Jerome sighed, glancing around the cluttered room that was once his grandmother's sanctuary. Shelves lined with dusty tomes, jars of strange herbs, and an assortment of talismans surrounded him. At 27, Jerome found himself reluctantly embracing the life of a shaman, a title he never sought but now wore like a cloak.
"That worked... but only once," he muttered to himself, thinking back to that fateful day. The power to predict the future had come to him like a bolt from the blue, but it seemed to have vanished just as quickly.
Jerome's journey into shamanism began when he inherited his late grandmother's estate, a famous shaman in her time. Struggling with a mountain of debt, he saw the old, crumbling building as his ticket out. He planned to sell the property to a rich business tycoon, who was willing to pay extra for the ancient, almost mythical, structure.
As Jerome discussed the deal with the buyer, something strange happened. Words formed in his mind, insistent and clear, like a prophecy demanding to be spoken.
"The partner you trust will be your downfall. Go sort it out now or else you will have to sell your own house for a piece of bread."
Jerome had no idea where the words came from, but the businessman, a superstitious man by nature, took them seriously. He launched an investigation into his business partners and, just as Jerome had predicted, discovered a long-time associate scheming against him.
From that moment, Jerome's life changed dramatically. The businessman, grateful and impressed, cleared all of Jerome's debts and even renovated the old building for him. Word of Jerome's prophetic abilities spread like wildfire through the local community. Suddenly, people were knocking on his door, begging for glimpses into their futures. Gifts and money piled up as people sought his favor.
At first, Jerome reveled in his newfound status. He started charging for his predictions, enjoying the easy money and the awe-struck faces of his clients. Some of his predictions even turned out to be true, reinforcing his reputation.
But there was a problem: the miracle moment never happened again. Every other prediction he made was a shot in the dark, more guesswork and general advice than genuine foresight. Desperation gnawed at him. He wanted, needed, to experience that prophetic clarity again. He tried with different people, different scenarios, but to no avail.
"Master, the next clients have arrived," announced the newly recruited assistant, delegated to manage the growing crowd outside.
Jerome adjusted his stuffy shamanic robes, feeling their weight and discomfort. He disliked them intensely but knew the importance of appearances. To gain people's trust, he had to look the part.
Norman and William entered the room, taking in the eclectic decor. Norman's eyes scanned the shelves of dusty tomes, jars of herbs, and talismans with a critical eye. He shook his head, disappointed. There was not a single trace of magic in there.
William, however, was filled with hope. This was his last chance to find a way to send Norman back to his world.
"Yes, my dear guests," Jerome said, adopting a composed, mystical tone. "Please share your troubles. Be it wealth, relationships, or health, this shaman will propose the best solution."
William smiled, feeling a spark of optimism. Jerome seemed genuine.
"I would like the master shaman to find a way back to this old geezer's world," William said. "It would be even better if you could send him there."
Jerome froze, his mind racing. "Young man... did I hear that right? Did you just say his world instead of his country or something?"
"Yes, sir, you heard correctly. He's not from Earth. He says he's from some fantasy world or something," William explained, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation.
Jerome struggled to understand. He asked William to explain in detail. As William recounted the events of the previous night, Jerome's head spun. He'd had crazy and weird clients before, but these two were on a different level. Were they delusional, or were they playing a prank?
Just as Jerome was about to dismiss them, his vision blurred. The familiar feeling washed over him, the one he'd yearned to experience again. Prophetic words formed in his mind:
"Find the missing link in both worlds. It is the way back to your home."
Jerome sat stunned. It had worked. The power had returned. If the prophecy was true, everything William had said was true. Other worlds beyond Earth filled with magic? He felt a rush of excitement, ready to explore this revelation.
But before he could speak, five men in police uniforms burst into the room, pushing the assistant aside.
"Jerome, you are under arrest for faking as a shaman and scamming people of their money. Come with us immediately," said an officer in a gruff voice.
Jerome and William were both startled. "Officer, what are you talking about? I cannot come without proper evidence," Jerome protested.
"We have complaints and witnesses. Don't try to lie your way out," the officer replied sternly.
"Officer, wait! I have connections. People from the upper classes vouch for me. You cannot arrest me!" Jerome pleaded.
"We can discuss this at the police station. Now, cuff him," ordered the officer.
As the officers cuffed Jerome and began dragging him outside, he shouted desperately to William and Norman. "The missing link... there is a missing link in both worlds. Find it! I am serious! Look for it. That's the way!"
Norman sighed in annoyance. "Another scammer."
William felt his heart sink. His last resort had failed. "At least my money is safe," he muttered, shrugging as they walked out of the building.