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The present moment. A different reality. A family caught between the two.
When the Evans family becomes the target of a vengeful man with a shattered past, their only chance at survival lies in an untested process called reality shifting. Guided by Georgina, a spiritual counselor and matriarch in the making, the family attempts to move into alternate timelines — not with machines, but through collective focus, intentionality, and belief.What begins as a desperate escape soon becomes a deeper reckoning. Shifting realities expose long-buried secrets, including Biz Evans’s hidden past and the daughter his children never knew existed.
As old wounds resurface and loyalties shift, the family is forced to choose between idealized personal worlds and the imperfect, shared one that still binds them.
Set against a backdrop of quantum theory, spiritual insight, and near-future technology, Reality Shift: The Unraveling explores the cost of idealism, the power of forgiveness, and the strength it takes to stay rooted when everything around you begins to shift.
In a multiverse of endless possibilities, can love still anchor you to the truth?
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Raised in a military family that relocated every two years, Justin Rousse grew up cultivating curiosity about each new environment his family encountered. With an MFA in Creative Writing, certification in Technical Communication, and a Doctorate in Health Sciences, he has taught at the college level for over four decades. A longtime student of A Course in Miracles, Advaita Vedanta, and other Eastern philosophies, his work is informed by explorations of consciousness, dimensionality, and spiritual transformation. The idea for Reality Shift first emerged during the COVID-19 pandemic, when the structure of everyday life shifted and boundaries between inner and outer worlds began to blur.__________________________________________________
REALITY SHIFT: THE UNRAVELING
a novel
by Justin RoussePublished by the author in association with Fearless Literary
290 pages, trade paperback • $19.95 print, $9.95 digital • ISBN 979-8-218-70157-4
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MORE PRINT OUTLETS COMING SOON!
MORE DIGITAL FORMATS__________________________________________________
O N E
The luxury autonomous coupe, Aurora, glided into reserved parking spot #7, braked seamlessly, and announced its arrival to Vivienne McMillan. The biometric sensor adjusted the interior lighting from dim to bright, flooding the space with clarity. Notes from the meditative piece “Mandala Mind” blended into “Alter Native Dive” at a brisk 120 bpm.
Vivienne straightened from her slumped position. “Stop the music. Show me the marketing plan.”
On the wraparound SMD LED screen, the business strategy of the French start-up, Espace Commercial Intérieur, unfolded in bullet points. The supermarket, Le Banquet Gourmand, targeted customers aged 75 and older by providing motorized carts for elderly shoppers.
Inside the store, drivers guided the carts to assist elderly shoppers with navigating the aisles. Once customers were ready to leave, the drivers also steered the carts to transport them to their cars, ensuring a smooth and convenient shopping experience from start to finish.
Vivienne raised an eyebrow at how swiftly the start-up had penetrated the community. Surveys indicated that over 85% of their clientele preferred the social interactions afforded by real-time shopping. Additionally, the data revealed that seniors favored human interaction over engagement with Alters.
She knew most elderly individuals, especially those living alone, cherished the act of shopping itself, even if it became the day’s main activity. Le Banquet Gourmand aimed to streamline this process, minimizing exertion for every shopper.
Perched atop a steep hill, the supermarket overlooked a busy highway. Its large windows and walls of electrochromic smart glass created an inviting atmosphere. The wide entrance was flanked by ten-foot juniper topiaries, standing sentinel beside life-size stone shishi guardians. On the right, the lion dog’s mouth was half-open, as if poised to issue a welcome roar. Surrounding the store, live oaks, maples, and crape myrtles intermingled with holly and juniper bushes.
Vivienne accessed the app My Go-to Bagboy to locate the employee she’d handpicked after thorough screening. His profile set him apart from the typical adolescent bagboys at Le Banquet Gourmand: a twenty-five-year-old, well-educated young man. In his profile photo, dark circles betrayed his fatigue. Vivienne wondered: Why is he working as a bagboy? What drains him?
A notification flashed on his cell phone, alerting him to his first client. Dhani Evans read the text from Vivienne, parked just ten yards from the entrance: “Dhani, could you meet me at my car when you get a moment?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Since this is your first visit, which cart do you prefer?”
“I’m intrigued by cart #3,” she answered.
“Do you have a disability?”
“No, I’m just curious.”
The Aurora was sleek and black, hugging the ground, small upward-facing cameras flanking its sides. Concealed rims hid the tires. As Dhani approached with cart #3, the roof slowly lifted, propelled by side panels, and the doors opened automatically in tandem with it.
Vivienne relaxed in a white leather passenger seat behind a panoramic screen, while the two other seats swiveled outward for easy access.
Dhani parked the shopping cart in front of the car and stepped off the platform.
“Sit,” Vivienne said, patting the driver’s seat.
He hesitated, positioning himself behind the wheel. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McMillan.”
“Everyone calls me Viva.”
He gripped the steering wheel, admiring the large infotainment system filled with touch screens and voice controls. “Nice car.”
“Thanks. I’ve only been in four serious accidents.”
Dhani didn’t notice any obvious disability. Vivienne wore a casual three-piece beige outfit that appeared outdated, complemented by lime green platform shoes with thick soles. Yet she looked no older than fifty-five; her forearms were smooth and dewy, contrasting sharply with the wrinkled arms typical of the elderly.
“Why are you shopping at Le Banquet Gourmand? It caters to seniors.”
“I’m over fifty. Isn’t that old?”
“Not really. Most of our customers are in their late seventies or eighties.”
“Has the store been working you too hard? You look exhausted.”
“I just completed a rigorous training program on operating electric carts and assisting customers with disabilities. I’ve only been here two weeks.”
“I chose you because you stand out. Given the demographics, I’m curious why you’re working as a bagboy. If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you here?”
Dhani sat quietly, observing his teenage colleagues maneuvering motorized shopping carts. Bagboys wore gloves and safety shoes while outside the store. Customers were required to don safety helmets during transport.
“I moved to Atlanta a month ago to get over a breakup. I’m a fiction writer, but I’ve never published anything. I have insomnia, and I’m barely getting by on three hours of sleep a night.”
“When you write fiction, who’s your audience?”
“Children.”
“Let me connect you with my grandson. He can help.” She rummaged through a small green leather shoulder bag and pulled out a business card.
In large black cursive script, it read: FICTION WRITER. Beneath that, in smaller letters: Matthew McMillan, followed by the titles of seven published novels. Dhani flipped it over to find a website, email, and phone number.
“He’s only a couple of years older than you and very ambitious. He wants to be a scriptwriter in L.A.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He writes for children, too, so his work flies under the radar, published by a lesser-known press. The sales are modest but he knows how to craft stories. Why not reach out for some advice?”
Dhani tucked the business card into his pocket. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Viva stretched her legs and swiveled out of the car.
“Ready to start shopping?” Dhani asked.
“Not yet. Let’s relax a bit before going inside.”
“I’m still on duty.”
“I’d like to take you for a ride in the cart.”
“We can’t. It’s against store policy.”
“Rubbish. I’m about to pay $5,000 a year for Le Banquet Gourmand’s services. I’m a good-as-gold customer.” She folded her arms, assessing the cart’s sturdiness and the retractable polycarbonate bubble designed to shield customers from inclement weather.
“Let me take you for a spin around the parking lot.”
“My boss would object. I can’t do it.”
“Get your tired ass inside, Dhani. I’m paying for your services, and first, I want you to chill. I take full responsibility.”
“There’s training and certification required to operate the carts, Viva.”
“It can’t be that complicated. Look at all these teens—they’re doing just fine.”
Dhani stood in front of the cart, bewildered. Here was a woman flaunting the rules, insistent, and he hesitated to challenge her. Reluctantly, he climbed onto the cart, sat down, and offered directions. “Just one quick spin.”
She revved the motor, steering the cart toward the south side of the parking lot to avoid congestion. It began slowly at one mile per hour, then accelerated to three. Her broad smile revealed dimples as she veered around parked cars.
High heels clicked on the metal platform, echoing a salsa dance step from her great-grandmother: cross step and back, turn, back, cross, twist. The cart picked up speed, reaching eight miles per hour, when she suddenly swerved.
“Apply the speed governor, Viva.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the small throttle next to the—”
Before he could finish, Dhani’s eyes widened as the heel of Viva’s right shoe cracked, splitting away. She lost her balance, grappling for control as the cart swerved sharply. With a cry, she tumbled off the platform, sprawling awkwardly on the pavement, one lime green shoe still on.
The cart careened onto a narrow access road leading to the busy highway below, rushing down the steep 20 degree incline, gaining speed at ten miles an hour... then twelve… then fifteen.
Realizing he could not reach the controls because of the polycarbonate partition, Dhani knew he must bail out. He crouched, dizzy and afraid, gauging how high he must jump to clear the cart and land in the ravine alongside the road. When the cart wobbled and then stabilized, he took a deep breath and dived headfirst over the two-foot railing.
The world blurred as he hurtled toward the ground, the words of an ancient pop song flashing in his mind: “I’m untethered, heart on fire!” His head grazed a rock; pain and blood pooled as he skidded down the dirty embankment.
Above him, on the highway, the elongated squeal of brakes merged with the sharp, metallic thud of cars colliding, the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass echoing as the cart disintegrated, parts scattering into the air before shocked passengers in autonomous vehicles....
