2012 in this world – REESE

A box of fresh donuts in hand, John squared his shoulders against the chilly wind of this cold winter morning. He was a couple blocks from the library when a payphone rang just as he passed it. John paused and looked at the ringing phone. What could be so urgent that it couldn't wait for him to be in the warmth of the library? With his free hand, John tightened his collar and picked up the phone. The familiar impersonal voice of the Machine immediately started speaking.

Zucchini Foxtrot Lima Tomorrow Golf Charlie Martian Alpha Whiskey Prime

It was a number. Wedging the handset between his shoulder and his ear, John slid a hand inside his jacket, and picked up his pen to note the number directly on the donut box. He then hung up and hurried to the library.

"Finch?" he called. "Breakfast is here."

But Finch was nowhere to be seen and John was only met by the silence of the abandoned library. He put down the box on the table sitting in the middle of their quarters and hung his coat on the rack. He then proceeded to collect the books to decipher the code that would lead him to a number. It was only when he was in possession of the three books that he realized the Machine had given him one too many words. What did the Prime stand for?

He grabbed a donut and took a bite. Then he logged into the computer and after opening the SSN search, he typed in the number.

The image that appeared on the screen made him choke on his pastry. It was Jessica.

For a moment, John's brain froze. He wasn't sure how to process the information. Was the Machine losing it? Could Jessica be alive? But then, how? Why? Heart pounding, John forced himself to calm down and think. He shook his head, annoyed at himself for letting such silly irrational thoughts poison his mind. It couldn't be. He knew Jessica was dead.

What did it mean, then?

John was still staring at the screen, unable to take his eyes off of Jessica's picture, when Harold walked into the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Ree- "

But John's evident distress stopped him.

"John, what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," John said in a hoarse voice as he jumped up from Harold's chair. "The Machine gave me Jessica's number."

Harold paled as he looked at the young woman's photograph on the screen and his gaze lingered on the number noted on the pastry box. John had hoped that it was just a glitch, something that Harold would wave off and embarrassingly apologize for. But from Harold's reaction, it wasn't a simple glitch from the Machine. It was something. And that wasn't very reassuring.

Harold turned back to face him. "Mr. Reese, it's not what you think. Jessica, your Jessica, is unfortunately not alive. And I want you to know that I would never hide something like this from you."

John nodded shortly. Of course he trusted Finch. "What is it, then? The Machine mixed up numbers? Someone took Jessica's identity?"

Harold took the seat and shook his head. "I'm afraid it's more complicated than this, John." He marked a pause before going on. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you about this," he sighed. "But I guess it's too late, now."

John was utterly confused. If Jessica was dead, and if it wasn't a glitch, then what was it? And why was it worrying Harold so much?

Harold gestured toward a spare chair behind them. "Please take a seat, Mr. Reese."

Intrigued by so much caution, John complied and sat down on the chair.

Harold cleared his throat and started his story.

"When we first connected the Machine to government feeds, Nathan and I discovered a lot of secrets of all sorts. This is one of them – and frankly one of the most disturbing ones we ever found. About 25 years ago, during the Cold War, something happened in Berlin. It's unclear what exactly. There is no official record and it's been kept under a tight lid since then. But whatever occurred, the world sort of… replicated. And there are now two worlds, slowly diverging as time goes. As a consequence, there are now two versions of each of us who were already born at the time. Two versions of me, two versions of you."

Harold locked his gaze to John's.

"Two versions of Jessica."

John's heart missed a beat.

"Every now and then," Harold went on, "we receive a prime number. The number from someone on the other side. You have to understand, Mr. Reese. While there is one known door to the other side, it is very strictly guarded by a UN office in Berlin, and we have no way to simply hop there to save the prime numbers. We can't."

"So it's like your irrelevant irrelevant list?" John retorted sarcastically. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Harold shot him a contrite look. "I knew it would be difficult for you to accept that there are people we cannot save."

A sharp pain grew inside John's chest as the implications of Harold's revelations sank in. "So what you are saying is that there is another world where Jessica is alive?" he hissed between his teeth. "And right now she's in danger but we're supposed to not do anything?"

"John, it's not your Jessica. It's another Jessica, who led another life. You can't let your emotions…"

"But she's in danger, Finch," John snapped, jumping to his feet.

The urgency rising inside him was burning and imperative. He had to do it. It wasn't the Jessica he had known, but it was still a version of Jessica. Twenty-five years ago, Jessica, like everyone else, split in two. The one from this side died, but somehow, the other one didn't. Another version of Jessica was alive over there. He couldn't simply stand there and let her die too. He had to save her.

He resolutely walked to the computer.

"What do we know about her?" he asked, putting up her profile.

She was registered as a nurse at Manhattan General under the name Jessica Mitchell. It was her maiden name. She wasn't married then. Thank God, this Jessica didn't marry that murderous trash of Peter Arndt. John hoped that if she was seeing someone, whoever that could be, he was taking good care of her.

"Do we have anything else on her?" he asked.

Harold shook his head. "There is very little information coming through from the other side. It's virtually impossible to build a case from here. We can't track her. All we have is her home address."

John noted down the address in Brooklyn and slid the piece of paper in the inner pocket of his jacket. "I do have some experience in the art of old fashioned espionage and intelligence, Finch."

"John, please reconsider, it's dangerous," Harold pleaded. "How are you even going to go through? The only pathway is in Berlin."

John looked at Harold, resolute. "I'm going, Harold." He'd go to Hell and back if it meant he could save Jessica. Any version of Jessica. "I think the Machine wanted me to. That's why it sent me this number."

Harold sighed, and gave John a heavy look. "There's nothing I can say that would change your mind, is there?"

John shook his head.

"Alright," Harold finally conceded.

He paused, thinking. Suddenly he got an idea and picked a piece of paper and wrote something on it. He then folded it and handed it to John.

"You'll have to figure out things on your own once you've crossed. And I have no doubt about your spying skills. But if need be, try and find the other me. Hopefully he stuck to Harold Wren. Show him this message. It'll help convince him that what you're saying is true."

"Meet the other you?" John grinned. "I can't wait."

John took the note and put it in his pocket. He was about to walk away, but he turned back to face his friend.

"Harold? Thank you."

To be continued...