Side Effects May Vary

A CandlePunk Story by krazydiamond

Jeb Meyers hadn't slept in weeks. His doctor insisted that wasn't physically possible. The human body couldn't survive such strain. He'd have gone mentally insane after a few days. Blah blah, all that medical bullshit. Jeb was too damn tired to convince him otherwise. He was the one who hadn't sleep in six weeks, not Dr. Ritcher, though the idiot had the decency to recommend Jeb to a specialist in the field.

Which brought Jeb to his current location, a nondescript low brick building with blacked out windows. There was no sign out front, or number on the door. He checked the gps twice to assure himself he was in the correct location. The blacked out windows gave him pause. Only time he'd encountered that kind of setup was at Lucky Jim's pot farm. Did Dr. Ritcher send him here to get high? Maybe a couple puffs would help him finally sleep. He frowned at the 'lab'. The only sign of occupancy was a rusted station wagon in the lot, which didn't improve his opinion of the joint. In the end it was exhaustion that drove him forward, knocking on the rough metal door. He didn't think he would physically survive much more of this. He was barely surviving now, on his feet thanks to a steady stream of energy drinks. He'd read those stories and wasn't too keen to make his brain bleed out his ears.

Once he finished knocking, Jeb stepped back, rubbing his arms as he waited. He'd just made up his mind to stuff it in and head home when the mail flap lifted and a small camera popped out, like a low tech version of the security of Jabba's palace.

"Can I help you?" The question was a snap of a feminine voice that jolted Jeb to correct his posture.

"Uh yeah, Dr. Ritcher sent me."

The camera retreated a second before the door slammed inward. Jeb blinked into the dim entry way at a short woman, her blond pixie cut in a disheveled array or wayward spikes. Her white lab coat bore several smudges of take-out lunches with a distinct whiff of General Tso's, and she wore no shoes. Jeb took a step back, ready to run when she jumped into the light and snatched up his hand.

"The impossible insomniac! So pleased to meet you. I'm Tricia Kneeves. Do come in, do come in," she said and practically yanked Jeb over the threshold. The door slammed shut behind him, trapping him inside with her.

Not that Dr. Kneeves paid him any mind, her ruby painted toes silent on the concrete floor as she wandered back down the hall. "Let's have a look at that restless mind of yours."

Seeing little other choice, Jeb followed her. Despite her appearance, the interior was cleaner than he expected and much more lab like than the exterior revealed. The windows appeared to be blacked out to protect an array of black-lit plants, definitely not pot by the smell, growing in rows in several rooms. Kneeves padded all the way to the end of the hall, revealing an ordinary medical office and observation room. Her desk was cluttered like the rest of her but her actual work station was pristine. She gestured to a chair.

"Sit, please."

Jeb sat as she hooked him up to a series of electrodes. She pulled up a computer on wheels, clicking and typing for several minutes before she gave an excited squeal.

"Why, Mr. Meyers, you haven't slept in six weeks," she said.

She believed him? "Can you help me?"

Kneeves tapped her chin. "Don't you want to ask me why you aren't dead?"

Jeb blinked. "Okay, I'll bite."

She turned the monitor to show him a bunch of nonsensical squiggly lines. "Because your brain waves have continued in a rem sleep cycle while you are awake. It never stops. Tell me, Mr. Meyers, does this all feel like a dream to you?"

"Should it?" He didn't know how to answer such a question.

Kneeves grinned. "Dreams often feel like reality. Some argue our dreams are simply another state of reality, a shift if you will."

Jeb pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just want to sleep doc, can you help me or not?"

She studied him for several long minutes. "There is a drug I can give you. Highly experimental. The depth of side effects have not been fully explored but early clinical trials suggest the drug is a cure aid for the worst insomniac episodes."

Jeb closed his eyes, sagging briefly under the weight of his physical exhaustion before his mind bobbed back to awareness. "I'll try anything doc.

Kneeves smiled. There was something about that gave him a chill. "You'll have to sign a waiver."

***

He didn't think it would work.

Jeb was half convinced it wouldn't work as he donned a pair of Beetlejuice boxers and a Iron Man t-shirt. He crawled into bed, pulling his blanket up under his chin as he stared at the cracks and water stains in the ceiling. It wasn't going to work. He was so damn tired. He just wanted to rest his eyes, even if his mind kept rising to the fore, like a punch me clown that wouldn't stay down. Jeb closed his eyes.

An explosion woke him.

Jeb sat up with a jolt and slammed his head on something that shouldn't be there. He clutched his skull, blinking through the watery eyes at his surroundings. What the hell?

Had he sleep walked into a medieval museum display? It looked like a snapshot of Da Vinci's boudoir. The bed he slept in felt oddly lumpy but soft, as did the pillow under his aching head. He'd bumped his head on a low overhanging half arch that curved over the top of the bed. The furniture of the room was rough shod, wooden, and unfinished. He thought he might get a splinter just putting his feet on the floor. The oddest aspect of the room was the work bench and table. Built of the same shoddy quality, the table over flowed with reams of rolled parchment, charcoal sticks, and other tools crude and severely outdated tools. And then, there was the helicopter. At least if he remember right it was a helicopter but he'd never seen a 3-D model of Da Vinci's invention before. If he hadn't done that 10th grade paper on Da Vinci he wouldn't have recognized it at all. How the hell had he wandered into this place?

The door to his chamber creaked open. Jeb pulled the covers up to his chin, wondering if the museum security was here to have him arrested. Instead two men is odd brown robes burst into the room. One of them was on fire, still patting out the flames on his long beard, smoke billowing behind him.

"Master Meyers, our apologies for waking you," said the one not on fire. "Geoff here added the gunpowder and the wrong moment and the whole construct went up in his face."

Jeb reeled in confusion. "Do I know you? Did someone put you up to this? I demand a lawyer. I know my rights!"

The two men exchanged looks. "Are you feeling well Master Meyers?"

"Stop calling me that," snapped Jeb.

"What are you wearing?" The smoking Geoff tipped his head to look Jeb over.

The non-burnt man put a hand on Geoff's shoulder. "Why don't you go wash up, Geoff. I'll attend the young master."

Geoff left with a frown, trailing smoke. The second man approached Jeb as if he were a cornered wild animal, which Jeb felt wasn't too far off.

"Master Meyers, Jeb, it's your buddy Frank. You've known me for years, ever since the cloisters. You can tell me what's wrong."

Jeb rubbed his face hard. "Um don't take this the wrong way but I don't know you. I went to bed and I think the drugs the doc gave me really threw me for a loop."

Frank's worried expression deepened as Jeb spoke. "Why don't you take a constitutional, Master Meyers, least come to the window for spot of fresh air?"

Debating whether this was an elaborate set up to take him down, Jeb decided Frank wouldn't have gone and tackled him already. He eased from the bed, wincing at the slight pounding in his skull as he hobbled across the room to the window.

"Where did you acquire such garments, Master Meyers?" Frank stared wide eyed at the posed Iron Man on his chest.

"Um, Walmart?"

"Strange, I didn't know the market of the wall carried such fare. I must inquire on my next visit."

Jeb ignored the man's babble, shoving open the wooden shutters with a grunt. He caught sight of their surroundings and nearly feel out the window. "Wh-wh-wh-whaaat?"

It was a Ren Fair on crack. Or something akin to it. The close knit buildings, the people in period costume clogging the narrow streets, the entirely too authentic smell, all of it smacked of something far more off kilter than he was willing to deal with. Jeb had just convinced himself he'd wandered onto the set of some period film when he glanced up. A dozen full sized Da Vinci helicopters flew overhead. Jeb stumbled back away from the window, clutching his chest. Maybe the energy drinks finally caused that aneurysm.

"Hey Frank where I am?"

"Your quarters."

"Don't be a smartass. Globally, where am I Frank?"

The man looked ready to bolt. "In the 14th Sector of Provenca, Master Meyers."

Yeah, none of that sounded good. "I need to find that crazy bitch and figure out what she gave me."

"What crazy bitch, Master Meyers?"

"Kneeves," said Jeb, heading for the door. This was probably all one big hallucination or mad fever dream.

Frank's eyes got wider. Jeb wondered if they'd pop out of the poor man's skull. "The Witch of Underrow?"

Jeb paused. Okay, maybe if he played along with this messed up dream, it would help him wake up. "Yeah sure let's go."

"Surely you can't be serious, Master Meyers. The witch is dangerous."

"I needs what I needs. You going to help me or not, Fred."

"It's Frank." He hesitated, looking over Jeb with that fixed worried expression. "You can't go out in those strange garments, Master Meyers, not to the witch. You'll draw more attention than you wish to."

"Fair point," said Jeb. "But what do you suggest I wear?"

***

Jeb's balls had itched for the past three miles. He hadn't given into the urge to furiously scratch them into relief, managing to put off the need with a few awkward brushes against passing carts, but it was a near thing. How did people wear these robes? Between the swamp crotch and river of sweat pooling down his back, he'd be dehydrated before he made it another mile. He was just about to pack it in and ask Frank where the nearest pub was when they paused at the entrance to a slightly wider and much danker alley.

By the smell he'd guess it was the Underrow. Or it was an open sewer. The unfortunate former was conferred when Frank led him down the foul smelling street. The individuals they passed shifted and flowed around them, sketchy as hell, though he could feel them watching him. He decided enough was enough and stopped to itch his balls.

"Uh, Master Meyers," said Frank, shifting from foot to foot.

"Hang on a sec. These robes blow. I just need to scratch here for a sec."

"Well don't let me stop you," trilled an all too familiar female voice. He looked around to find Dr. Kneeves leaning against the side of a sagging ragged tent. He recognized her easy enough, though she was less Doctor Manic Pixie Dream Girl and more Crazy Gypsy Rag Witch. Either way, he was relieved to see her.

"Kneeves, thank god, I need your help."

She frowned at him. "Any favor of the witch or myself will cost you, lad. Got the coin to pay?"

"You've got to be kidding me right now, with this? Seriously?" Jeb sputtered, ripping the cowl of his robe back before he melted away under it. "You're in on this bullshit too?"

Kneeves squinted at him. "Your drink must have been quite heady. You must share the vintage with me when you're sober."

She turned to go while Jeb sputtered.

"Please, madame," said Frank, "he's been odd since he woke this morning, wearing garments the like which I have never seen. I beg for your services."

"Go find another witch to--"

"I have coin."

Kneeves spun around, folding her arms as she sucked on a tooth. "Well come in then. A paying customer is a paying customer."

Jeb grumbled as he followed her inside, wondering what the hell the doc was playing at as Frank shuffled in behind him. Like he was the odd one. These people were all nuts. And dammit his balls itched again. Jeb wiggled onto the offered stool as Kneeves slid across from him with catlike grace. He expected her to drop the ruse any moment and call it a good laugh but the woman proceeded to draw a deck of cards from her skirts. Freaking tarot cards, Jeb realized, not sure whether to laugh or start yelling. Kneeves pursed her lips as she shuffled for a moment. She laid the deck in front of him.

"Draw three cards."

"You're joking?"

Frank nudged him. "Please Master Meyers, I am already paying a week's wages for this service."

Jeb rolled his eyes and drew three cards from the top.

"Now line them up, side by side," instructed Kneeves.

Jeb curled his lip as he did so. Kneeves ignored his derision and flipped them over, one by one. She sucked in a breath.

"I see," she said.

Frank went all quiet and wiggly next to him Jeb wondered what was so odd. "It's the same damn card. Over and over."

Kneeves gave him a look. "There is only one of each card in the deck."

"Are you taking the piss?" Jeb glared at her. Like the whole gypsy show wasn't bad enough. Now she was going to pull some mystical bull on him. Kneeves tapped one of the cards, clearly displeased with his reaction.

"The Chariot is a card of travelers," she said, with far less showboating than he expected. "Three in a row is significant." She gave him another perusal, concentrating for several long moments on his hair cut and face. "Where are you from?"

"Not the 14th Sector of Provenca," muttered Jeb.

A familiar excitement lit up the woman's eyes. "You're a traveler between realms." She announced it as if it was both perfectly normal and utterly miraculous. The excitement worried him. It was the same excitement she had in the lab, staring at the read out of his brain on a computer screen.

"What do you mean between realms?"

"You crossed barriers one was never meant to cross," said Kneeves, her hands shuffling the remaining cards faster and faster. "But you man knows you, which means you're somehow occupying the same space as your self from this realm. Fascinating."

"How," Jeb swallowed, a sense of dread flowering in his gut. He never should have taken those drugs, no matter how sweet the promise of sleep was. "How do I get back?"

Kneeves leaned forward with her chin on her hand. "Aren't you going to ask me how you're still alive?"

Jeb slammed his fist on the table. "Just get me home, witch!"

Kneeves raised a brow. "Well, the surest way is a shock to the system."

"What does that mean?"

She shrugged, removing a pouch hanging off her belt. She poured a fine gray powder into the palm of her hand. "You weren't to attached to this one were you?"

Jeb couldn't figure out what the hell she was talking about before Kneeves leaned over and blew the powder into Frank's face. Before either man could react, Frank seized up, his skin flushing darker and darker while a strange film coated his eyes. Jeb reached from him, laying a hand on Frank's shoulder.

The man was stone. Literal stone. Jeb jerked his hand away. "Holy shit." If this was the shock, it wasn't working. His heart thundered in his chest but he was still definitely here, staring at the poor guy who'd called him Master Meyer all day. He felt he'd somehow let the dude down.

"Not enough?"

He turned to the crazy bitch, nearly swallowing his tongue as she pulled a hammer from her skirts. "No wait!" Too late, she smashed Stone Frank to pieces. Jeb didn't have time to scream as a sizeable chunk smacked him in the forehead.

***

Jeb sat up in bed with a yelp. What the hell was that? He lay there, doused in sweat, heart thundering. That had to be the most vivid and disturbing dream he'd ever experienced. Dr. Kneeves wasn't kidding when she warned of side effects. Jeb flopped back into his bed, his good old familiar bed, and raised a hand to his brow. He winced at the pain, pulling back his hand as he felt a thick wetness on his skin. He fumbled for the light, blinking at the brightness. There was blood on his hand. But that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst was the sweat soaked itchy robe he wore, streaked with rock dust. Jeb barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up.

***

"You really think I somehow traveled between worlds?" Jeb was sitting in Kneeves's lab. The real Kneeves, right down to her ruby painted toenails. He delayed returning to see her for a week, certain he was crazy, or really, just unable to process all the weird shit. It was the fear that drove him back, the fear of closing his eyes for more than a couple minutes in case he woke up somewhere else.

"Of course I do," said Dr. Kneeves. She sat on her office car, legs pulled up so her chin rested on her knees as she listened, rapt, while he told her what happened. He'd expected her to throw him out, or something, anything, other than look so excited. "The scientific implications of this episode are limitless. Was it a one off, or has your unique brain chemistry created this unusual side effect to the drug."

That feeling of dread bubbled up Jeb's throat. "Wait, what are you saying?"

Dr Kneeves grinned. "That we are breaking entirely new ground, Mr. Meyer."

"Yeah, but is it temporary or permanent?" A cold sweat ran down his back.

Dr, Kneeves grinned, climbing to her feet as she retrieved a large syringe from her drawers. "To determine that, I shall need a sample of your brain matter. Though, you'll have to sign a waiver."