My hearing returns before anything else.

There is a faint beeping in my right ear, as though it is some distance away. Then I hear muffled voices. I can't make out any words, but they seem agitated like they're arguing. The conversation ends before I can discern who or how many people are speaking.

I begin to become aware of my body. I know I'm lying down, and I can move my fingers, though trying to raise a hand to my face is more effort than I can manage. I feel a residual tightness in my chest, and then everything comes flooding back.

Sheila. I was there. I made it.

She was standing right in front of me, within reach.

She shot me...why did she do that?

Why...?

...How am I alive? Why must I be alive?

I feel my eyes welling up beneath my eyelids. My respiration rises, and my body tenses. If I'm thinking, I'm breathing, and there's only one way that could be. I remember all the blood. I remember rapidly losing conscious. I should be dead, and I wish to be. Yet I'm among the living in the very place I was trying to escape from.

"I told you, you know, that she wasn't your Sheila."

I freeze on hearing Samantha's voice, clearer now and much closer. It clicks then that it was her I'd heard when I first woke, arguing with Scot and possibly Marc. I force open my eyes, and harsh, white light bursts in from directly above. I turn my head to the right, as much as I can manage, to see her standing over me, her face totally neutral.

She's another person I've never truly looked at properly. Her raven hair hangs shoulder length, framing her heart-shaped face. Of all her features, by far the most striking are her vividly violet eyes. With her face shaded from the overhead lighting, they are intense enough that they seem to glow, though I wonder am I still just disoriented from my ordeal.

Not changing her expression and her tone flat, she says, "This place must really want you."

"I'm back."

"Indeed you are, and I'm at a loss as to why."

I detect a hint of anger in her voice but if that's the case, then she's suppressing her emotions very well. I simply ask, "How?"

"It's as I said, the Institute wants you. As for its fellows, well..."

"You're saying...it drew me back, like the first time?"

"You'd been gone no more than a few hours when the Gate spat you back out, unconscious and bleeding to death. The bullet severed your subclavian artery. You're fortunate that you hadn't lost more blood. Otherwise what triage options we had wouldn't have been enough to stabilise you, at least not long enough to get you up to the infirmary."

"You should have just let me die."

"Maybe..." I look at her, a little jarred by her response. "...But that is not our way and like I've told you many a time, you're here for a reason. If this doesn't get that through to you, I don't know what will."

"I don't want a purpose, or a reason to be. My last hope died when she shot me. There's nothing left for me, not here or anywhere else."

Samantha cast her eyes downward and nodded. "That is, of course, your decision. You're welcome to use a Gate to travel to another reality where death would be assured, or you could go have your alternate wife shoot you again. It doesn't matter really, and no one will try to stop you this time. I highly doubt, too, that the Institute will intervene on your behalf a third time. No point in saving someone who doesn't want to be saved."

She turns to leave but stops several feet from the end of my bed. Without turning back to look at me, she says, "I told Marc I would speak with you, and I've done that. If you have no will left to live, then nothing I can say to you will change that, nor anything else I might do. Still, the Institute called you back, so the least we can do is be upfront with you."

"What do you mean?"

"When you're ready, go find Marc before you do anything...final. I ask you as the only person who stood with you through all your sorrows and your self-destruction. Hear him out. You owe me that much."

With that, she leaves, and I'm too weak to lift my head to see her go. I don't want any of this anymore. I just want it all to end whether my family is waiting for me, or only oblivion. Yet her words have embedded in my mind like a painful splinter, and I feel as though I can only be free if I do as she asks.

I close my eyes and try to rest only to be haunted by the realisation that when she "spoke" to me with her back turned, I heard nothing, at least not with my ears, and more, when I responded to her, I did not speak, not aloud anyhow.

My recovery was swift. I didn't recognize any of the devices the infirmary staff used on me to heal my injury or replenish my body after the severe blood loss. I just took them at face value when they told me what they were doing. When I felt ready, I left without a word.

I find myself standing here now, outside the infirmary door. I can take the elevator back to the Primary Sensoria, make my way to the Gates and be done with this, or, alternatively, I could just go outside into the realm the Institute currently occupies. Either way, the result would be the same. Yet that splinter Samantha left in my mind still lingers, feeling as though it is digging deeper, piercing through my consciousness.

I can't shake it any longer. I just feel compelled to do this one last thing, for her. I doubt it'll change anything. My conversations with Marc have been a source of endless frustration. Yet she implied that, this time, his intention is to enlighten me. I guess I'll be the judge of that.

I force my body forward, make my way to the elevator. Something inside me still resists. I feel the guilt, the grief, the debilitating agony, all of it calls me away, to reach for that crescendo of my self-harm. Yet that splinter just buries in deeper every time and so, I carry on painfully slow, in complete discomposure.

When I finally reach the last corridor leading up to the elevator, Scott stands in my way.

"So, she convinced you?"

I notice he is armed, with a standard 9mm, which he has holstered. In fact, I'm almost certain it's the same make and model as the gun with which Sheila shot me. I don't know if his intention is to rattle me, but he's clearly disappointed that I'm not off to die, though I can't see how he could know my intentions.

I regard him coolly, but the effect is mostly lost as I visibly struggle with myself. He would make a worthy opponent, I'll give him that. The man looks like he makes extensive use of the Institute's gyms. His angular features make his expression seem even more stern, yet it is somewhat softened by the baby blue eyes and the sandy blonde hair. He favours me with a look of complete venom. However, as much as I'm barely holding it together, I find the strength to say through gritted teeth, "Step aside, Scot. I'm not in the mood to spar with you right now."

"And what if I am?" He says, gripping his holstered pistol, for effect, I presume.

"That would be a mistake, on your part."

"Forgive me, Jordan, but you don't exactly look like a man at the height of his powers."

"Even on my worst day, I could still take you down with an arm tied behind my back. Unless you intend to take the coward's option and use that gun."

"No satisfaction in that really, especially after everything you've done. You have some gall, Jordan. You've hurt people. You could have killed some of them all because of your reckless, selfish determination to wrest your past life back from the multiverse, and after all of that, she tried to kill you, because she feared you, hated you."

"Shut up."

"You know it's true. You saw it yourself in her eyes, right before she pulled the trigger. You know I really hoped that phase-shift device would fail, and that you'd just cease to be, but what actually happened, that punishment is far more fitting for the crime. After all you did to finally reach a version of the woman you loved, this one not only would never love you back, but she would rather take your life than let you into hers."

"If you want me to kill you, you're heading down the right path."

He strolls forward, still with a firm grip on his weapon. He stops barely a foot from my face, looming over me with his small height advantage. "You should have died there, Jordan. It's what you deserved but for reasons I really can't fathom, the Institute itself pulled you from the brink of death, again. I argued vehemently not to treat you, but Marc and Samantha saw it as their duty to at least offer you this second chance. Really though, what place could you possibly have here after all of this?"

He walks around me, only breaking his focus on me when he stands by my right side where he pauses. I wait as he inhales deeply, seemingly considering. I ask, "Was that all, or do you have more to get off your chest?"

"Just get it over with. You know you want to. I know your fighting against whatever Samantha implanted in your mind. It's because you don't want this. You want an end, not hope, not some revelation, and that's what Marc wants to offer you. Save yourself the bother and go to the Gates. Not that I want you to have a quick death, but it is fast and painless."

As he walks off, my body trembles from the struggle within. The compulsion Samantha seeded inside my mind now feels less like a splinter and more like a searing hot knife planted deep in my skull. Everything I am feels ready to leave this life behind and yet, as I enter the elevator, shaking and with perspiration rolling down my face, I know the Gates are not my destination. I take it up to the twenty-fourth floor.

Somehow, I have a feeling.

I emerge into my familiar haunt and without much thought, I make way to the viewing deck, my pace a little staggered, as I continue to battle with myself. After a final breathless push, I lurch in, bent over with my hands planted on my knees. I feel as though I've done a few rounds of hundred-meter sprints.

When my breathing finally moderates, I look up to see an all too familiar sight. A vast, dense forest stretching out before me, the wilds of an untamed Vancouver. Before I can wonder as to why we've ended up back here, Marc announces himself. "I thought perhaps that this might be somewhat soothing after your ordeal. I asked Philips to return us to this dimensional line for the moment. His work with the Core is coming on splendidly."

It takes me a second to determine that he's perhaps a dozen feet in front of me, standing in front of the window. I find myself recovering rapidly, breathing normalising, calm returning, and my head no longer feeling like it's about to split open. I straighten myself up and relax the tension from my body.

"It does pass rather fast once its purpose has been met."

"What's that?"

"Samantha's compulsion. It's a rather hard thing for her to do, especially on our minds, especially yours since you'd already surrendered to absolute despair. Turning the tide for you must have been exceptionally difficult for her."

I can't even begin to wrap my head around what he means, but he's right about one thing, I feel the dejection return sharply but also a rising resentment that I was made to come here. "Good, you're angry. A potent emotion to counteract your misery, it's just as she predicted."

"I'm tired of your manipulations, Marc. What is this? Why have you brought me here? What did Samantha do to me?"

"So many questions, all of which I'll answer. I did always say to just ask."

"No. You were never honest to begin with, or you would have told me about Adimu's research."

"Ah yes, the phase-shift device. It did perform better than I anticipated. Alas, only modestly."

"What do you mean? It allowed me to be in that reality for hours without any ill-effects."

"Well, it wasn't on your person when you returned, and you made a rather dramatic exit, witnessed by many. That's not the norm for most arrivals to the Institute. As you can imagine, we had somewhat of a cleanup on our hands."

"What did you do?"

"Before the people involved could disperse too widely, we opened a Gate to 20-87 and sent personnel to administer memory suppressants and retrieve any foreign items. One of the paramedics, who arrived moments before you returned to us, removed your jacket in order to treat you. Unfortunately, you then disappeared right before their eyes and only a few moments later, the phase-shift device failed beneath the pressure of the universe weighing down upon it and it, along with your jacket, flashed into energy in the form of hard gamma rays."

It doesn't take long to dawn on me. "Sheila?"

"She was exposed along with a half dozen others, including her partner."

"Partner?"

He pauses, and I sense he's taking a long hard look at me. "You really didn't investigate her properly at all, did you? You just focused on those moments in her life that most resembled your own memories. Her moments alone, her wanderings in the countryside, when she'd take her daughter to that park. By the way, you should consider yourself fortunate that you arrived when you did. Otherwise, all these events would have transpired in that little girl's presence."

"Enough!"

"Hardly. Your record in your own reality has you down as a fastidious agent, well respected within your nation's intelligence apparatus. We're all human, though, and on such a personal endeavour, I suppose not all your faculties could be engaged. You certainly paid little heed to the details of your counterpart's life. If you had, you might have tried a different approach than just showing up on the poor woman's doorstep. Maybe you would have even reconsidered altogether."

"Stop being cryptic. You brought me here so I would listen. Now give me the answers!"

"Your, shall we say, alter ego was not a model citizen. He had certain commonalities with you, intelligence, attention to detail, covertness, but, unlike you, he used them for unscrupulous ends. He was a major drug distributor in Limerick City and the broader region, funneling imported cocaine from Colombia to dozens of dealers. He had numerous gang affiliations, even a few paramilitary connections, and he accrued significant financial wealth along with a reputation for cruelty and violence. Anyone who crossed him did not roam free long after, and then did not live much after that, but long enough to suffer."

I sit down, almost staggering back into a seat, completely shell-shocked. I say, "That can't be. Of all the realms I observed, my...alter egos...were more or less like me, but they applied their skills to different things. Soldiers, police officers, firemen, even some paramedics and doctors but near as I could tell, they were all good men who loved their families."

"I can't speak to this Jordan's feelings towards his wife and daughter. Maybe in the beginning, he was that person, but he was inducted young into a criminal enterprise by an older friend, realised he was good at it, and everything progressed from there. The drugs, the arms dealing, the violence, the murders, until he was kingpin of the entire regional drug trade. Even local law enforcement were cowed by him, partly because his meticulousness in all things left virtually no evidence with which to convict. He knew, too, how to get people on the inside or, failing that, make them fear for their families' safety."

"And Sheila, Emily?"

"They suffered, too. Either because of the lifestyle with the constant exposure to drugs, guns, and his associates, or the threats made to them, and even several attempts on their lives and his carried out by rival gangs. Then things turned worse when he became too fond of the violence, and Sheila, too, began to suffer directly at his hands."

"He...he beat her."

"And Emily if he could, though Sheila often protected her with her own body. Ultimately, though, his spousal and child abuse became his downfall."

"How so?"

"A new and determined police commissioner, who hailed from Limerick originally, made it his mission to take him down. He saw Sheila as a possible backdoor to attain evidence to pin him with something and get him off the streets. When first approached, she was too afraid to go behind his back but when Emily's safety came into greater peril from another attempted hit, she came to them and offered to testify and provide information on his entire operation, in exchange for protection. Before long, multiple raids were organised across the city on addresses Sheila had heard your alter ego mention. Millions in drugs were seized, hundreds of weapons, and most of his associates folded when caught red-handed."

"So, he was arrested?"

"No. One of his remaining informants gave him a heads-up that Sheila was speaking to the police, and he managed to get out of the country long before the raids commenced. He was out of Europe by the time it all went down. From there, he took refuge in Rio, Brazil. No extradition, you see. He remained there for some years, trying to work his way up with local gangs and drug lords. His failure at home did not go unnoticed, however, by his counterparts in Colombia. A price was put on his head, and he fled Rio. He made it to Brasilia and was looking for a way to get to Amazonas in hopes of regrouping and coming up with a plan to escape his pursuers, or pay his debt to them."

"But they caught up with him?"

"No again, while trying to traverse the southern reaches of the rainforest on foot, he took a fall down a steep slope. He broke a leg, an arm, and incurred several spinal fractures. He died there, alone, from dehydration and exposure, after three days. His body was never recovered because no one was looking and between the environment and the animals, it wasn't long before there wasn't anything to find."

"So, as far as Sheila was concerned, he was still on the run."

"And then you showed up on her doorstep, her worst nightmares realised."

"...I don't blame her for shooting me." I was a terror to her. All my hopes were delusions. There was no way I could ever have reached that woman, let alone made her feel safe and loved. All she would ever have seen was the face of a career criminal who hurt her and their child. It then dawns on me what Marc said before. "Marc, the radiation, is she okay?"

"Everyone exposed was treated. There will be no lasting effects, though most of them will feel rather rough for the coming few days."

With that, I hear his footsteps tread towards me. I think he stops right by my side, though nothing else indicates his location. A moment of uncomfortable silence lingers a little too long and so, I ask, "Why couldn't you have told me any of this in the beginning? Before my obsession grew, before I did...anything that I did. I succeeded, and it was doomed from the outset. She tried to kill me because she so desperately feared my counterpart, and I could have killed her, because I thought I could outmaneuver the universe."

He doesn't respond immediately, and not until I'm on the verge of getting frustrated. "Tell me something, Jordan. Had I told you all this months ago, how do you think you would have reacted, honestly now?"

I opened my mouth to speak because I already know the answer. It's just that I'm finally beginning to fathom Marc's motivations. I say, "I either would have ended it there and then, or I wouldn't have believed you, and carried on regardless."

"More like the latter, wouldn't you say?"

I do not answer, but I feel myself wavering in my resolve. It's all rushing in on me now. Marc, Samantha, they were right from the beginning, and he is right now. Given what I perceived to be at my disposal, I would have exhausted every possible avenue until I was certain there was no way to get my family back. I always believed that death would be preferable to failure because it at least offered some remote possibility that I might rejoin them. Perhaps, there'd be some perfect afterlife awaiting me. Now, I'm not so sure anymore, not of anything.

I hear Marc take a few steps towards the entrance. He stops and says, "So, shall we?" I can tell from the sound of his voice that he is facing me.

I look into the space by the door and say, "Shall we what?"

"I think you know. Have I not at least given you pause, something to think about before you do anything rash?" Again, I do not answer, just give a look of chagrin. "If I'm correct, then allow me to give you a reason to live."

I nod my assent and follow as I hear him leave the viewing deck. I then come to a stop as another thing Marc said strikes me. He says, "Jordan?"

"You said she has a partner."

Marc immediately comprehends and replies, "Yes, she does, the young woman who greeted you when you first knocked on her door."

I lift my chin from near my chest, looking up sharply. My startled expression must be very clear to see. Marc gives a small chuckle and says, "Don't be too surprised, Jordan. It's as we told you, there are always commonalities, but she was never your Sheila."