAAAAAAAAARGH!!!"
I jolt awake with a scream, heart hammering in my chest.Another Scorpion dream—so vivid, so real, I can still feel the blood pounding in my ears.My vision is blurry. My skull feels like it's about to split open.
"Scott! Thank God you're—"
"Where's Jen?!" I cut Andy off, the memory slamming back into my mind like a freight train.
He freezes. "What…?"
"Jen!!" I shout, trying to sit up despite the searing pain in my back. "She was taken! Right in front of me! Where is she?!"
Andy blinks, stunned. "What are you talking about?!"
I whip my head toward him. "You mean… she's okay?!" Relief surges through me for a split second. "She's here?!"
But Andy only stares.Frowning.Blank.
"Who the hell is Jen?" he asks.
I stare at him, not breathing.
"Jen. Jennifer. My wife!" My voice cracks, nearly unhinged.
Andy's face shifts from confusion to concern. "Your… wife?" He glances toward the machines next to my bed. "Did you hit your head too hard or something? Since when do you have a wife?"
His words feel like ice water poured straight into my veins.
I grab his collar and yank him toward me. My eyes drill into his."This is a prank, right?! Tell me this is a sick joke! You're messing with me!"
"Hey—whoa—what?! No!" Andy pulls back, alarmed. "I'm serious! I have no idea what you're talking about!"
No.No. No. No.
I shove him back and swing my legs off the bed. Pain shoots through my spine, but I ignore it.I need to move.I need to find her.
"Scott!! Where the hell are you going?!" Andy shouts behind me.
I don't answer. I don't even hear him anymore. The blood in my ears is roaring too loud.
A couple of paramedics rush toward me as I stagger through the hallway, but they're too slow. I dodge their hands, my feet dragging me forward on instinct alone.
The hospital is a blur of sterile white walls and fluorescent lights. I don't even know where I am—but that doesn't matter.
I have to get to her.
I burst through the front doors and spot a row of taxis idling by the curb. I dive into the first one.
"Bell Air Apartments. Downtown," I say as I slam the door shut, not even fully seated yet.
Andy's voice echoes faintly behind me, still yelling my name.
"Just drive," I order the driver. "Now."
Once the taxi stops in front of Jennifer's apartment, I toss a few bills at the driver and bolt toward the lobby.I barely register Andy running behind me, calling my name again and again—I don't care. I can't care.I have only one focus: Jennifer.
I stride into the lobby, heading straight for the elevator—Until Mike, the receptionist, raises a hand to stop me.
"Excuse me, sir," he says politely, as always. "Where are you going?"
"To my apartment, obviously," I reply, trying to brush past him.
"Your…? Pardon me, sir, but… who are you?"
I freeze.
I turn to him slowly, stunned. "Mike, come on… it's me."
His eyes narrow slightly. "How do you know my name?"
"Mike!" I snap, frustration bubbling. "It's Scott. Scott Bennet. I've been living here for the past three months!"
There's no recognition in his eyes. Not even a flicker.
I exhale sharply, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm Jennifer McCourtney's husband. We got married last month. We live in 1904!"
Still nothing. Just a blank, uncomfortable stare.
I can't take it anymore. I shoulder past him, heading toward the stairs.
"Hey! Sir! You cannot—" Mike calls out, but I'm already activating fighter jet mode, tearing up the stairwell so fast the world turns into a blur. I leave Mike—and Andy—far behind.
When I reach the door of our apartment, I slam to a stop.I stare.The biometric scanner—the eye-recognition lock Jennifer installed months ago—is gone.In its place is a simple numeric keypad.
Why?Why would she change it?Was she locking me out?Was this intentional?
A storm of questions floods my mind, but I push them down. One thing at a time.First—I need to see her.
I knock hard."Jen? Jen! Open the door! It's me!"
I keep knocking, over and over, pounding until the door finally creaks open.
But it's not Jennifer.
A woman I don't recognize answers, holding a baby in her arms. Her eyes go wide, suspicious.
"Yes?" she says carefully.
I blink, completely disoriented."Who… who are you?"
Her grip tightens around the child. "Who are you?"
"I'm Scott Bennet," I explain quickly. "I live here. With my wife—Jennifer McCourtney."
Her face hardens. "That's not possible. My husband and I have lived here for years."
"No… no, that's not right," I say, shaking my head. "This is 1904! Jennifer and I live here—we got married! She was pregnant when we moved in!"
The elevator dings behind me. I glance back.Mike walks toward us, looking distressed. Andy is right behind him.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Roland," Mike says apologetically. "I tried to stop him."
"I do live here!" I shout, my voice cracking with frustration. "Mike, you've seen me before! You know who I am!"
"You don't live here, Scott," Andy says softly, like a parent trying to calm down a confused child.
"I do! Jennifer was three months pregnant when we moved in. We got married a month ago. This—this was our home!"
"Sir," Mike says gently, "there's no one named Jennifer in this building. I've worked here over ten years. I know every resident."
"You knew me!" I shout, turning to him. "You told me about your family—your three kids, your granddaughter. Your wife passed away—Jennifer and I went to her funeral!"
Mike stares at me, stunned."How… how could you know that?"
"Because I was here!" I nearly scream. "Because it happened!"
"I'm sorry," Mike says quietly, shaking his head. "But I don't remember you. I remember everyone. There is no Jennifer McCourtney. There isn't even a Jennifer living here."
My chest tightens. The ground beneath me feels like it's shifting."This… this can't be real," I murmur.
"Let's go home, okay?" Andy steps in beside me, his voice kind. "Sorry for the trouble," he says to the woman and Mike. "My friend… he had an accident recently. He's still recovering, so maybe..."
But I stop listening. A thought bursts through the fog—
Her office.
The D.A.'s office. Jennifer's workplace.If anyone would know her, it'd be there. A government position like that isn't easily replaced.
I don't say a word. I just turn around and bolt.Once again, fighter jet mode.The world slows as I rush through the city like a blur, ignoring traffic, lights, people. Nothing else matters.
It's a blur until I reach the D.A. building.Only then do I shift back to normal speed, standing breathless outside the office door I know so well.
Jennifer's office.The D.A. Chief's room.
I look through the glass—And see a man sitting inside. Calm. Focused. Reading a file.
What…?
"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" a voice says behind me.
I turn slowly.
"Matt!" I exclaim, a rush of hope filling my chest. "Matt Winshield!"
He blinks in confusion. "Do I… know you?"
The air is sucked from my lungs.Not again.
"No… no," I manage. "I just… I just read about you. In the news. You were shot, right? Protecting your boss, Ms. McCourtney?"
His brow furrows deeper."I've never been shot," he says firmly. "And my boss is Mr. Anderson."
I stare at him, stunned. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," he replies with a note of offense. "Now may I ask—how did you even get in here? Who let you past security?"
I don't answer.
I can't.
I slip into fighter jet mode again, vanishing before he finishes his sentence.I race out of the office, out of the building.
As I come to a stop outside—I see Andy.
Just stepping out of a taxi.
-
"You should rest first," Andy says gently, guiding me into my old apartment.The one I left behind after I killed Radwansky.But according to Andy, that never happened.There was no Radwansky.No inheritance issue.No Jennifer.I never met her. Never protected her. Never loved her.
"Maybe it was just a dream," Andy adds after I collapse onto the bed.
I don't respond.
A dream?
No. It didn't feel like a dream.It felt real. The weight of it, the pain, the joy. All of it—vivid, textured, living. My muscles still ache from the impact. My chest still tightens when I think of Jennifer screaming in that car.
"How did I get into the accident?" I ask slowly, cautiously.
"You just got back from San Francisco," Andy explains. "Took a taxi from the airport. A truck ran a red light and T-boned you."
He pulls out his phone, types something, and hands it to me."It even made the news."
On the screen is an article.Two days ago.A taxi was hit by a speeding truck. The driver died instantly.But the passenger—my name is there.Survived. Critical condition. Recovering.
My fingers tremble slightly as I hand the phone back.
"Want me to stay with you?" Andy asks.
I shake my head. "No… I'll be alright."
He nods. Says something soft about getting rest. And then he leaves.Leaves me alone.
Alone in a world that no longer seems to know her.
But I don't rest. I can't.
Instead, I jump on my laptop. I dig.
I search for Radwansky.
There was a man named Ivan Radwansky. But according to every source I can find, he died in a car crash. No mention of foul play. No Jennifer. No inheritance case.
Still clinging to hope, I track down his former fiancée—Rachel Waddleson. I call her. Her voice is light, childlike, almost airy.
"Oh yes, Ivan died years ago… in that awful crash," she confirms.But when I ask about Jennifer McCourtney, she pauses, then responds with confusion."I'm sorry… who?"
I end the call.My throat feels dry.
I force myself out of the apartment and go downstairs to speak with Joe, the front desk guard.Jennifer lived here for months—someone should remember her.
"Red hair? Green eyes?" Joe repeats my description with a polite frown. "No, sorry. I don't recall anyone like that living here. Not while I've been working."
But he's been here for years.
Jennifer should be unforgettable.
I stumble back up the stairs like a man walking out of a funeral.Each step heavier than the last.
Inside, my apartment feels cold. Lifeless.I move without purpose, every limb hollow.I drop myself onto the couch, defeated.
My mind has tried everything. Searched every name. Knocked on every door.Every fact contradicts me.Every person denies her.
Maybe Andy was right.
"It's just a dream," I whisper, my voice cracking.A dream so sweet it felt like a lifetime.A dream where I had a family. A future. Love.
But now… it's gone.
And yet—my heart aches. Physically aches.Why does it hurt so much, if none of it was real?
I sigh and reach for a couch pillow, pulling it to my chest, like I'm trying to fill the hollow space inside me.My mind drifts…To her smile.Her laugh.The way she moved, danced around the kitchen in her socks.Her lips—soft, warm, always tasting faintly of peppermint.Her scent.
A perfect blend of sandalwood and flowers.
I inhale deeply.And freeze.
There.On the pillow.The scent.Her scent.
No.No, that's impossible.
I lower my nose and breathe it in again.It's there.It's real.
I leap off the couch and press my face against the cushions, against the armrest, anywhere she might have laid.And everywhere—everywhere—I smell her.
Jennifer.
Her scent is still here.
She was here.
She's real.