That question hits different when you’ve spent years watching the world unravel in real time.
If you’ve been with Whatfinger for any length of time, you already know Beth and Ben. They’re not just characters in a book or on our site — they’re family. Part of the crew grinding every day alongside the rest of us, trying to cut through the noise and find truth in a world that’s gone half-mad.
What most people don’t know is that Beth carries a rare gift. After a childhood accident, her mind became something like an antenna — pulling in quantum dreams that don’t just show possible futures… they bring the greatest stories ever told back to life through the people we love.
Below is the opening of Beth’s Quantum Dreams Book I: Sparks of Tomorrow — the dedication, prologue, and the beginning of the Gift of the Magi arc. I hope you enjoy it! – Mike Anthony
Beth’s Quantum Dreams Book I: Sparks of Tomorrow
Dedication To the masters of old — Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, Franz Kafka, Shirley Jackson, Robert Louis Stevenson, Leo Tolstoy, O. Henry, and all the brilliant storytellers whose works have shaped hearts across centuries.
Thank you for giving us tales that still speak so powerfully today.
This book is humbly offered as a bridge. Many readers coming to these pages may never have encountered your stories in their original form. Through Beth’s dreams and the love of this chosen family, we hope to introduce your timeless lessons, humor, tragedies, and redemptions to a new generation — wrapped in wonder, quantum possibility, and the warmth of found family.
May your stories live on, not just in dusty bookshelves, but in the hearts of those who discover them here for the very first time.
With deepest gratitude and respect, Mike, Beth, Ben, and the Whatfinger.com Crew
Prologue
The water was cold and bright the day everything changed.
Thirteen-year-old Beth stood on the diving board, sun hot on her freckled shoulders, ponytail whipping in the breeze as she laughed with her friends below. She rose onto her toes for one last jump.
A shove between her shoulder blades sent her flying.
The concrete edge rushed up. A sickening crack. Blood bloomed in the blue water. Her mother’s scream tore across the pool like shattering glass. Then the world went black.
The coma lasted three weeks.
When Beth finally opened her eyes, the hospital room felt wrong—too sharp, too clear. Ceiling tiles formed perfect geometric patterns that pulsed with hidden meaning. She asked for paper and a pencil. Her small hand moved across the page without hesitation, drawing an impossibly detailed city floating on an island in the sea, towers connected by glowing bridges, Optimus robots assembling themselves under open skies. She had never studied architecture. She had never drawn anything better than stick figures.
The doctors called it acquired savant syndrome—a rare neurological rewiring after severe head trauma. Beth called it the day her brain turned into an antenna.
In the quiet hours after visiting time ended, the dreams began pouring in. Not gentle visions, but full immersion. She stood on sunlit stages beside Elon Musk as he spoke about Musk Credits. She watched a man in a wheelchair roll straight into gunfire to buy his friends a few more seconds of life. She ran through soft grass with a little girl who had her own eyes, beneath two bright suns hanging in a strange sky.
Her parents wept with relief when she finally spoke. The doctors offered cautious smiles and more tests. Beth looked at the neurologist, voice still hoarse from the breathing tube, and said, “It’s not just hallucinations. My brain got tuned to a different station. Now it picks up everything—possible futures, other realities, warnings wrapped up as stories. Some scare me. Some make me cry. Some fill me with a kind of hope I don’t even have words for yet. They’re not random. They’re trying to teach me something.”
She never fought the dreams again.
At thirteen she already understood: the antenna was always listening.
She had no idea those dreams would one day help spark a revolution, guide a fractured nation, and hand Elon Musk a vision powerful enough to change the course of humanity.
But she knew, even then, that her mind was no longer entirely her own. Even then, some part of her understood the real question the dreams had come to ask: What kind of life — and what kind of future — do we choose to build when we can see both the wonders and the dangers coming?
Chapter 1
The apartment in Frisco was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the occasional ping of Beth’s laptop on the nightstand—Whatfinger alerts she had sworn she would ignore until morning. She lay curled against Ben’s chest, his arm heavy and warm around her waist, the two of them tangled in sheets after another long night sifting through stories and wrestling with what the world was becoming. Their place sat only twenty minutes north of the Whatfinger News office in Dallas, close enough to feel the pulse of the work every single day. The real change hadn’t started yet. Not officially. But everyone on the team could feel something shifting, like the world was holding its breath.
Beth exhaled, letting the day’s tension bleed away. The quantum itch was already building behind her eyes—sharp, electric, insistent.
It hit like a riptide.
She stood unseen in a softly lit future bedroom, walls lined with MuskNet holos and framed photos of a world remade. Beth’s heart clenched with recognition: this was one possible future they were still fighting to reach. She watched, invisible witness, as two small figures leaped onto a wide bed.
The soft rustle of blankets filled the room as Susie and Mikey pulled the covers up to their chins. Their grandfather, Luke—still looking youngish, maybe twenty-five, but unmistakably their Luke—smiled as they snuggled close, eyes wide with curiosity.
“Grandpa,” Susie said, voice eager, “can you tell us another story tonight? About how it all started?”
“And don’t skip the part with Sgt. Pat!” Mikey added, grinning. “He was your best friend growing up, right?”
Luke’s face softened with that familiar mix of pride and ache. He settled on the edge of the bed. “Alright, you two. Let me tell you about the old days… about the dreams that wouldn’t let go, and the people who chose to listen to them.”
The dream sharpened, pulling Beth deeper.
She saw flashes of late nights at Whatfinger, of Ben and Pat and the crew gathered around screens and coffee, refusing to look away from hard truths. She saw Luke standing steady through it all, carrying the weight of stories that mattered. The children listened, wide-eyed, as their grandfather painted pictures with his words—tales of courage, friendship, and the quiet choices that shape the future.
Back in the future bedroom, Luke’s voice grew softer as he finished. His grandchildren watched him, rapt.
“That’s why we tell the stories,” he said, voice thick. “So the next generation never has to wonder what it cost. You kiddos have a great life ahead. No more crime, no more hunger, and you can live almost as long as you ever wished to.”
Susie whispered, “Grandpa, were you scared sometimes before the singularity, during the fighting?”
Luke’s eyes shimmered. Mikey handed him a tissue. The children crawled out and wrapped their arms around him in a fierce double hug. Luke held them tight, voice cracking.
“Every day,” he admitted. “But I was never alone. Not with family like yours.”
The silence that followed was sacred. Beth felt the lesson bloom inside her like a quiet supernova: Stories are how we pass down what matters most.
Luke kissed their foreheads, tucked them in, and promised to continue tomorrow. He paused at the door as the kids’ playful bickering drifted after him. In the living room, Lisa waited. Luke sank onto the couch, head in her lap, letting her fingers work their familiar magic across his scalp while they talked about dinner with Ben and Kathy and Pat’s kid coming home from Reagan—the most populated colony world, already home to over five hundred million souls and growing fast.
The dream began to fracture.
Beth surfaced slowly in their Frisco bedroom, the future fading like morning mist. She was still curled against Ben, but he had propped himself up on one elbow, watching her with that quiet, steady gaze that always grounded her. A half-empty glass of water sat on the nightstand beside him.
She reached for his hand. “It was Luke again… as a grandfather, telling Susie and Mikey the old stories as he called them. About the crew, the hard choices, the things worth fighting for.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Those kids hugging him… it felt so real.”
Ben laced their fingers together, thumb brushing across her knuckles. “Sounds like it hit you pretty deep.”
She nodded. “The dream was basically saying stories are how we keep the important stuff alive. So the next generation doesn’t forget what it cost. But this story was still unfolding. I think it’ll be one of those that keep going.”
Ben smiled, warm and a little tired. “Then I guess you’d better keep writing them down.” He traced her cheek gently. “You said Luke still looked young even as a grandpa?”
“Yeah. Reset tech. It all lines up with the Sinclair dreams I’ve had.”
Ben gave a soft laugh. “I keep forgetting how wild that stuff is. I researched it again last week for Mike — Sinclair perfected the tech at Harvard in 2025, human trials in 2026. By the 2030s people will basically stay twenty-five forever. Makes sense why the grandpa still looks young. Like in the book Time’s Orphans”
For a long moment they simply lay there, listening to the distant hum of Frisco morning traffic. Beth felt the dream settle into something steadier—bright, necessary, and once again shared between them. Beth knew her dreams were about to get wild again, and she was ready to keep writing them all down.
Chapter 2
The quantum pull came gentle and aching that evening.
Beth and Ben sat cross-legged on the living-room floor of their Frisco house, surrounded by scattered papers and half-empty coffee mugs. Late afternoon light slanted through the blinds, striping the carpet in warm gold.
She closed her eyes…
…and stood unseen in their old, cramped apartment from seven years ago.
The air carried the scent of cheap coffee, damp walls, and the faint lavender of the single candle Beth used to burn when money was tightest. Younger Beth—thinner, eyes shadowed with exhaustion—stood at the frost-laced window, fingers tracing the delicate silver locket at her throat. It was the last real thing she had from her grandmother. The metal felt warm against her skin, the tiny engraving inside still legible: Dream big, little one.
She whispered to it like a prayer. “If I sell you… will it mean I don’t believe anymore?”
Across the tiny room, young Ben sat at their second-hand kitchen table, pretending to read a dog-eared book. His hand kept drifting to his pocket where the heavy antique pocket watch rested—the only thing his father had left him after two tours of duty. The watch that had survived deserts, loss, and time itself. He already knew what he would do tomorrow. Beth deserved something that would help her trust her gift. Something beautiful and permanent.
The love in that freezing little apartment was so fierce and fragile it made present-day Beth’s chest tighten with a sweet, painful ache.
Chapter 3
The next morning in the dream, Beth slipped out of the apartment while Ben was still sleeping.
The pawn shop smelled of old metal, dust, and quiet desperation. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as she placed her grandmother’s silver locket on the glass counter. The owner, an older man with kind but tired eyes, examined it carefully.
“Beautiful piece,” he said gently. “Family?”
Beth nodded, throat tight. “My grandmother gave it to me.”
He offered a fair price—not what it was worth to her, but enough. She took the cash, folded it into her pocket, and stepped back out into the cold Dallas morning feeling both lighter and heavier at once.
Three blocks away she found the small bookstore that also sold beautiful blank journals. She chose a thick, leather-bound one with smooth cream pages and a simple embossed cover that felt substantial in her hands. Next to it she picked a fountain pen with a perfect weight and deep blue ink. She imagined Ben filling page after page with his wild ideas about free cities, new technology, and the better world they were determined to help build.
She wrapped both gifts carefully in brown paper, tied them with string, and hid them under their bed when she got home.
At the exact same time across town, Ben stood in a different pawn shop. He placed his father’s antique pocket watch on the counter. The owner offered condolences when he heard the story. Ben didn’t say much. He took the money and walked to the same bookstore Beth had visited earlier. He chose the most beautiful set of dream journals he could afford and a fountain pen with a smooth, elegant nib he knew would feel right in her hand.
He wrapped them with the same care, hid them in the exact same spot under the bed, and made it home before Beth noticed he had been gone.
That night they sat together in their tiny apartment, the space warmed only by a small space heater and the love between them. The heater clicked and hummed. Beth rested her head on Ben’s shoulder while they shared a single bowl of ramen. Neither mentioned their secret errands. They simply held each other, whispering about the future they were determined to build—a future where Beth’s dreams could help people, where they would never be this poor again, where they could finally give each other the life they both deserved.
Chapter 4
Christmas Eve arrived in their tiny apartment like a quiet rebellion against the cold.
The space heater hummed unevenly in the corner, its orange glow flickering across the walls and casting long, dancing shadows. The air carried the sharp, clean scent of the single pine-scented candle they could afford, mixed with the faint lingering saltiness of last night’s cheap ramen. Outside, a bitter north wind rattled the old windowpanes, but inside the two of them had built their own small world.
They had managed a spindly branch for a tree, stuck in an old coffee can and decorated with paper snowflakes Beth had cut while Ben was at work. The paper felt crisp under her fingers as she adjusted one last flake. The branch still carried a faint, earthy resin smell that made the whole room feel just a little more alive.
Beth went first, her hands trembling with nervous excitement as she handed Ben the brown-paper package tied with string. The paper crinkled softly. Ben untied it slowly, almost reverently, and lifted the thick leather-bound journal. His fingers traced the smooth embossed cover, then tested the cool, satisfying weight of the fountain pen. He uncapped it and the faint metallic scent of fresh ink rose between them.
“Beth…” His voice cracked, rough with emotion. “This is perfect. I can already feel myself filling every page with everything we’re going to do. The cities. The ideas. The future we keep talking about.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she watched him. Then Ben reached under the bed and pulled out his own package, wrapped with the same careful brown paper. The string came undone with a soft whisper.
Beth’s breath caught as she opened it. A beautiful set of dream journals with elegant covers and thick cream pages that smelled faintly of new paper and possibility. Beside them lay a fountain pen with a smooth, perfect nib that felt cool and balanced in her hand. She ran her fingertips over the paper, imagining the scratch of the nib, the deep blue ink flowing as she finally trusted herself to write down every wild vision.
“You knew,” she whispered, voice thick with tears. “You always know what I need before I even say it.”
They kissed under the pathetic little tree, laughing softly through the tears. The heater clicked steadily now like a heartbeat keeping time for them. The candle flame danced, throwing warm light across their faces. For a few perfect minutes the freezing apartment glowed with something brighter than any Christmas lights—the kind of private, fierce joy that only two people with almost nothing can truly feel.
Chapter 5
Later that night, after they had made love on the thin mattress and lay tangled together for warmth, the gentle irony finally landed.
Beth opened one of the dream journals and realized the beautiful pen Ben had given her would never have a watch to keep perfect time by. Ben opened his new journal and saw that Beth had sold the locket she treasured above everything else—the one thing that connected her to the grandmother who had believed in her.
There was a long, stunned silence.
Then Beth started laughing—soft, tearful, full of wonder and heartbreak. Ben joined her, the sound filling their tiny bedroom. They weren’t laughing at the uselessness of the gifts. They were laughing at the sheer depth of the love that had made each of them give up the single most precious thing they owned.
The laughter faded into something quieter.
Beth admitted how afraid she still sometimes felt about using her dreams—how Pat’s shadow and their complicated history made her feel unworthy of Ben’s steady devotion. Ben confessed his quiet jealousy of her past with Pat and his fear that he would never be “enough” for someone with her gift.
The conversation was raw, honest, painful, and healing. They cried. They held each other. They forgave.
Chapter 6
Beth surfaced slowly in their Frisco living room, curled on the couch with Ben’s arms around her. The dream’s frost-laced window and the scent of cheap pine candle still lingered like cold air on her skin.
She told him everything — the silver locket, the antique watch, the mirrored sacrifices, the useless but perfect gifts, the laughter, the tears, and the forgiveness.
Ben listened, then pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. For a long time they just breathed together.
“Man,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion, “we really were broke as hell back then… but damn if that wasn’t some of the best love we’ve ever had.”
Beth smiled through fresh tears. “The dream made it feel bigger. Like the universe was reminding me what we’re made of.”
Ben rubbed her back. “We’re made of each other. Always have been.” He paused, then gave a small chuckle. “You know what Mike assigned me yesterday? Another round on the Moon landing conspiracy crowd…” People still insist we never went.”
Beth shifted in his arms, tilting her head to look at him. “And?”
“It’s dumb as hell, but I get why it sticks. NASA and the government faked a bunch of videos and behind-the-scenes footage back then — probably to hide how much they were winging it or to keep certain tech classified. Those fakes are now a laughingstock and make the whole thing look suspicious. Whatfinger’s official take is simple: we absolutely landed, but NASA got caught polishing the truth and it bit them in the ass for decades.”
He traced lazy circles on her shoulder. “But here’s the part the conspiracy guys never address: the retroreflectors Armstrong and the crews left on the Moon in 1969. Those mirrors are still there. Scientists from every nation — including ones that hate us — bounce lasers off them daily to measure the exact distance to the Moon. That’s how we know it’s slowly drifting away. In about a hundred million years it’ll break free of Earth’s gravity completely. You can’t fake active hardware that multiple countries have been using for over fifty years.”
Beth smiled against his chest. “So we really went.”
“Yeah,” Ben said softly, kissing the top of her head. “We really went. Just like we really sold that locket and that watch. Some things are worth the sacrifice.”
The room grew quiet again, filled only with the distant hum of Frisco traffic and the steady rhythm of two hearts that had already proven they would give up anything for each other.
Ready to dive deeper?
If this opening grabbed you — the raw love, the sacrifices, the way the old stories come alive through people you already know — then you’re going to love the full book.
Beth’s Quantum Dreams Book I: Sparks of Tomorrow is now available on Amazon.
Grab your copy today and step into Beth’s dreams with the rest of the crew. Some stories will make you laugh. Some will hit you right in the chest. All of them will make you think about the future we’re fighting to build.
