Breaking up with Roy for the second time wasn't as exhausting as it had been in the previous pattern. His anger, confusion, denial and disappointment were just the same, but Pam found herself feeling strangely detached. She felt as if it didn't really concern her, as if she was just a messenger delivering him the bad news. The first time, she cried and trembled and shouted together with him and begged him to forgive her. This time she was too drained emotionally to go through that whole process.

As unfair as it probably was towards Roy, she just couldn't bring herself to act more compassionately. She rather felt like a victim herself, having to go through all of this for the second time.

She didn't stay at home this time, just slept at the hotel that night and figured she would think about finding a new apartmen later. Later... When she found out something, anything about Jim.

She called her mother to tell her about the break-up, but ended the conversation as soon as possible. Her mother had to know, for purely practical reasons (everything had to be cancelled and she briefly wondered if in that parallel universe she would also be stuck with fish-or-chicken lunch for what had seemed like the rest of her life). But Pam didn't feel up to any longer conversations.

Everything had to wait.

It was time to focus on Jim, the way she obviously should have done a long time ago. If she had, right now she wouldn't be in the most improbable situation in the world.

Dwight's favorite sci-fi shows were probably full of stuff like that. The problem was, she always considered her life more of a drama. A dramedy sometimes, when Jim was around.

Oh well. Maybe Dwight could lend her some DVDs.

***

“So?” Pam asked Creed. She had impatiently waited for fifteen minutes after he came in to work and snuck up to his desk the moment she was sure no one could hear their conversation. “Do you have any news for me? Good news, preferably,” she added sternly.

“Already? Of course not. It's going to take longer than that, you know,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I did sign up for a hearing at the headquarters. But I have no idea when they'll see me. It could be a week, it could be a month, a year even.”

“A year?!” Pam exclaimed, terrified. “There is no absolutely no way I am waiting that long!”

“Look, I am doing what I can. And I already told you it probably won't change anything.” Creed sighed. It's most disconcerting to know your job well done is not appreciated the way it should be.

“But there is a chance,” Pam said stubbornly.

“There always is...”

“That's all I need to know,” Pam assured him.

“...but you've got a better chance of winning the lottery.”

Pam folded her arms defensively

“I'll have you know I did win a lottery once. At the Lackawanna County Fair. I won a chest of drawers. So I'm taking your words as a good sign.”

“That's... great. But I meant more like a state lottery, you know. Where you win money. Not furniture.”

His comment was met with silence. It was time for a peace offering.

“You know, you can start searching for him by yourself,” Creed said encouragingly. “It won't change the pattern, but at least you can try to find out something about him in this one.”

“How?” she looked at him curiously.

“Well, I guess you could start by consulting the most powerful medium of our age,” he smiled.

“The most powerful medium?” Pam looked at him doubtfully. “I don't know who that would be. Does she live in, like, India? Egypt? I mean, I guess it's a woman. Aren't they usually women? But I can hardly afford a trip to India or Egypt.”

“Oh, Sam, you do realize we live in the twenty first century, don't you?” “There is a certain medium that can't tell you anything about the future, but a lot about the past and present, and that's what you want anyway, right?”

“I guess,” Pam replies, still at a loss.

“I don't know how you got that job, seriously,” Creed said disapprovingly. “Wasn't computer skills one of the requirements?”

“Computer skills? Oh... You mean...” Pam trailed off as the realization dawned on her. She glanced at the computer screen behind Creed.

“Yeah, oh.”

“The internet,” she said, to herself as much as to Creed.

“Exactly,” he nodded.

“And that will help?”

“It won't hurt, that much I can tell you,” he said. “But he could easily be there somewhere. Maybe his dogs are award winning champions and his name will be on every dog-related site.”

“Yeah, I don't think so. Jim doesn't have a dog,” Pam pointed out.

“He could, in this pattern.”

She just groaned.

***

Pam sat in front of her computer screen, the browser window proudly displaying the familiar Google site. It waited for her, invited her to type those two little words. Jim Halpert. She could do it any moment. Then, she would hit the search button. And then maybe, just maybe, she would know.

But maybe she wouldn't.

Maybe he changed his name.

Maybe he changed his name because he was in the witness protection program.

Or maybe he changed his name because he was a criminal and was running away from the FBI.

Well, maybe he wasn't a criminal, maybe everyone just thought he was one, but he was really innocent. Like in The Fugitive.

Pam shook her head. Stop it, she scolded herself. There's not much chance of FBI being after Jim. That was simply ridiculous. Still, he could be anyone. A doctor. An accountant. A writer. A truck driver. A rock musician. Pam smiled to herself. That would he be something. He would like that. Well, he wasn't a great singer as far as she knew, but who cares. Maybe he could be a lead guitarist. In a band called The Paperclips. She chuckled.

Get a grip on yourself, Beesly, she thought. Just type the damn name.

She almost couldn't feel her fingers when she hit the keys. Jim Halpert. Done. Now search.

It seemed as if someone else hit the button for her.

She instantly closed her eyes. She was, needless to say, terrified to look. Half a minute went by when her wimpy side fought a battle with the little bit of courage she possessed. After that time, her internal referee announced the victory of the little bit. The wimp inside her was deafeated, for the time being.

She looked at the screen.

There was a long list of links to various sites. She was going to check them all, but when she saw the fourth from the top, she froze.

No.

No, no, no.

Impossble.

He really couldn't...

***

“So he works at Dunder Mifflin, why is that a bad thing?” Creed asked, inspecting the printout of Jim's profile Pam brought him.

“It's not,” Pam took a shaky breath. “It's a good thing, actually.”

“So why do you look like you want to kill me?”

“Because I do? Look, you had me scared to death that Jim was thousands of miles away from me. And he's at Dunder Mifflin!”

“But he's at the corporate,” Creed said.

“But it's still Dunder Mifflin!” Pam's hands were trembling when she ran them through her hair nervously. “We're working at the same company. And New York is only two and a half hour away. I can't believe this.”

“I don't know what to say. It's just a coincidence.”

“I just don't get it, you know. He could be anyone, he could be doing anything, and yet he still works here! It's just... weird...”

“I'm not responsible for that. I didn't choose his new life. I could only choose what to change in yours. And that was never meeting him,” Creed explained patiently.

“But if Jim works at Dunder Mifflin, that means that maybe we've actually met at some point,” Pam said hopefully.

“I don't think that's very likely. How many people from the corporate come here, except for the blonde Michael lusts after?” Creed said dismissively.

“Well, that Brenda girl went on the booze cruise with us,” Pam recollected. And then she vaguely remembered that Jim went, or at least wanted to go on a date with said Brenda. And now they're working in the same office. Great. They were probably having wild monkey sex right at that moment, in a supply closet or something.

“I don't think she was in PR, though,” Creed remarked. “And look, that's where he is. He really would have no interest in coming to Scranton. Really, I don't want you to get your hopes up. The point of what I did was to remove him from your life and though he didn't go that far, it still worked. It doesn't really matter that he's at Dunder Mifflin. He doesn't know you, period. Of course, if you really want him to get to know you, it helps if he's close. If that's what you really want,” he repeated.

“It is.”

“Well, then I guess the rest is up to you,” he said slowly. “You know your way to New York. I just wanted to make sure. I mean... He can be changed. He grew up somewhere else, he had different friends. Just different influences, you know? He might not be the person you knew.”

“I find it hard to believe Jim could ever change for the worst,” Pam smiled faintly.

“He could be married. He could have children,” Creed added. He didn't want to be cruel, but it had to be said.

“I know that,” Pam exhaled loudly. “Don't you think I know that? But I just have to find out. If he's married... Well, I'm not going to try to steal him away from his wife, or anything. Of course I wouldn't do that. But I have to know if I have the slightest chance. I can fight for him then. He deserves that, you know. I hurt him so bad...”

“But he doesn't know that,” Creed argued.

“But I do!” Pam insisted. “The fact that he doesn't remember me doesn't change a thing.”

“Yeah, about that.” Creed cut in.

“About what?” Pam asked warily. She was really hoping no more revelations would come her way. Things were already confusing enough.

“About your knowing,” he said. “I should have told you yesterday probably, as soon as I realized you were so unhappy. The normal procedure is to have you remember your previous pattern, but there are ways... What I'm saying is, you can forget. You can be made to forget, I guess. The chance of getting you a permission to forget is infinitely greater than of restoring the old pattern. I can apply for it if you want. Just say the word. I think it's a good idea.”

But Pam just shook her head with a defeated smile.

Forgetting about Jim was the last thing she wanted. Already he didn't know her. If she forgot now... Well, that would simply be the end.