Have you ever woken up one day and everything was off? I’m not talking about having a bad hair day or breaking your favorite limited edition coffee mug that you got from that one flash sale online because your elbow knocked it off while prepping your bagel. No.

  I’m talking strange. Inexplicable.

  The kind of thing that you notice but will never mention out loud because everyone will just look at you weird. Sometimes it’s not even a wake-up thing. Sometimes you’ll just be going through your day, minding your own business and enjoying life, then BAM! Everyone around you seems to be cranked up to eleven and you seem to be the only one who notices. Why is Beth acting so aggro over office banter? Did chill Jim really need to pick a fight with Kevin over paperclips? Wow, Brett really didn’t deserve that clapback for saying “Good morning”. Though, to be fair, Brett probably had it coming.

  It’s like you’ve entered the Twilight Zone and then suddenly it all snaps back to normal. Everyone is laughing and cutting up, while you’re left questioning your sanity. Did that really just happen? Am I good? Maybe I need to lay off the caffeine. Wait, what was I saying?

  Oh, yeah. The Twilight Zone. Paranoia. Déjà vu. The wrong side of the bed. Mandela Effect. Eyes Wide Shut in the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Government cover ups and shady secret groups. Buzzword, buzzword.

  Welcome to what is now, as of 3 hours ago, my life. The life of Theodore Bloom, Coffee Enthusiast.

  “Mr. Bloom, are you done monologuing?”

  I look back down from the ceiling to the woman sitting across from me, “I’m sorry, what was the question again? Everything kind of blends together after I was taken from my shop in broad daylight and forced to sit in a room for hours listening to the paint dry.”

  The brown-haired, olive-skinned woman wearing a green sweater and jeans sighs then looks over at the one-way glass to my left, motioning towards me as if questioning why I’m even here. You and me both, sister. I follow her gaze over to the mirror and mimic her motion, communicating that we’re all on the same page. Solidarity, even in trying times, is a beautiful thing.

  There is a slight hum followed by a burst of static as a bored male voice comes over the intercom, “We apologize for the abruptness of your situation, Mr. Bloom. Believe us when we tell you that none of this is ideal. Cooperation, however, will be beneficial for everyone. If you have any questions that you need answered, feel free to ask them. All we ask in return is that you cooperate with us for the time being.”

  I look away from the mirror and make eye contact with the spook in front of me, lifting an eyebrow in quiet judgement. She rolls her eyes and places both hands on the table between us, clasping them together, “Fine, Mr. Bloom. What is it that you wish to know?”

  Ah, the brief moment before the kill is a glorious thing.

  I lean back slightly in my chair, folding my arms as I look down at my twelve dollar bargain store watch with its pho leather strap, taking my time as if pondering all of the obvious questions that a person taken against their will would have in this situation.

  “3 hours?”

  No one ever accused me of not being petty.

  The woman’s right eye does this phenomenal twitching thing as she absorbs the question, her lips forming a hard line. Critical hit.

  She’s a professional though, I gotta hand it to her. Not even a few seconds later and she’s all business, reaching down to the side at her feet and pulling up a bag containing several folders. Pulling one out, she places it between us and turns it to face me before opening it up to show me the contents. My curiosity getting the better of me, I look down only to find that staring back up at me is a handsome brown-haired devil with a permanent five o’clock shadow, deep bags under his green eyes like he hasn’t slept well for days, and a shit eating grin plastered to his face. It’s me.

  The file contains the picture of me taken for my passport pasted to the top of a stack of documents. I’m flattered, honestly. If this entire file is a surveillance dossier like I think it is, then word of my coffee making skills must finally be reaching the right ears. I knew paying all that money for invasive social media advertising would pay off eventually. I give myself a mental pat on the back while I flip through a couple of the top pages to confirm my assumption. Mid 40’s, never married, business owner, probable attention disorder (undiagnosed), yada yada yada. Yep, everything checks out. There are a couple of pages dedicated to my financials, a couple dedicated to my business, and several dedicated to profiles on my family. Typical spook activity.

  I push the file away without saying anything about its contents and lift up my wrist to tap the face of my watch, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

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  “Chloe Marks. Ms.,” Ms. Marks replies easily, having taken back the advantage in the conversation. It’s clear that she likes her job a lot and didn’t really enjoy the little detour I took us on with my obstinance. Well, sucks to suck, Chloe. I didn’t enjoy leaving my store unattended just before the lunch rush.

  Taking a deep breath to settle my thoughts before I get myself worked back up, I reiterate my question. “Ok, Ms. Marks. What’s the deal? You guys have had me waiting here for hours despite claiming it was essential that I come with you immediately. Not to mention the pretty insane things your people told me at my shop before dragging me out. You can see why I’m not exactly thrilled at the moment.”

  She nods politely, “Yes, Mr. Bloom. I can see why you’d be upset with your treatment, even ignoring the. . .unusual circumstances that precipitated the expedited treatment. Events have been moving rapidly and while all I can currently say is that your retrieval was only one of several operations going on around the world, we do apologize for leaving you in the dark for as long as we did. Things aren’t as they appear, Mr. Bloom, and we needed to ensure that everything was in place before bringing you into the fold.” Having said so, Chloe proceeds to reach into her leather goodie bag of mystery to pull out a second, thinner folder which she then places in front of me before gesturing for me to open it. I do, of course, but not because she told me to. No one puts baby in a corner.

  With the new file open in front of me, I take a long look at the first page. Seconds tick by as the subtle sound of my antique watch whiles away the time that I find myself utterly and truly gobsmacked. Without even shifting my focus I can sense Chloe’s insufferable smirk at finally having shut me up. I lift up the top page and take a look at the second. The third. After a minute I simply let my hand drop and close my eyes in defeat.

  What can I say? I’ve been had. The bait was cast, the line pulled tight, and the hook caught. Bravo. I’ve seen some pranks in my day, but I’ve only ever seen one this elaborate on tv. The one-way glass and 3 hour wait was a nice touch in a sadistic sort of way. I start looking around for the hidden cameras and vow to make sure I give Jeeps a nice round of applause when he shows up. That kid. Chloe’s smirk gradually fades as she notices me looking around the room for the cameras. She seems confused. A professional to the end.

  “Mr. Bloom, what exactly are you doing?”

  As if you don’t know. Tsk. These paid by the job actors are getting better and better all the time. I see you, Chloe, or whatever your name is. You’ve got the chops.

  I chuckle and begin giving the woman a slow clap in appreciation. As much fun as this hasn’t been for me, I need to get back to the shop as soon as possible. There’s no telling how much time is left before it burns to the ground or gets looted with me absent.

  Pushing my chair back, I begin to stand up from the table. “Alright. I’m man enough to admit when I’ve been got. Haha. Very funny. Great job everyone, for real. This was well played,” I say while raising my voice a notch so that all those off set can hear me, “Jeeps! Get out here, kid. Let’s get this over with.” The room remains suspiciously quiet despite my acceptance of the prank, with Chloe simply staring back at me with a pitiable expression on her face as if I’d said something embarrassing.

  I get an uncomfortable sensation in my stomach as it begins to bubble slightly. I’m getting a bad feeling as the moment continues to stretch on without any crazy confetti cannons going off or excited camera crews being revealed behind a fake wall.

  Humming and static crack the silence after another few beats, “Mr. Bloom. This isn’t a joke. No one is pranking you. Please, sit back down.”

  Making eye contact with Chloe who shakes her head in silent confirmation, I can feel myself beginning to get heated. Not a prank? Seriously?! Picking up the file with a shaking hand, I toss it back across the table at Chloe with the top page flapping wildly as it slides. I need some coffee.

  I point a finger at the contents from across the table, “Reeeeeally? Are you seriously telling me that with a straight face? What is that if it’s not a joke, huh?”

  My crash out is valid. Even from here, the top page of the offending file leers back at me with its familiar shit eating grin and ruggedly handsome good looks sketched into a box in the corner of another dossier. I should know. It’s me. Again. This time it’s not even a photo, but a hand drawn sketch done by a professional sketch artist who seems to have been given a very detailed description of me to go by. Of course, that’s not the part that has me out of pocket.

  The details listed in the file are my own, all the way down to my birthdate and social. The entirety of the first page checks out. It’s the second page and beyond that really sets the stage: social media posts, texts, news articles. All sketched by the same artist. All supposedly created by me or about me. Except just one problem.

  NONE OF THEM ARE MINE. Not a single one. The entire file describes someone that doesn’t exist and these people are looking at me like *I’m* the crazy one! Telling me that it’s not a joke is next level.

  Ok, buddy.

  Something about me must be setting off alarm bells because Chloe has gone from confusion, to pity, to tense over the course of the past minute. I ignore the bored intercom’s advice and remain standing, finger firmly pointed at the folder and it’s contents.

  Slowly and with a weight in her voice that she hasn’t carried to this point, Chloe places her hands on the file and stares directly at me, “Mr. Bloom. This file isn’t a joke. It’s an accurately curated dossier about you, Theodore Bloom, created by another branch of our organization. Everything in it has been independently verified and confirmed.”

  I’ve had enough. My voice tightens with anger as I growl out, “No, it hasn’t.”

  Chloe sighs, the tension relaxes in her shoulders as it seems she will finally get to say what she has been leading up to this entire time, “Yes, it has, Mr. Bloom.”

  I clinch my teeth in frustration and choke down my sarcasm. I’ll bite. “How?” I don’t say anything more, I wouldn’t get anything out of it at this point anyway. I simply stare at the large red stamp at the top of the file that reads Priority Asset: Keep Apprised.

  “Because, Mr. Bloom. The contents of this file have been sent to us from a different Earth entirely.”