The sun had started to dip, casting golden streaks across the schoolyard as students filtered out of classrooms, their chatter a low, drifting hum. Behind the sports shed, in the quieter corner of the field, two figures stood facing one another—motionless but heavy with tension.
Jamlick crossed his arms, his brow creased in disbelief. "So let me get this straight… You're saying you're not Charles Barn?"
Robert swallowed hard. The weight of the truth pressed against his chest like a stone.
"I'm not," he said, voice low but steady. "My name is Robert Rous."
Jamlick's eyes widened slightly, his mind racing to keep up.
Robert continued before doubt could take hold again. "I don't know how it happened. One moment I was in my world… the next I woke up here. In his body. In his life. And I've been trying to figure it out ever since."
He exhaled, watching Jamlick's face for any sign—understanding, anger, disbelief—anything.
"I tried to hide it. I thought I could just blend in, pretend long enough to stay out of trouble, maybe fix some of the damage Charles did. But people here… they don't forget easily."
Jamlick shook his head, taking a step back. "So what, you expect me to believe you just… slipped into his body like some storybook ghost?"
"No," Robert said softly. "I don't expect you to believe me. Honestly, I don't even know if I believe it myself half the time. But it's the truth."
The silence between them stretched long. A gust of wind stirred the leaves nearby, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath.
"You tried to say you've changed," Jamlick said slowly, eyes narrowing. "That you're different now. I thought you were just feeling guilty. But this…" He scoffed, turning away. "This is insane."
Robert stepped forward. "I didn't want to tell you. I couldn't risk it. But you were walking away, and I panicked. I needed someone to believe me, even if just for a second."
Jamlick didn't turn around. He stood there, staring off at the distant fence, fists clenched at his sides.
Robert's voice softened. "I know Charles hurt you. And I'll carry the weight of what he did, whether I was him or not. I just… I want to be better. Not for redemption. But because I know what it's like to be powerless, forgotten. I won't be that person. I won't be him."
A long moment passed.
Then Jamlick turned his head just slightly. His lips twitched—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.
"Well," he said with a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes, "that's a hell of a bedtime story."
Robert blinked.
Jamlick gave him a nod, almost like a salute, then walked away, hands tucked in his pockets.
Later, much later, when Jamlick would be older and life had dulled some of the edges from the past, he'd sit at the edge of his children's bed and begin the tale with a grin:
"Once upon a time, a boy woke up in the body of his bully…"
But for now, in the fading light of day, he wasn't ready to believe.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But he had listened.
And for Robert, that was more than enough.
---
The Hallway
Robert walked through the corridor, flanked by the usual crowd—boys who clung to his presence like moths to flame. They laughed too loudly, slapped shoulders too hard, and basked in the shadow of who they thought was Charles Barn. To them, nothing had changed.
To Robert, everything had.
He kept his expression neutral, though inside he felt like a puppet in someone else's life. Every step he took echoed with memories that weren't his but belonged to the person everyone still thought he was.
Students parted as they approached—instinctively, automatically—like birds scattering before a storm. Fear had a long memory.
Up ahead, Jamlick stood by his locker, flipping through a notebook. When he heard the footsteps, he looked up, face hardening. Without hesitation, he stepped aside to let them pass. Just like everyone else.
But as Robert came closer, their eyes locked—just for a second.
In that moment, time stretched.
Robert saw it in Jamlick's eyes: recognition, resentment, and something colder. Jamlick gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head—silent, sharp, and heavy with meaning.
"Wanted to change, huh?" it seemed to say.
Robert's jaw clenched. He wanted to say something. Anything. But the hallway wasn't the place for truth. Not here. Not while wearing the face of the person who had made people's life miserable.
He looked away.
The laughter of his "friends" echoed behind him, but it sounded hollow to his ears. His footsteps felt heavier than before.
Jamlick turned back to his locker, but his hands paused over the pages. The look they had exchanged lingered like smoke—unresolved, uncomfortable, and unforgettable.