The day was March 29th, a Thursday. And although the moon was high in the night sky and the rest of the town had packed in for the night, a sleepless Jesse found himself in the garage under the chassis of a 1970 Dodge Super Bee. A cool spring breeze blew in through the open garage door. From the corner of the room, the song Some Kinda Wonderful by Sky drifted through the air from a radio. The hosts of the station had long signed off, leaving just the commercials to occasionally interrupt the steady stream of rock hits. Just the way Jesse liked it. He hummed along with the song as he grabbed his ratchet and tightened the car's oil plug. Next up: removing the filter. He reached for a shop towel to wipe the oil off his hands. This would require as much grip as he could get.
Flashlight between his teeth, it hardly took him any time to locate the familiar cylindrical shape of the filter. He reached up and twisted it to the left with all his might. It didn't budge. Typical. He tried again, this time with a shop towel. This time his hand slipped, and he felt a sting as something cut into his palm.
He yelped, the flashlight falling from his mouth, and gritted his teeth. "Boy, you sure are a stubborn thing, aren't you? Guess I'll need the vice grips." He looked down at his still stinging hand. A deep cut ran diagonally through his palm and a few drops of blood fell onto his shirt. "Ugh, and a bandage too."
He started to set down his shop towel when something gave him pause. The radio flickered and went to static. He pricked an ear. Weird. The reception in the garage was normally perfectly fine. Keeping his eyes fixed on it, he started to pull himself out when suddenly a blinding light and a violent gust of wind tore through the garage. At the same time a loud sound reminiscent of an explosion split the air. Startled, Jesse bolted upright, hitting his head on his project in the process. He grunted and lifted a hand to his head.
"What the heck?"
He pulled himself out from under the car and reached for his breaker bar. He got to his feet, his eyes glued to the open garage door, and crept forward. Gripping the bar tightly in his hands, he reached the opening and scanned his surroundings. But outside the world was still fast asleep without even a hint of being disturbed. Jesse furrowed a brow, confused. Just then a rustle came from the bushes to his left. He whirled toward the sound, instinctively winding up to strike whatever was making it, if need be. The sound of a voice muffled by leaves came from within the bushes' midsts.
"Who's there?" Jesse demanded, readjusting his grip on the breaker bar. "Come out where I can see you. Now."
After a little more rustling two hands raised themselves out of the bushes, holding a sort of staff, followed by a head of black, messy hair. As the mystery figure emerged, Jesse's eyes widened and he nearly dropped his makeshift weapon. He was face to face with a man, but not just any man. He was face to face with...himself. Or almost himself, anyway. Dark hair, same face shape and nose, similar stature and scar on his forehead—aside from some minor differences like his eye colour and height, it was almost like looking into a mirror.
He blinked a few times. He had to be imagining this. Maybe his insomnia was finally getting to him. But when he opened his eyes again, the man was still there.
"Haha, yes! It worked!" the stranger exclaimed before stepping out of the bushes and hurrying toward him. Jesse shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. This was not the time to let down his guard.
"Hey, hey, stay back!" He snapped. He leveled his weapon with the man as he got closer, keeping him at somewhat of a distance. He didn't know what was going on but he didn't like it.
"Listen, you gotta come with me." the mystery man explained hurriedly, "I need your help. It's really important—like fate of the world important—and you're the only one who can help me fix it."
