A Nickel for a Parallel

Marvin squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior, a welcome reprieve from the brutal glare outside. The place was a relic, a testament to decades of unchanging entropy. Shelves crammed with dusty, unfamiliar brands of crisps and faded candy wrappers lined the walls, a testament to consumer choices from a bygone era. A lone ceiling fan whirred lazily, barely stirring the thick air. Marvin noted the cracked linoleum floor, a spiderweb of hairline fractures spreading from a central, indeterminable point near the counter. It was all so profoundly ordinary, yet, something felt off. The way the light bent, perhaps, or the peculiar angle of a stack of tabloids. His mind, honed by forty-odd years of sifting through legalese and the labyrinthine logic of human deceit, nudged at the edges of an oddity.

Behind the counter, a figure slowly rose. Tommy. Marvin knew him only from convoluted legal documents and a brief, equally convoluted phone call. The man was a study in casual dishevelment: a greying t-shirt that had seen better decades, stained slightly at the collar, and cargo shorts that seemed to defy gravity with the sheer volume of things stuffed into their pockets. He had a narrow, intelligent face, framed by wisps of hair that seemed to perpetually consider flying off. His eyes, though, were sharp, like a magpie’s, and held a glint that Marvin couldn’t quite place.

"Mr. Jessop, I presume?" Tommy's voice was a low rasp, like gravel scraping against slate, but it carried a surprising warmth, a dry humour that hinted at a deeper intellect than his surroundings might suggest. He leaned on the counter, polishing a smudge from the glass display case with a cloth that looked suspiciously like a repurposed sock.

Marvin offered a faint, practised smile, the kind that promised civility but delivered little warmth. "Indeed. Marvin Jessop. I hope I haven't interrupted anything vital. Just hoping to get some clarity on… well, the curious matter of your property line."

Tommy chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "Vital? In this establishment? Only if a fresh delivery of lukewarm pop constitutes a national emergency. As for the property line, clarity is a luxury we rarely afford here, Mr. Jessop. You might find it… elusive."

Marvin adjusted his glasses again, a familiar gesture when a puzzle presented itself. "Elusive, you say? The municipal records, the surveyors' reports, the historical deeds – they all suggest a certain fixed reality. Yet, the current dispute, the one my firm has been so reluctantly dragged into, suggests a reality that shifts with the wind, or perhaps, with the tide of your own… unique inventory."

Tommy’s magpie eyes narrowed just perceptibly. "Ah, the 'inventory'. Yes. It has a way of complicating things. Like trying to herd cats with a wet noodle, isn't it? Legal battles are always so linear. So… predictable. Our little corner of the world, however, tends to defy the straight line."

Marvin let his gaze sweep across the shelves, noting the bewildering array of items. Alongside the usual chewing gum and lottery tickets were things that had no business being in a convenience store: a tarnished brass sextant, a stack of leather-bound books with indecipherable titles, a jar filled with what looked suspiciously like fossilised berries. He spotted a particular brand of marmalade he hadn't seen since his grandmother’s pantry. "You certainly maintain a diverse selection, Mr. Tommy. Perhaps that's the crux of the problem. Too many variables for a simple property dispute."

"Too few simple things, perhaps," Tommy corrected, his gaze following Marvin's, lingering on the jar of fossilised berries. He picked up a chipped mug, took a sip of what Marvin assumed was instant coffee. "They say every object has a story, Mr. Jessop. Here, every object has a hundred stories, and they all contradict each other. Makes for a challenging deed, wouldn't you agree?"

"Challenging is one word for it. 'Farcical' is another that comes to mind," Marvin retorted, stepping closer to the counter. "The claim from the neighbouring development firm, 'OmniCorp Properties,' suggests that this store, in part, occupies their newly acquired lot. Their survey, however, places the original boundary several metres *into* what has always been understood as your building's footprint. And your own, equally valid, older deeds suggest the opposite – that *their* land encroaches on yours. Two equally legitimate truths, diametrically opposed. It's a lawyer's nightmare."

The Unfolding Geometry

Tommy took another slow sip, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, OmniCorp. Always looking for more space to put up another grey box. But some spaces, Mr. Jessop, don't like to be boxed. They resist. They… adjust. The land around here, it has a certain elasticity."

"Elasticity?" Marvin scoffed, but the word lodged itself in his mind. He’d seen plenty of land disputes, boundaries drawn and redrawn with grudging compromise, but never one where the very land itself seemed to argue its position. "Are you suggesting a geological phenomenon? A localized continental drift? Or perhaps, Mr. Tommy, you're alluding to something more… whimsical?"

"Whimsical," Tommy repeated, tasting the word. "A delightful choice. I've always thought the law could use a touch more whimsy. Instead, we have rigid lines, fixed points, the stubborn refusal to acknowledge that some things simply *are* what they *aren't*."

Marvin felt a familiar irritation prickle. He was used to the obfuscation of witnesses, but this was different. This was deliberate philosophical provocation. "With all due respect, Mr. Tommy, the law deals in tangible facts. Deeds, surveys, precedents. It doesn't accommodate paradoxes. Now, about these deeds. I've been over them. The original grant from 1898, the subsequent transfers, your grandfather’s acquisition in '47 – they all clearly define the parameters of this lot. And yet, when overlaid with OmniCorp's recent survey, the lines simply… don't align. Not by a margin of error, but by a fundamental, impossible contradiction."

Marvin pulled a rolled-up set of architectural schematics from his briefcase, unfurling them on the chipped counter, carefully weighting the corners with a half-empty bag of licorice allsorts and a novelty paperweight shaped like a miniature prairie dog. "Look here. The original foundation, laid in 1903. The western wall, according to these plans, should be flush with the alleyway. But OmniCorp's survey, supposedly derived from the same historical markers, places that wall a full three metres to the east, right into their proposed construction zone."

Tommy leaned over the plans, his face unreadable. He tapped a finger on the diagram. "Ah, the alleyway. A crucial detail. You see, the alleyway is where the confusion truly begins. It’s a very particular alleyway. Some might say it has… character."

"Character isn't legally admissible, Mr. Tommy," Marvin said, his voice tightening with a hint of exasperation. "What I need is an explanation for how the same physical structure, built on the same plot of land, can simultaneously exist in two mutually exclusive locations. Are you aware of any structural alterations, perhaps an unrecorded extension, a relocation of the entire building even?"

Tommy pushed a stray wisp of hair from his forehead. "Unrecorded extensions? Relocations? My dear Mr. Jessop, this building has stood here, precisely here, since your great-grandparents were probably in swaddling clothes. No, it's not the building that moves. It's the… perception of its edges. You see this corner here?" He pointed to a section of the schematics, a part of the original structure near the back storeroom.

Marvin followed his finger. "Yes, the junction of the north and west walls."

"Precisely." Tommy tapped it again, then slowly, deliberately, slid a hand across the counter. "Now, if you were to walk from the north entrance, past the comics rack, and turn left here… you'd find yourself in the storeroom, wouldn't you?"

"Logically, yes," Marvin agreed, trying to suppress the urge to correct Tommy's grammar. He mentally traced the path. It was a simple, rectangular store.

"And if you walked from the western entrance, past the soda machine, and turned right, you'd also find yourself in the storeroom, yes?"

"Of course. It's a single storeroom." Marvin frowned, sensing a trap, a diversion. "What's your point?"

Tommy smiled, a slow, knowing curl of the lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "My point, Mr. Jessop, is that if you measure the distance from the front door to that storeroom, and then measure the distance from the side door to that *same* storeroom, and then you try to reconcile those measurements with the known dimensions of the building, you'll find they don't quite… add up. Not in a simple Euclidean sense."

Marvin felt a cold prickle start at the back of his neck. He stared at the schematics, then at the actual layout of the dusty shop around him. He had dismissed Tommy’s previous statements as eccentric ramblings, but this was a direct challenge to spatial logic. He had walked through the store; it felt normal, if a bit cramped. But Tommy’s words, delivered with such a calm, almost professorial air, were disturbing. He began to run numbers in his head, mentally mapping the store.

"That's… preposterous," Marvin finally managed, but the conviction in his voice was weak. He remembered a detail from OmniCorp's filing: a surveyor had reported their laser measurements 'interfered with' by 'unusual atmospheric distortions' when attempting to map the building's western boundary. He had dismissed it as a euphemism for faulty equipment or an inexperienced surveyor.

Tommy merely shrugged, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift of his shoulders. "Preposterous is merely a word we use for truths we haven't yet accommodated. The truth of this property, Mr. Jessop, is not found in lines on a map alone. It's found in… its deeper nature."

Marvin, feeling a sudden need for fresh air, walked towards a back aisle near the storeroom, examining the junction Tommy had indicated. He ran his hand along the wall, feeling the rough plaster. It felt solid, normal. He then looked at the ceiling, where two fluorescent light fixtures hummed. One looked slightly older, its plastic cover yellowed. The other, newer, brighter. He pulled out a small, foldable measuring tape from his jacket pocket, a habit from his days representing contractors. He extended it, measuring from the corner of the wall to the nearest old light fixture. He noted the reading: 2.7 metres. He then moved a few steps further, to what felt like the equivalent point coming from the 'western entrance' path Tommy had described, and measured to the same light fixture. He stared at the tape. 3.1 metres.

His breath hitched. He re-measured. Again, 2.7 metres from the north path. Again, 3.1 metres from the west path. His hands trembled slightly, a sensation utterly alien to a man who prided himself on absolute composure. This was impossible. Unless the light fixture itself was moving, or…

"Unless the space itself is fluid," Tommy’s voice, now closer, echoed Marvin's unspoken thought, making him jump. He hadn't heard the old man approach. Tommy stood a few feet behind him, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box. "You see, Mr. Jessop, some places are more than just coordinates on a grid. This store, for instance. It tends to stretch, to compress, to fold in on itself in ways that make proper surveying a touch… challenging. The law, with its insistence on linear measurement, tends to overlook such delightful peculiarities."

Marvin spun around, his heart thudding against his ribs. He pointed at the measuring tape, still extended, still displaying the impossible discrepancy. "How? How is this possible? This is… it defies everything! Physics! Geometry! Property law!"

Tommy looked at the measuring tape with mild interest, then back at Marvin. "Ah, physics. A useful set of guidelines, but not universal truths. And property law, my dear barrister, is a human invention. The land, however, has its own rules. Rules that are sometimes… older. Now, about that small parcel of land OmniCorp is so keen on. It so happens that its true nature is tied to a rather important item. An item that, rather conveniently for all involved, tends to appear and disappear in this very establishment."

Tommy slowly lifted the wooden box he held, its surface worn smooth with age, etched with symbols that looked vaguely celestial, but too intricate to identify. Marvin found himself staring at it, a strange sense of dread and fascination blooming simultaneously. The box hummed, faintly, a vibration that resonated not just in his fingertips, but in his very bones. Tommy's eyes, those sharp magpie eyes, held Marvin's gaze, unblinking.

"And that item," Tommy murmured, his voice now barely a whisper, "is how one truly measures the depth of a claim. Or, in this case, the true boundaries of a convenience store that doesn't quite fit on any map."

He started to open the box, the lid creaking with an ancient, resonant sound, revealing a glimpse of something within, something that shimmered with an internal, cool light, utterly alien to the dingy shop. Marvin leaned forward, his legal brain screaming warnings, his ancient, reptilian brain urging him to flee. But his curiosity, a trait far more dangerous than any legal adversary, held him captive, rooted to the spot, just as Tommy, with a tantalizing glint, paused, the box still tantalizingly ajar.