Trying to Get Back

Three days after the FDA seized the mug, I went to an estate sale.

Not because I wanted to. Because I needed money. Because my storage unit was three weeks overdue. Because my car needed repairs and I needed gas and I needed to eat.

Back to normal. Back to testing garbage at estate sales. Back to hoping for the one in five thousand chance.

Back to before I'd found something that mattered.

The sale was in a suburb an hour away. I got there at seven AM. Only two other hunters in line. Neither of them professionals. Just weekend hobbyists with thermal scanners they didn't understand.

I went straight for the kitchen when the doors opened. Loaded a box with hollow objects. Thermos, travel mugs, containers, cookie jars. The same shit I'd been testing for months.

Took it outside. Started testing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Thirty objects. All normal. All worthless.

I loaded another box. Tested those too. Same result.

By noon I'd tested over a hundred objects. Found nothing. Made nothing. Wasted gas getting here for nothing.

This was my life. This was what I'd gone back to.

And I fucking hated it.

I drove home. Or not home. To the parking lot where I'd been sleeping. Behind a closed restaurant. The manager hadn't complained yet.

My phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer. Probably a collections agency. Or the FDA calling about my fines.

But I answered anyway. "Yeah?"

"Is this Dex Holloway?" Male voice. Young. Enthusiastic.

"Who's asking?"

"This is Marco from Hunter's Forum. I'm doing a story on your pocket discovery. The one the FDA seized. Would you be willing to do an interview?"

"No."

"It would only take ten minutes. People are really interested in what you found. The constructed elements. The time dilation. Nobody's documented anything like that before."

"The FDA classified it. I can't talk about it."

"But you could talk about the discovery process. How you found it. What made you keep exploring."

"I said no."

I hung up. Two minutes later another call. Different number. Another journalist. I declined it.

Then a text from Finn: "You okay? Haven't heard from you."

I didn't respond. Didn't know what to say. I wasn't okay. But I also wasn't ready to admit that.

Another text from a number I didn't recognize: "Seriously, next big thing you find stop fucking around with it and bring it to me. I pay cash immediately. Might get you out of living in that beat-up car you call a house. - Roux"

Everyone wanted a piece of what I'd lost. Everyone wanted to profit from my failure.

I put my phone on airplane mode. Lay down in my back seat. Tried to sleep.

Failed.

All I could see was that humming structure. That chamber deep inside impossible space. The proof that everything I'd believed was possible.

Gone.

Locked in an FDA warehouse somewhere. Being studied by people who hadn't earned it. Hadn't sacrificed for it. Hadn't given up everything to find it.

My phone buzzed even though it was on airplane mode. No wait. Different sound. Email notification. Still shouldn't have buzzed.

I checked it. Message from an address I didn't recognize.

Subject: "Your pocket discovery - Important information"

I almost deleted it. Probably spam. Probably a scam. Probably someone trying to profit from my misery.

But I opened it anyway.

"Mr. Holloway,

My name is Dr. Sarah Chen. I'm a dimensional physicist working on pocket formation theory. I heard about your discovery and I'd like to discuss it with you. Specifically the constructed elements and time dilation you documented. These findings could be crucial to my research.

I understand the FDA has classified your discovery. However, I'm willing to compensate you for your time and knowledge. If you're interested, please contact me at the number below.

Regards, Dr. Maddie Burtz Dimensional Physics Lab, Stanford University"

A Stanford researcher. Wanting to talk to me. Willing to pay.

I stared at the email. This was probably a bad idea. The FDA had told me not to discuss the pocket. Classified information. Legal consequences if I talked.

But they'd also seized my discovery. Taken everything. Left me with nothing.

Why should I protect their investigation?

I called the number. It rang twice.

"Dr. Burtz speaking."

"This is Dex Holloway. You emailed me about my pocket discovery."

"Mr. Holloway. Thank you for calling. I know this must be difficult for you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Start with how you found it."

So I told her. About the estate sale. The travel mug. The initial exploration. The time dilation. The constructed elements. The symbols. The humming structure.

She asked detailed questions. About measurements. About the construction methods. About the symbols' appearance and placement.

"This is extraordinary," she said when I finished. "The time dilation alone could revolutionize our understanding of pocket physics. And the constructed elements suggest someone has solved pocket formation. Actually built one from scratch or modified an existing one."

"That's what I thought."

"The FDA is studying it now?"

"Yeah. They've had it for three days. No updates on their progress."

"They won't give you updates. Once they classify a pocket, all research becomes confidential. You'll never know what they find."

"Great."

"I could help with that."

"How?"

"I have contacts at the FDA. People who owe me favors. I might be able to get information about their findings. Share it with you."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because this discovery deserves to be understood. Not locked away. And because you deserve to know what you found."

She was right. But accepting her help felt like giving up. Like admitting I'd never get the pocket back. Never finish exploring it.

"I'll think about it," I said.

"Don't think too long. The FDA moves quickly when they find something interesting. If you want to know what they discover, you need to stay connected to the research."

She gave me her direct number. Made me promise to call if I heard anything about the pocket.

I promised. Another promise I probably wouldn't keep.

After the call I sat in my car feeling worse than before. Dr. Burtz was offering me a way to stay connected to my discovery. To understand what I'd found. To maybe get some credit for it.

But accepting meant admitting it was over. Meant accepting I'd never go back inside. Never finish mapping it. Never understand it myself.

I wasn't ready for that. Wasn't ready to give up.

Even though there was nothing left to give up.

My phone rang again. I must've taken it off of airplane mode. I'm starting to hate this damn thing.

Yuki.

I stared at her name on the screen. Watched it ring. Trying to decide if I could handle talking to her.

Decided I couldn't. Declined the call.

Thirty seconds later a text: "Answer your phone."

I didn't.

Another text: "I heard what happened. We need to talk."

No we didn't. She'd been right about everything. I'd been wrong about everything. What was there to talk about?

Another text: "I'm sorry about the pocket. I know you worked hard on it."

That made it worse. Her sympathy. Her kindness. When I'd done nothing to deserve it.

I texted back: "Don't be sorry. You were right. I was reckless. This is what I deserved."

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

"Nobody deserves to lose their discovery. Even idiots who don't follow safety protocols."

Despite everything I smiled. That was Yuki. Honest even when trying to be nice.

"Thanks."

"Are you okay? Finn said you've been hard to reach."

"You're talking to Finn?"

"He called me. Said you seemed depressed. Asked if I could check on you."

Great. Now my new friend and my ex-friend were coordinating to check on me.

"I'm fine," I texted.

"That's not what Finn said."

"Finn is dramatic."

"Finn is worried. So am I."

I didn't respond. Didn't know how. Admitting I wasn't fine meant admitting I'd failed. Admitting the obsession had cost me everything and left me with nothing.

I wasn't ready for that either.

My phone rang. Yuki calling again.

This time I answered. "I said I'm fine."

"You're living in your car. You haven't found a pocket in four days. You lost your biggest discovery. You're not fine."

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you need help. That you're not okay. That you're struggling."

"Would that change anything?"

She was quiet for a long time. I could hear her breathing. Thinking. Deciding how honest to be.

"No," she finally said. "But at least it would be honest."

Fair point.

"I'm not okay," I said. "I lost everything. The pocket. My discovery. The proof that I found something that mattered. And I can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop wondering what the FDA is finding. Can't stop wishing I'd had more time."

"I know."

"You told me to report it. I didn't listen. You tried to help me. I lied to you. You were right about everything and I was wrong about everything and I hate it."

"Dex."

"I should have listened to you. Should have followed protocols. Should have reported it immediately. But I couldn't. I couldn't give it up. And now I've lost it anyway."

"You did what made sense to you. What felt necessary. That's not wrong."

"It cost me my discovery."

"You were going to lose it either way. If you'd reported it on day one, the FDA still would have seized it. PAS still would have taken over. You still wouldn't have gotten to finish exploring."

She had a point. But knowing that didn't make me feel better.

"What do I do now?" I asked.

"You keep hunting. Find new pockets. Smaller ones. Normal ones. Build your reputation properly this time. Use protocols. Work with partners."

"Go back to normal."

"Yeah."

"I don't know if I can."

"Why not?"

"Because normal doesn't matter anymore. Testing garbage at estate sales doesn't matter. Finding small worthless pockets doesn't matter. Not after what I found in that mug."

"So you're just going to give up? Stop hunting?"

"I don't know."

She was quiet again. That thoughtful silence that meant she was choosing her words carefully.

"The pocket was incredible," she finally said. "What you found was unprecedented. But it's not the only incredible thing out there. There are more pockets. More discoveries. More chances to find something that matters."

"Not like that one."

"No. But maybe something different. Something new."

She was trying to help. Trying to give me hope. Trying to pull me out of the spiral I was in.

But I couldn't hear it. Couldn't accept it. Couldn't imagine going back to the grind after touching something transcendent.

"I should go," I said. "Thanks for calling."

"Dex, wait."

"What?"

"Don't disappear. Okay? Don't ghost everyone and spiral. Let people help you."

"I'll try."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Another lie. I was getting good at those.

I hung up. Sat there in my car feeling worse than before the call. Yuki was trying to help. Dr. Chen was offering support. Finn was checking in.

Everyone wanted to help me move forward. Get past this. Go back to normal.

But I didn't want normal. Didn't want to move forward. Didn't want to go back to testing worthless objects at estate sales.

I wanted my pocket back. Wanted to finish exploring. Wanted to prove what I'd found mattered.

And since I couldn't have that, I didn't want anything.

My phone buzzed. Email notification.

Another message from Dr. Chen.

"Mr. Holloway,

I've been thinking about our conversation. I may have a proposal for you. My lab is conducting research on pocket formation and we need someone with field experience to consult. The pay is modest but steady. $500 per week to discuss pocket hunting techniques and review findings.

Interested?

• Dr. Chen"

Five hundred dollars a week. That was more than I'd made in the last month of hunting. That was gas money. Food money. Storage unit money.

That was a way out of my car and back into stability.

But it meant giving up hunting. Meant accepting I'd never find another major discovery. Meant becoming a consultant instead of a hunter.

Meant admitting this was over.

I stared at the email. At the offer. At the lifeline.

And didn't respond.

Because responding meant choosing. And I wasn't ready to choose. Wasn't ready to give up even though there was nothing left to hold onto.

I closed my phone. Closed my eyes. Tried to sleep.

And dreamed about caves and symbols and humming structures that I'd never see again.

Day four. Another estate sale. Another wasted morning testing garbage.

Found nothing. Made nothing. Drove back to my parking lot.

Agent Okonkwo called.

I almost didn't answer. Probably calling about fines. About legal proceedings. About consequences for my unauthorized explorations.

But I answered. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Holloway. Agent Okonkwo. I need to discuss something with you."

"If this is about fines, I can't pay them yet. I need time."

"It's not about fines. It's about your pocket."

My heart rate spiked. "What about it?"

"We've been conducting preliminary assessments. The pocket is more complex than we initially thought. Significantly more complex."

"I told you that."

"You told us it was large. You didn't tell us it was this large. Our dimensional surveyors estimate the internal space at over 2,000 cubic meters. Possibly more. They're still mapping."

Two thousand cubic meters. I'd guessed maybe 500. I'd barely scratched the surface.

"That's bigger than I thought," I said.

"It's unprecedented. And there's more. The time dilation is consistent. Roughly 3:1 as you documented. We don't understand the mechanism. And the constructed elements you described are definitely artificial. Someone built inside this pocket."

"I know."

"The problem is we need more information. About the construction. About the layout. About anything you saw that you didn't document."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to send a team inside. Full exploration. Comprehensive survey. We need to understand what this is before we can determine how to proceed with it."

"When?"

"Next week. Wednesday. I'm calling because I'd like you to consult."

"What?"

"You explored it more than anyone. You understand the layout. You could brief our team. Help them navigate safely."

She wanted my help. The FDA wanted me to help them study my discovery.

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"Because you'd be compensated. And because you'd get to see the final findings. When our research is complete, you'd have access to the reports. Know exactly what you found."

"How much compensation?"

"Two thousand dollars for the consultation. Plus access to all research findings."

Two thousand dollars. That was rent. Car repairs. A few months of stability.

That was a way out of parking lots.

"I'd have to brief them?" I asked. "Answer questions?"

"Yes. Describe the layout. Share your maps. Provide any information that could help them navigate safely."

"But I wouldn't go in with them."

"Absolutely not. This is a professional operation. Trained surveyors. Proper equipment. Safety protocols. We can't have civilians involved."

Of course not. They'd take my knowledge. Use my discovery. And lock me out of the actual exploration.

"I'll think about it," I said.

"I need an answer by tomorrow. The team briefing is Friday. If you're not there, we proceed without you."

"I said I'll think about it."

"Mr. Holloway, this is a generous offer. You get paid. You get information. You contribute to important research. Most people in your situation would jump at this opportunity."

"Most people in my situation didn't lose their discovery."

She was quiet for a moment. "I understand you're frustrated. But this is bigger than one person's feelings. This pocket could advance dimensional physics significantly. Help us understand pocket formation. Maybe even prevent future collapses."

"By locking away my discovery and taking credit for my work."

"By studying it properly. With resources and expertise. That's how science works."

She wasn't wrong. But that didn't make it easier to accept.

"I'll call you tomorrow," I said.

"Before noon. That's my deadline."

"Before noon."

I hung up. Sat there processing.

The FDA wanted my help. Wanted to use my knowledge. Wanted to benefit from my discovery while keeping me on the outside.

But they were offering money. And access to findings. And a chance to stay connected to what I'd found.

Dr. Chen was offering steady consulting work. Five hundred a week to talk about hunting. To review research. To stay adjacent to the work.

Everyone wanted me as a consultant. Nobody wanted me as a hunter.

I pulled out my phone. Looked at both offers. Both opportunities to stay connected to pocket research without actually doing it.

Both ways out of my car and into stability.

Both admissions that my hunting days were over.

I couldn't decide. Couldn't commit. Couldn't let go of the dream that I'd find another major discovery. That I'd prove I was more than a broke hunter living in his car.

So I did what I always did when I couldn't make a decision. I put it off. Told myself I'd decide tomorrow. Told myself I needed time to think.

Told myself another lie.

My phone rang. Finn.

I answered. "Hey."

"Dex! Finally. I've been trying to reach you for days."

"Sorry. Been busy."

"Busy with what? More estate sales?"

"Yeah."

"Find anything?"

"No."

"Want some company? I'm hitting a sale tomorrow in Riverside. Could use a second set of eyes."

Going to an estate sale with Finn. Making it social. Making it fun instead of desperate.

That sounded better than being alone.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll meet you there."

"Awesome. Nine AM. I'll text you the address."

He hung up. Immediately texted the address.

I sat there looking at it. At the invitation. At the offer of company.

Maybe Yuki was right. Maybe I just needed to keep hunting. Find smaller pockets. Build my reputation. Work with partners instead of alone.

Maybe normal was enough. Maybe I could be okay with it.

Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe nothing would ever feel as important as what I'd lost.

But I had nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do. Nobody else to be with.

So tomorrow I'd go to an estate sale with Finn. Test garbage. Find nothing. Come back to my parking lot.

And the day after that I'd do it again. And again. And again.

Until I found something worth living for.

Or until I stopped trying.

Whichever came first.