[Patreon Exclusive] SWAPPED BY A GENIE: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

John didn’t recall much after arriving at the airstrip that night. The last thing he remembered was being led out of the limousine, across the airstrip and into the ten-passenger private jet that awaited him there. He vaguely remembered getting seated and taking off. After that, it was all a blur.

The plane John Torrens boarded that night flew for three hours north, into Canada’s Northwest Territories. About three hundred miles from any town, over the Northern Taiga Cordillera, the plane John Torrens boarded crashed, killing everyone on board—

Everyone except for John Torrens.

John suffered a strong blow to the head when the plane crashed into the side of the mountain. He was lucky, as nothing in his head ruptured and there was no internal bleeding. One of his arms was broken, and one of his ankles was twisted. He suffered a long cut across his lip, and a series of others all over his body—luckily none of which were too damaging. He was bruised all over.

By some miracle though, John Torrens woke up hours after the crash, and was able to pull himself to his feet. It should go without saying that John was in a state of shock when he looked at the plane’s ruins. His co-workers (and good friends) were dead in the wreckage.

John was able to walk away—or better yet, limp away from the crash site. His body was sore. His muscles screamed in pain. He didn’t know where he was, how long he had been out, or what to do. John never had any survival training. He didn’t know how to start a fire. He didn’t know how to make a smoke signal. He simply did not know how to survive without society.

But he had no other choice but to try.

John, following his ears, found a small stream with clear running water in it. He hobbled over to it, fell to his knees and began to clean his wounds out. He held a particularly bad cut on his arm in the water and watched as the stream turned red with his blood. He sat for a while, tearing apart his shirt and making bandages for his deeper wounds. Then, he drank some of the water and started to follow the stream, hoping it would eventually lead to a river, and subsequently a town or even just a road.

With his wounds, John was not able to make it very far. He was able to walk about ten kilometres before the pain in his ankle was just too strong to power through. The sun was beginning to set and the weather was quickly dropping. John found shelter in the hollow of a fallen tree, up against a soft mossy wall. He curled his body up tight, and tried to sleep.

All he could think about was his beautiful young wife, sitting at home. “I wonder if they’ve told her they lost us,” John wondered. “What will she do if I don’t make it back?”

As the trees became black, the air became crisp and frigid. Thick goose bumps began to form all over John’s body. The howling of distant wolves kept John up late into the fall night. But eventually, John managed to fall asleep.

John woke up the next morning, feeling ill. Before he even opened his eyes, he begged to God that everything had been a dream. He kept telling himself over and over, “It was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare.” He would have had himself convinced had it not been for the mountain-fresh air, the babbling of the cold-water brook and the chirping of nearby native birds. Eventually, John opened his eyes and returned to reality.

He pulled himself to his feet. His twisted ankle had become painfully swollen over night and was nearly impossible to walk on. Luckily, there was a long fallen branch nearby which made for a wonderful crutch. Slowly, John continued his trek down the stream.

Hope was undoubtedly dwindling. Sore wounds were becoming impossibly more painful. The only thing driving John’s body was the image of his beautiful wife. The realistic fear began to set in that John may well die, lost in the unforgiving Canadian wilderness.

Energy depleted, John collapsed next to the crackling stream. His vision began to blur as blood began to leave his brain. As he slipped out of consciousness, he noticed a glimmering by a nearby tree. But the image quickly faded as John passed out on the cold hard ground.

* * *

It was three days after the private jet John Torrens boarded went missing that John’s wife was notified. The police didn’t notify Susan of the accident, nor did just any MJL Oil and Gas employee. Susan received her notification from the big man himself—Markus Larson.

He arrived at her door at around five in the evening, wearing a black suit and a black tie. Markus had a reputation for being somewhat of a “phoney”, and he was extra sure to put on his best grieving face as Susan answered the door. Markus slowly looked up from his feet at the unsuspecting Susan.

“Susan Torrens?” Markus asked softly and uncharacteristically.

“Yes, why?”

Markus hesitated a moment, and then explained the situation to John’s wife. He made sure to hammer in that “it would be nearly impossible for John to be alive”, and that “it wasn’t MLJ Oil and Gas’ fault the plane went down”.

Susan was destroyed. She cried as her legs went weak. Markus stepped into John’s house and helped Susan to the couch where he sat her down to console her. He placed his chubby hand gently on her shoulder and forced out a tear of his own.

“You shouldn’t be alone, Mrs. Torrens,” Markus said. “I can have someone come look after you if you don’t have anywhere to go.”

“No—I’d rather be alone,” Susan managed to say through her uncontrollable tears.

Markus handed her his card with his phone number on it. He smiled. “If you need anything—Anything at all. Don’t hesitate to call me, and I will make it happen.”

“Thank you,” Susan said softly, wiping her tear-soaked face.

“I will come back in the morning to check on you. Is that okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Goodbye, Susan.”

* * *

Another unknown amount of time had passed before John finally woke up again. It must have been quite a while, seeing as the sun was just beginning to rise, and it wasn’t long after it had risen when John passed out.

John pulled his cold, sore body up and he looked around. Small snowflakes were beginning to fall from the sky. John was hungry. His lips were cracked and his tongue was as dry as cardboard. He tried to walk, but his legs trembled and he fell back to the ground.

“This is it,” he thought to himself. “This is the end of my life.”

John took a deep breath. A tear rolled down his cheek as he stared up at the cold grey sky. “Just take me,” he said. “I can’t bare this any longer.”

John rolled his head to the side. Then, he saw it again: The glimmer next to the tree that he had seen before. He stared at it for a moment before rolling over onto his knees and painfully crawling towards it.

Sitting next to the tree was a dull, golden oil lamp. Gently with his trembling hands, John picked it up. He lifted it up into the light and turned it. It was covered in finely hand crafted detailing, which was too dirty too make out.

John took the oil lamp and rubbed it against his body. Suddenly, a whirl of smoke began to pour out the spout of the lamp. John, startled, dropped the bottle onto the ground. He began to shimmy his body backwards, away from the ostensibly exploding lamp.

More and more smoke billowed out of the peculiar instrument. Strangely, the smoke was appearing to form something. John took a breath and assumed it was a starving hallucination. He had heard about monks having hallucinations after days of fasting.

But as more smoke left the lamp, John began to doubt his hallucination theory. The smoke was forming what appeared to be a person. John’s shocked brain was frozen, unable to process what he was seeing. The smoke started to dissipate. In front of John stood a tall, interesting man. He was skinny, with dark trimmed facial hair. He stood completely naked, yet he did not appear to be cold, or shy about his body. He looked around. His eyes flashed.

“I have been awoken,” the man said.

It took John a moment, but finally he realized that this was no man. He had found a genie. He couldn’t believe it. It was unbelievable. He opened his mouth to speak but could not out of utter disbelief.

“My name is Djabahn. You have awoken me from a fifty thousand year imprisonment.”

“Im—Imprisonment?” John was able to speak.

“A cruel lord locked me in that lamp. I am forever in debt to you.”

John stared at the man.

“Are you a genie?” John asked.

“I know not what is a genie.”

“H—How were you in that lamp?”

Djabahn looked confused. “I was put in it by a most powerful lord.”

John didn’t know what to do. He thought for a moment as the strange creature simply stood in silence. “Can you help me?” John asked.

“Help you? I will do anything for you.”

“Anything?” John asked.

“Hm,” Djabahn thought. “Perhaps not anything. I would like to finally go and see the world. Perhaps I could just do, say, three things for you.”

“So you are a genie,” John said.

“Perhaps I am, but I have never heard such a word.”

“Please heal my wounds. I am in a lot of pain,” John said, using his first wish.

“Very well,” Djabahn said.

Without the wave of a hand, the snap of a finger or even the blink of an eye, John had returned to perfect health. He stood up to his feet in amazement. “I—I don’t believe it…”

“What else can I do for you?” Djabahn asked.

John thought for a moment. He had to choose wisely, as he only had two wishes left. He could use one wish to travel home to Susan, and the other to be given all the riches in the world. Or perhaps instead of the riches, he could end starvation. The possibilities were endless. But John knew one thing for sure. “I want to see my wife. Bring me to my wife.”

Djabahn’s face suddenly turned pale. He hesitated.

“What? What is it?” John asked the suddenly hesitant genie.

“Are you sure this is what you wish?”

“Yes. Please. I must see my wife.”

Djabahn took a deep breath in. “So be it.”

And in one moment, John was no longer in the Northern Canadian Mountains.