Chapter 4

This Is A Glimpse

Jack felt the warmth of the sun touching his face before he even opened his eyes. He could hear the soft ticking of a clock nearby. On the other side of the wall, he heard stirring; the neighbor kids waking up to open their Christmas presents, probably. The sound of traffic outside that usually accompanied his mornings was noticeably quiet due to the holiday. Slowly, sleepily, he opened one eye, then the other. He made a motion to lift his right hand to wipe the sleep away but found it weighted down by something. Groggily, he lifted his head to see what was causing the issue.

Resting on his chest was a face covered by a mass of dark brown hair.

His brow furrowed. Had he gone to bed with someone last night? And if he had...how drunk had he been? Because he didn't remember a thing – at least, nothing beyond a strange encounter with his old psychologist.

But aside from the headache he'd developed, this was absolutely no time to complain. He smiled and relished in the moment, gently running his free hand through the woman's hair. It was silky, and very soft, and he bent his neck down to kiss the back of her head. She stirred, but not enough for him to see her face, and mumbled something into his neck.

"Five more minutes, Jack," she said, and snuggled into him.

"Hmm?" Her voice. It was familiar.

Then a sound like a bowling ball being dropped came from the other room.

"Make that ten," she groaned, and squeezed him tighter.

He wrapped his arms around her in response. He didn't know who she was, but he knew he didn't want her to leave. But that noise...maybe he should check out that noise. Still groggy, he blinked his eyes a few times and -

"Deck the halls with balls of holly! Fra la la la la la la la la! It's the season to be sorry! Fra la la la la la la la la!"

Jack gasped and backed into the headboard, banging his head and knocking the woman off of him. One of the neighbor children had gotten into his apartment! Only, he noted as he finally took in his surroundings, this was definitely not his apartment. She got up onto the bed and began jumping up and down, and was soon joined by a barking golden retriever. "Wake up! Wake up! It's Christmas! Santa came!"

The woman groggily pushed herself up into a sitting position, and that's when Jack finally got a good look at her. His heart stopped. She muttered a "nevermind" to Jack before turning to the child and pulling her into a hug. "Merry Christmas, honey. Ready to open up some presents? I know Chrissy is!" she said, running her hands through the dog's fur.

"Yes and I already know one thing I got!"

"You do?" she played along.

"Yes it's a bike with a big bow on it!" the little girl said as she got back up and began jumping on the bed again, making Jack slightly queasy.

"Wow!"

Jack looked over at the woman as she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. She looked over at Jack. "I'll get Junior. You make the coffee? Black. The blackest black." She was older, her hair was a little bit longer. But that was undoubtedly, unmistakably...

"Janet?"

She threw him a smirk and a playful eyeroll. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's Christmas," she said and kissed him on the crown of his head. "Come on, you," she gestured toward the little girl as she got up from the bed.

W-what?" he stuttered, placing a hand on the spot where her lips had just been. When he pulled his hand back down he noticed a band around his left ring finger. "I...what?"

The little girl remained as Janet made her way out of the room with the dog. She stopped jumping and plopped down on top of Jack, which nearly knocked the wind out of him. "Come on! Come on!" she cried, climbing down off the bed and grabbing his hand. "Get up, daddy!"

At those last three words, Jack leaped up in a panic. Mommy? Daddy? What the hell! What the hell was happening?!

Satisfied that he was moving, the little girl jumped off the bed and ran out of the room after Janet. The dog (Chrissy?!) stayed behind, staring at Jack suspiciously. He looked around and noted his surroundings. Floral wallpaper, his bed...cotton sheets...a window that faced out toward a yard and not the city. Finger paintings. Little hand prints. A photo. A picture of him, and Janet, the little girl, and a baby.

He looked back down at the dog. She produced a low growl and Jack shooed her away, and she obliged only after producing a foul odor.

His heart was pounding. He tore at the drawers to look for some clothes. He was hallucinating. He needed a doctor. He needed immediate medical attention. He was out of there. He was out of there.

He turned out of the bedroom. Where the hell was he? Stairs. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he made his way down. A small foyer and a door meant freedom. Sanity. He swung it open.

"Mom?!"

"Jack! Merry Christmas, dear. We brought presents!" she said, lifting them up and around him to get by.

"We?"

"Merry Christmas, son," his dad said as he moved through the door and past him, thumping him on the back. "Now where are those grandkids of mine?"

Grandkids!

"Mom. Dad. Please, you have to help me! I'm losing my mind," he cried.

His mom turned around. "Oh, it's just one day a year, Jack. You and your brother were the same way on Christmas when you were kids. Brought the whole house down with the yelling and the carrying on."

"No, that's not – "

His father ruffled his hair. "Think of it is payback," he winked.

If Jack was losing his mind, then so was everyone else. He excused himself and ran outside, grabbing the keys that sat on the table next to the door. He had to get out. He couldn't face Janet. Not after he'd avoided her for so many years. If that was Janet - if he wasn't actually hallucinating this entire morning. But he had to be! He ran down the steps of a small but, admittedly, warm and homey front porch before stopping dead in his tracks.

"Oh god. Oh hell," he muttered to himself when his eyes landed on the vehicle: a mint green Ford Windstar. "I wanted a Ferrari!" he yelled at the sky. He quickly jammed the keys into the lock and opened the door, turned on the van, and hightailed it out of there.

He didn't recognize the area. It was residential and suburban, and clearly nowhere near his apartment. After a series of panicked and ill-fated twists and turns, he poked his head out the window to ask a man walking his dog for directions. If he could just get home and sleep off whatever sort of mental breakdown he was experiencing, everything would be fine.

The breaks skidded as he crookedly parked the vehicle he'd been speeding. He ran up to the entrance to the apartment building where he was promptly stopped by the doorman.

"Whoa, whoa, pal, where do you think you're going?" the man grumbled with a hand on Jack's chest.

"Jerry, it's me. Jack. I live upstairs?"

"Never saw you before in my life."

"Yeah, harhar. Very funny. Look, I'm having a very weird morning, okay? This isn't funny," Jack said, his voice rising with each word. He moved to push past the man but he was stopped once again.

"And I ain't laughing," he said. "Entrance is for residents only."

"I am a resident! Louise! Louise Wilson?" he called out to a middle-aged woman who was walking up to the entrance. One of his neighbors. "Tell Jerry I live here, please?"

"Who are you?" the woman asked suspiciously. "And how do you know my name?"

Jack stopped to stare at them, incredulous. "What is going on with you people? Is this some sort of a...a Christmas prank? Is that a thing now?"

"Look, buddy, if you don't hike it out of here in about two seconds, I'm going to throw you out on your ass myself," Jerry threatened him.

"Throw me out? On my ass? In front of my own home?!" Jack squeaked.

Louise looked at him with pity and spoke out of the corner of her mouth to Jerry. "Should we do something? It is Christmas. I kind of feel sorry for the guy."

"Yeah, well I don't. And he's kind of getting on my nerves," Jerry responded.

"Listen, maybe we can help you out. There's a shelter a few blocks from here. I hear they're serving a big Christmas dinner today for...folks like you."

"F-folks like me?" Jack squealed, offended. "What, Louise, do you mean folks who, uh, I don't know, have their own television show, multiple restaurants, and has become one of the most recognizable faces in the LA area? That kind of folks?" he found himself yelling through his panic. "I am Jack Tripper, damn it, and I'm not going to stand here and take this from you two crazy people on Christmas morning! Now get out of my way!"

But he was stopped once more by Jerry's stocky hand.

Jack inhaled sharply. "Fine. You wanna play games?" he said, holding his hands up in mock defeat. "I can play games. I'm gonna go to the studio. Yes, that's right. The studio! Where they film things. For television! Alright? And I'm going to file a complaint to the manager. That's right. I'm going to have your ass, Jerry! And as for you Louise! As for you I'll...well, I don't know what I'm gonna do, but it won't be pretty! You hear me? IT WON'T BE PRETTY."

He turned on his heel and ran back to the van. After multiple attempts, he was finally able to start the damn thing. Soon he approached the entrance to the studio lot. He pulled up to the security booth, where luckily a familiar face awaited him.

"Percy, thank God," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You wouldn't believe the kind of morning I've – "

"ID, sir."

Jack fumbled through his pockets, but naturally he had no form of identification on him. "I don't have anything on me, okay? It's Jack," he said poking his head out the window to make sure Percy could get a good look at him and producing an awkward yet endearing grin.

"Sorry, can't let you in without identification or authorization. Besides, everything's closed up. It's Christmas, in case you weren't aware."

Jack was growing flustered again. What the hell was wrong with everyone today? "I don't care what it is. I'm Jack Tripper."

"Sorry, never heard of you."

"Jack Tripper! Jack. Tripper!" he stressed to the man. "That's me! That's my face on that – " but he stopped as his eyes locked on the lightbox poster that rested on the wall to the studio building's entrance. Where his smiling face normally stared out at passersby was the face of another: "Guy Frisco?" he squeaked. It was his assistant. On his poster!

If Jack's heart had already been pounding, it was now pushing its way out of his chest. Something was wrong. Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

The man, Percy, was now looking at him with a note of concern. "You better head on home, sir. Have a nice holiday, alright?"

Everything felt like it was spinning. It was actually happening. He suspected this day would eventually come, but he never thought it would be this soon. Or this weird. He was having a psychotic break. Quickly, without thinking, he sped the van backwards and out of the lot, nearly colliding with a pristine, brand new, bright red Ferrari.

"Son of a –" Jack started as he opened the door and got out of the van to give the jerk a piece of his mind. "What the hell, man?" But he stopped cold as soon as he recognized the face behind the wheel. The man, unphased, wiggled his fingers and smiled at Jack in greeting.

"You," he whispered under his breath as the man beckoned him inside his car. "You!" he yelled again in an accusatory manner, as he made his way over to the window. The man rolled it down and looked up at him.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked Dr. Prescott, nonchalantly.

"What's going on?" Jack pleaded. "Why are you driving a Ferrari? What do you know?"

Prescott shrugged. His calm, casual manner was back, replacing the sad, skittish man Jack had spoken to just last night. "I know lots of things. I am a doctor of psychology, after all," he said arrogantly.

Jack reached into the car's window and grabbed Dr. Prescott by the lapels. "What did you do to me?" he cried.

"Let go, let go. Just let go, and I'll tell you everything," he gasped. Jack reluctantly let go. "Get inside. I'll explain."

Jack glared at him for a moment, then obliged. He slammed the door shut and turned toward the other man. "Today, I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine. Janet was there," he stopped, pausing as that fact finally began to sink in. "Oh my god, Janet was there. And...and children. Nobody else knows who I am. I – "

"Yeah, yeah, I know all of that," Dr. Prescott said cutting him off.

"You did this." Jack stated, not asked. Dr Prescott just smiled and produced a sort of self-satisfied full-body wiggle. "Why? How?"

"Psychologists have our ways, Jack. As for why, now there's a question I can answer," he said, and pulled Jack in an uncomfortable side hug as he gestured toward an invisible scene before him. "You see, with the holidays approaching I was feeling the spirit of Christmas. A man I had spoken to years ago was broken, dejected, though of course he was too proud to admit this. He was stuck living with the consequences of the choices he'd made and it was," he turned to Jack, looking down his nose at him, "quite frankly, pathetic," He looked forward again. "So I said to myself, I said 'Dr. Prescott. It's the holiday season. Should we take pity on this man? Should we mess with him?' The answer to both of those questions was, of course, 'yes. Yes we should do that.' And so," he said, finally pushing Jack away from him. "Here we are."

Jack stared at him briefly, his mouth slightly agape. "What?!"

Dr. Prescott rolled his eyes and shook his head as if Jack had a lot of nerve to not understand what he was saying. "Have you ever seen It's a Wonderful Life?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay, it's like that."

"So...what, you're an angel or something?"

"No, I'm a psychologist Jack," he replied, as if Jack had said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Look, you claimed you have no regrets. You said that you had everything you need. That is, of course, not true. And so, here I am."

Jack had been trying to maintain his cool, but he was quickly failing. "You're saying," he started slowly. "That because I was a little bit cocky," he inhaled deeply, "and I told you that I enjoyed my life," he added, picking up in speed and volume, "you decided to put me on a PERMANENT ACID TRIP?!" he screamed.

"Now, I wasn't going to," Dr. Prescott replied pointing a finger in the air. "But what you did last night? On the bridge? With the nice words and the lottery ticket? That was a great thing you did, Jack. That was an act of selflessness."

"What does that have to do with anything?!" Jack continued to yell through what was developing into a hearty anxiety attack. "Just tell me what's happening!"

"This is a glimpse, Jack," Dr. Prescott stated.

"A what?!"

"A glimpse. A peek into the life you could've had had you taken my advice seven years ago."

"Advice? What advice?" Jack said, half playing stupid. He knew there'd been advice. He just barely remembered exactly what it had been – or, rather, he'd chosen not to remember.

"That's for you to figure out, Jack."

"What...f-for how long?" Jack cried.

"As much time as it takes," Dr. Prescott shrugged.

"This is insane. This is insane!" Jack said, running his hands through his hair. "I can't...I can't do this right now. I have a life. I have a show. I have my restaurants. I have..." he trailed off, at a loss.

"What else do you have, Jack?"

Jack just gritted his teeth in response. "I just want to go home."

"Then you're in luck," Dr Prescott said, reaching over and pushing Jack's door open. Jack hadn't even realized they'd been driving. They were back in front of the Ford Windstar. "Oh, and before you leave," he said, and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out what appeared to be a cheap bike bell and handing it to Jack.

"What's this for?" Jack asked, turning it over in his hands. "Is it for if I need help?"

"Time to get out of the car, Jack," Dr. Prescott said, ignoring him.

"But...but I'm scared. This is...overwhelming," Jack winced. "You did this to me. You can't leave me now!" he cried, grabbing onto the man's arm.

"Alright. Alright, fine. You're right," he said, shrugging Jack off of him. "I understand this seems like a lot. And that's normal. It's a lot for any person to take in. Perhaps we should practice some mindfulness, shall we? Repeat after me. Ready? I – "

"I," Jack said.

"Am."

"Am."

"Onmyown," Dr. Prescott said as one long word and pushed Jack out of the door. Jack backed into the van as he sped off.

"Asshole!" he yelled after the Ferrari as the exhaust fumes curled around Jack in its wake.

He slammed his hand on the van's hood in frustration, causing immense pain and the hood to open. He slammed it back down with his good hand while he shook the other off and got inside. His head fell in defeat onto the steering wheel and he stayed like that for a good while. "This cannot be happening," he muttered through clenched teeth. "This isn't real. This is a psychotic break." He closed his eyes, willing himself back into reality. But when he opened them again, he was still sitting in the Ford Windstar. He noticed a car seat through the rearview mirror and he inhaled deeply.

"Fine," he said to himself. "Fine. You want me to play along? I can play along. If I'm going to have a breakdown, I can lean into it." He turned the keys in the ignition and started the car. "I can lean into the crazy. And tomorrow," he said, as he pulled the car away from the studio lot, "I'm going to wake up in the nuthouse."