Passenger

Best-selling author, Caleb Marson cracked open his bloodshot eyes and peeled his cheek off the hardwood floor. His body’s check engine light was blinking. His head throbbed with a relentless, pulsing pain. Like a thousand bees stinging the inside of his skull. The light creeping in through the blinds burned his retinas. His mouth was dry and tasted sour, as if he had swallowed a handful of sand soaked in vinegar. His heart pounded in his palms. He stood up and knocked over an empty bottle of Absolute and held onto the sofa, attempting to stop the floor from moving towards the ceiling. Caleb stumbled to the sink, overflown with food-stained dishes. The fruit flies danced around his head mocking him as he ran his acerbic mouth under the faucet. The cool water trimmed the fur he felt on the back of his tongue. He gargled and spat a light brown stream into the filthy sink. Hands on the counter he hung his head.

Caleb hadn’t written anything publishable for some time. His hit cyberpunk thriller series The Static Lands had run its course after the flop of the third novel and first film. Fucking, Glen Powell. The first book The Static Land: Rebellion, had BookTok nerds losing their shit. The algorithm was flooded with #marsonisgod and #staticwarriors. The fame came fast. Caleb Marson was an overnight success. Book tours, talk show appearances, and a movie premier in London. Caleb Marson was everywhere. Now Caleb had been forgotten, as the internet does to so many others. No one cared anymore. They’re onto the next thing. Probably Jenna Ortega staring in Onyx Storm.

Caleb walked to the bathroom in his modest Bushwick apartment, a clear contrast to the two bathrooms he once had in his 5th Avenue condo. He stared at himself in the mirror not recognizing the man staring back. Caleb was in his early 30’s but didn’t look a day over 45. Backaches and regrets. Streaks of gray ran through his shaggy tangled beard. Permanent exhaustion etched into the wrinkles on his face. His light brown hair, a disheveled mess complete with a receding hairline. His hazel eyes sat above plum-colored bags. Caleb was thin, not lean, but hollowed out. Caleb felt a nauseating wave echo through his bones. He bent over the toilet and spewed yellow bile into the bowl.

Caleb stood under the shower head with his mouth open and eyes closed. His inner voice said he was just a one-hit wonder who no longer had what it takes. He could taste the salt from his tears mix with the shower water as it dripped onto his tongue. The hot steam was detoxifying. Caleb was slowly coming back to life, but he knew the only way to make the pulsating torment retreat from the neurons in his brain would be to hit the bottle again.

Caleb went down to the kitchen and forced himself to scarf down a slice of cold pizza. He grabbed a glass, filled it with ice, and opened a new bottle of Absolute. The cubes cracked and split as the warm liquid trickled over them. The first sip made Caleb want to vomit. The cold pizza vibrated in his bubbling gut. After his third glass he hit that sweet spot.

The world around him started to soften. The knot of anxiety in his chest began to untangle. The voice is his head was quiet again. He felt damn good. Perhaps today he would finally write something—perhaps things would change.

Caleb sat at his desk and commenced working on his writing. After drafting a page, he repeatedly revised and deleted his work through three cycles. The author of the first two Static Lands novels felt present and engaged; however, during the writing of the third book, he began to lose sight of his original motivation. The creative process no longer brought him fulfillment, as his focus shifted primarily to status and indulgence. Discouraged by his lack of progress, he retrieved his coat and decided it was time to visit Doc’s Bar, hoping that interacting with drunks might inspire fresh ideas.

Caleb made his way down to the lobby and checked his mailbox. Inside were two envelopes. He stuffed them in his pocket and made his way to the bar.

Doc’s Bar was a nod to the 90’s. Neon signs, arcade cabinets featuring Mortal Kombat and Metal Slug, and walls covered with tour posters from the likes of Nirvana and The Smashing Pumpkins. Paul, the bartender knew Caleb well. He was a big fan. Paul kept a framed Static Lands poster signed by Caleb behind the bar. Caleb fantasized about jumping back there and smashing it, but that would mean no more free drinks. Paul poured an Absolute on the rocks and set it on the bar before Caleb could sit down. He nodded at Paul and went to sit at a hi top table in the back so he could observe and think.

As Caleb removed his coat, he remembered the envelopes in his side pocket. One was rejection letter for his latest manuscript.

Caleb,

Thanks for your patience while I reviewed this. I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass. We’ve published a lot on fantasy lately, and unfortunately your proposed story overlaps a bit too much with other books we’ve published. I hope you find a good home for it elsewhere.

All the best,

Jim Dartson.

Caleb crumbled it up and packed it into his empty rocks glass. The other envelope was thick and heavy. The exterior was monogramed with initials R & I in gold leaf and sealed with a hand-poured wax crest. Lifting the flap, Caleb pulled out a gold mirror engraved invitation. It read.

Raymond Walters

And

Isabella Garcia

INVITE YOU TO CELEBRATE THEIR WEDDING DAY

SEPTEMBER 28TH 2025

CEREMONY AT 4PM

THE WALTERS ESTATE

2960 SWEETWATER MESA ROAD MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

RECEPTION TO FOLLOW

Caleb hadn’t seen Raymond Walters in years but followed his life on Instagram. They met as freshmen at Stony Brook, where Raymond quickly stood out for his talent in business and engineering. While many thought his confidence was arrogance, Caleb saw it stemmed from jealousy. Raymond was popular and fit. Always with a busty coed hanging off his shoulder. Raymond and Caleb quickly bonded at a house party, shared ambitions, and became close friends. After college Raymond moved to California and Caleb remained in New York, but the two kept in touch online.

Raymond Walters went on to become a wildly successful businessman, often posting about his travels, private jets, and celebrity friends. Caleb recognized Isabela Garcia from Raymond's profile—she was a bombshell. Caleb wondered why Raymond would invite him to the wedding in the first place. They talked every now and then but weren’t as close as they’d been in school. Maybe he didn’t know Caleb was no longer a hot shot writer Raymond only kept famous and powerful friends.

Caleb sipped on his drink as he sat and contemplated the pros and cons of attending this wedding next month. It might be good for his career to mingle with Hollywood elitists and wealthy narcissists. Being invited made him feel like someone important again.

Caleb’s inner thoughts were interrupted as he noticed a conversation at the bar getting louder. A 6-foot 2 burly man in an awful bright orange Harley Davidson shirt was bothering a young woman at the bar.

“C’mon sweetheart come take a ride with me.” The man said. He began to stroke the back of her head with his sausage fingers.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” The women shouted.

The man grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the barstool. Caleb stood up and walked towards them.

Caleb consistently attempted to be kind and do that right thing. Former girlfriends often described him as excessively considerate. He had been making a conscious effort to eliminate the phrase "I'm sorry" from his word stock. Fame had taught him nice guys don’t make it.

“Hey fuckface! She’s not interested.” Caleb said.

With that, the man coiled his arm back and laid Caleb out. Fifteen minutes later Caleb was awoken by Paul and the cops. The big man in the dreadful shirt was handcuffed on the ground. Caleb stood up, said he was fine and grabbed his coat. On his way out the women who was harassed put her hand on Calebs arm and whispered,

“Thank you.”

A month later Caleb was getting off a plane at LAX.

Caleb waited in the hotel lobby for a car to pick him up and bring him to the wedding. He kept fidgeting with his tie as his knees bounced rapidly in the back seat.

Perched on a sun-soaked hillside overlooking the ocean, Raymond’s mansion was a blend of modern splendor and timeless elegance. The exterior featured crystal-clear floor-to-ceiling glass walls that distorted the reality between indoors and out. White stucco, natural stone, and earthy wood tones created a perfect palette to reflect the coastal surroundings. The gated driveway led up to a spacious front courtyard. An elegant bonsai tree watched over a massive reflecting pool. It was magnificent.

Service attendants checked Caleb's invitation and directed him along a cobblestone path around the fortress, where he noticed men in black with earpieces resembling secret service agents.

Caleb joined the rest of the guests on the beautifully manicured lawn. Rows of gold-rimmed chairs faced a grand floral arch. Raymond was standing, effortlessly sharp underneath. Isabella arrived in her flowing couture gown, her veil catching the wind as she walked. She was even more stunning in person. The ceremony was emotional yet refined. Caleb longed for the tenderness Raymond and Isabella displayed.

After the ceremony the guests were led to an open-air cocktail hour on a polished stone terrace. Caleb headed straight for the bar and sat down. After taking a sip and a deep breathe he felt a strong hand clench his shoulder. It was Raymond.

“Caleb! You made it!”

“Hey man! Wow, congratulations. This has to be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to,” Caleb said.

“Well thanks bud, I’m glad you came. I want you to meet Isabella, she’s a huge fan of your books.”

Caleb felt his cheeks get warm as he followed Raymond to an outdoor lounge area with plush white couches. Isabella got up and walked towards them. Caleb shook her hand as Raymond made the introductions.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Marson, I loved your books. I didn’t know you were an old friend of Raymonds. When’s the next one coming out?” Isabella asked.

Her olive skin was soft and warm. Her long black hair fell in gentle waves around her shoulders, catching a soft breeze that carried her scent. A hint of fresh citrus and cinnamon. All Caleb could feel was lust.

Caleb swallowed hard. “I’ve got some new stuff in the works, hopefully have a first draft done soon.” He lied.

“Well, I want a signed copy when it's finished.” Isabella giggled.

As the celebration concluded and most guests had left, Caleb was seated with Raymond and three other well-known individuals. John Artstin, a big-time director who’s one false step away from being ME TOO’D. Jackson Durrand, an actor who uses cocaine as much as Bob Ross uses Titanium White, and Michael Barbadi, a businessman with a history of scandal and incarceration. The five men drank and used drugs late into the night.

“Raymond, what kind of business do you run? The house, the wedding, this is criminal money man.” Caleb chuckled.

Barbadi gave Caleb a pointed look, indicating that he should refrain from asking questions to which he already knows the answers.

Raymond cleared his throat. “It’s nothing like that Caleb, I just know where to put my money and who to associate with,” he grinned at Barbadi.

Caleb admired their confidence and success, even if they were egotistical. He realized that being too nice and reserved had only left him a washed-up drunk. Caleb knocked back the last of his drink and took a bump from Jackson.

“I’m gonna call it night guys.” Caleb slurred

The rest of the men agreed in unison. Raymond hugged Caleb and told him that they better see each other again soon.

John and Jackson were picked up by private drivers. Caleb stood in the driveway swaying back and forth waiting for his Lyft. He noticed Barbadi and Raymond retreat into the house, followed by the men in black suits. Caleb wondered why there was so much security there after the party had commenced. Through the glass window he could see the two men arguing. He attributed it to a drunken disagreement.

Back at the hotel room— high out of his mind, Caleb sat on the edge of the bed and thought about how amazing Raymonds life was. He was green with envy. It would be a blessing if he didn’t wake up tomorrow. Caleb pulled out his journal and began scribbling.

It’s 4 am in Malibu, California and I just got back from Raymonds wedding. God, what I would do to have his life. The money, Isabella, all of it. If only it were me…

The next morning Caleb opened his eyes, but he wasn’t in his hotel room. The walls were marble and the beds sheets were made of satin. Suddenly, Isabella swung open the door.

“Get up you lazy fuck! Barbadi needs you downstairs.”

Caleb quickly rose from bed. Disoriented, he questioned how he had ended up in Raymond's bed and pondered Isabella's remarks. Regaining his composure, he stood and glanced at the mirror on the far side of the room. Caleb was stunned when he saw his reflection: his mind was still his, but the body in the mirror belonged to Raymond Walters.

Isabella was glaring at him. “I would of never married you if it weren’t for my father and his business. I’m going to go fuck the pool boy,” She slammed the door and left.

He quickly discovered he had no control over his body, only his thoughts. He could see and hear, but the body was moving on auto pilot. When he tried to speak, a generic response was generated that sounded like Raymond’s voice. Caleb was simply a passenger. Watching Raymond’s world.

He watched as Raymond’s hands dressed himself and made his way down the hall. He greeted the servants with a “good morning,” even though Caleb was screaming for help inside Raymonds head.

Barbadi was waiting by an elevator located by the interior stairwell.

“We need to move them today boss.”

Caleb felt Raymond’s head nod and the two men entered the elevator and descended. It felt like hours passed until the doors opened.

The concrete room was small and musty. Bright artificial lights glowed eerily throughout. The men in black stood armed at attention. Towards the back wall, confined in a small cage with thick metal bars, were seven young girls. All quiet. All frightened. They were holding hands in solidarity. Like they were praying for this nightmare to end.

Caleb was horrified. Barbadi walked towards the cage and unlocked it. He dragged the girls out one by one like rag dolls.

“Mr. Garcia will be here with the vans in fifteen minutes. Let’s get them drugged up and ready for transport.” Barbadi said.

Caleb could only watch as the body he possessed began jamming needles into the arms of the girls. They tried to fight back, but he was violent and strong. With the girls incapacitated, the men in black loaded them into a large shipping container and onto the elevator.

As Mr. Barbadi and Raymond proceeded to greet Mr. Garcia, Caleb was blinded by a sudden flash of light through Raymond’s eyes.

Best-selling author, Caleb Marson cracked open his bloodshot eyes and peeled his cheek off the hardwood floor. The check engine light was blinking. No time for the headache and dry mouth. He had to stop Raymond and take back control of his life. Caleb remembered everything, the wedding, waking up in Raymond’s head, the poor girls. What the fuck? He sprinted down to the mailbox and frantically unlocked it. Two envelopes fell onto the floor. One was a rejection letter the other was thick and heavy.

Caleb worked to steady his hands as he held the golden invitation. This fucker isn’t getting away with this Caleb thought to himself. Determined to reveal Raymond’s true nature, Caleb intended to take decisive action to change the course of his life.

Caleb found out through Google that Isabella’s father was Tito Garcia. Garcia was a kingpin in human trafficking and had evaded law enforcement for years. Caleb used to date a women named Alex Ryan. Detective Alex Ryan, who conveniently worked in Malibu, California. He called her explaining that his friend Raymond knew Tito Garcia and that he would be at Raymonds estate the morning after the wedding. After considerable discussion, Alex felt the distress in Caleb's voice and agreed to investigate the matter.

Viewing the world from Raymond’s perspective led Caleb to reflect on his own life. He realized that fame and wealth are transient pursuits that will never have lasting significance. Who had the number one hit song 25 years ago? What was the highest grossing movie during that period? Can you list the presidents in chronological order? Over time, all individual achievements will fade from public memory regardless of who you are. What is significant is how each day gifted is used. Caleb couldn’t save everyone, but he could save seven innocent girls. Qualities like courage and compassion are less common, and there’s a greater need for these values in society rather than trends, indulgence, and injustice.

A month later Caleb was getting off a plane at LAX. This time he was bringing a plus one. Detective Alex Ryan.