The Other Side

For her, it was the fire.

For him, it was the voices.

Ella and Kade. They thought they were safe. That they were normal. They were totally unaware of one another's presence until fate had to draw them together.

In each other's eyes they are strangers. But in another reality they are more than friends.

It's just too bad they can't remember any of it.

Now they both face an impending doom from group of powerful people trying to kill them. At the same time trying to figure out what got them into this mess in first place.

But the answer may prove to be more terrifying than the question.

Who are they?


6. Chapter 3 – Revealing the Unreality


‘Don’t part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.’

-Mark Twain






They had begun last month. The visions. It had started during the night. I’d sometimes picture myself in another world, different from Earth. I’d see snippets of another life unravel themselves from my infanthood to my childhood, and then my early teens, and every morning I’d wake with a pounding headache. At first, I’d thought the visions were just night symptoms of a virus or flu.


Then came the voices.





I was having my first counselling session. I sat on a chair in the middle of the small room, and my psychologist, Dr Croyd, sat across from me in his own swivel chair.


Dr Croyd wore a dark-brown suit made of strong fabric. Underneath that was a crisp white shirt upon which he sported a deep green tie. He was considerably short. His feet did not touch the ground, except the tips of his over-polished shoes. The old man had a shaven beard, bristled with grey specks of hair joining up to his neatly combed hair. Under his furrowed eyebrows, his eyes scanned the clipboard consisting of the details of my session.


“Kade Smith,” the man barked suddenly, he kept his spectacled eyes glued the clipboard. His tone was gruff and demanding, like one belonging to an army officer.


I sat up attentively, not wanting to irritate him.


“Yes, sir,” I said robotically.


“Aged eighteen years?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And your parents are?”


“Monica and Mark Smith.”




“Excuse me, sir?”


“What do you work as?”


It took a while for me to understand the question.


“I’m a student at Westcroft High School.”


I wondered how long it was going to stay like this. Was the entire session going to be a one-sentence question and answer? If so, I should have just stayed home and let the visions come.


Dr Croyd put his clipboard down and folded his short arms across his chest. Then he stared at me, a sneaking smile creeping upon his aged face. And by that, I meant a full-on creepy stare. Suddenly the Joker himself was sitting in front of me. Dr Croyd’s mouth was stretched into a painful grimace of a smile, and for a moment, I was expecting him to turn psycho and pull out a machete. To my relief, nothing came. And a few lengthy seconds passed while we both sat in the room in complete silence. I glanced up at his old withered face and he was still staring at me with an unsettling gaze.


“Dr Croyd?” I asked after moments of unease.


My psychologist lowered his gaze and picked up his clipboard and a pen. A wave of relief washed over me. He then immediately started scratching notes down.


“I apologise,” he said, still writing. “I only thought it would be fair to take this moment to acknowledge your presence.”




He continued, interrupting me. “You see I spend an awfully long time jotting notes down. I always have to scramble for the chance to relax and have a pleasant face-to-face talk with my patients.”


“So…are you done with it now…or…?” shall we continue staring at each other like we’re idiots? I shivered to think what I must have looked like to him just now - a demented teenage boy with an awkward look on his face. Sweet. I would forever look like a freak in his eyes.


“Yes, yes. Well.” Dr Croyd continued writing. “So tell me, what is the reason of your presence, Mr Smith?”


“Something weird has been happening to me over the past few weeks…” I squirmed.


“Carry on,” Dr Croyd said, beckoning me to say more.


I figured there was no point in trying to stall. The truth would come out sooner or later.


“I’ve…been having visions,” I blurted out. As soon as the word left my mouth I knew they sounded crazy.


“What of?” Dr Croyd asked, unfazed. He must have done this a thousand times: listening to people claim they have could see fanatical things, those will some disorders that made them hear voices in their head. The short doctor’s face was calm and inviting.


Then I figured that if the man could stare at a person like that for a minute, he could just about withstand anything.


I took a gulp and started talking. 

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