Part 1: Dreams

Joe knelt quietly inside the bedroom with the woman, while the monster walked the blasted streets outside.

Its footfalls were deep, gravelly booms, sending shudders through the walls and dusty rain seeping to the old carpet from the crumbling drywall above. Through the powder air, Joe crept over to the window and peered out of it. It was striking to realize they were up high, way up high, and far down below were city blocks that were empty and abandoned. The streets and sidewalks were strewn with rubble and debris, and the pavement was crisscrossed with gaping chasms, as though the world itself had been shattered. The high-rises lining either side of the avenue were each in ruin, mere shells of what they once were, and like precarious Jenga towers they swayed, as though ready to topple over at any moment. They were in one of those high-rises—Joe could feel its unsteadiness. The sky above was a haze the color of blood, and like stage lights from a concert it painted the entire city in crimson. That same radiance filtered in through the window and set their room aglow in vivid red.

The woman lay on the bed and Joe knew she looked at him. He could feel her eyes. Meanwhile the monster’s footsteps outside sounded like a distant jackhammer.

He felt his body shaking from pent-up energy. The power was like a firehose within him, but he didn’t know where to focus it. It felt like he needed to sprint as fast as he could, but there was nowhere to run.

“You need to decide, Joe,” said the woman on the bed. Her voice was soothing and calming, a buoy in the madness. It was also familiar. He peered more closely at her, and then a feeling of awe came over him—it was a wave that coursed through his entire body.

She was Jennifer Carter, the first serious girlfriend he’d ever had. Though they hadn’t spoken in years, he knew he still cared for her more than any other. So it made sense that it was her, and that she was with him now, during these troubling times. Unlike him, she appeared quite relaxed, and very comfortable in the bed. There was an object in her hand—a glass ball, tinged royal blue, a curious bauble that she clutched onto and occasionally rolled in her palm. Joe stared at it, and her, hypnotized, before snapping his attention back to the street.

The monster’s footfalls crept ever closer, and actually sounded like thunderclaps. It was searching for them, he knew. It was stalking them. Though they were quite high up—maybe ten floors—he still had no trouble at all spotting the beast as it walked the desolate streets, pacing steadily across the debris and cracked pavement. It was not a giant, thus its march should not have been so deafening—and yet it was. It was a wretched thing—wiry and strong, with pipe-like limbs, claws like steel, its skin as black as night. Its hide was iron, its eyes piercing, its mouth fanged, and it breathed with a tiger’s hoarse rattle. Its roar would echo for miles about the empty city that surrounded them.

For the city was empty, Joe knew. Except for him, Jennifer, and the monster outside that stalked them.

“Decide what?” Joe asked her. His voice was lost, confused. He gazed at her and saw the white sheet clinging to her body, accentuating those curves that were like the gently rolling hills and slopes of a majestic landscape. Like a sorceress, she continued to gently roll the blue glass ball in her palm. His eyes lingered on her again before finally the thunderclaps of the monster’s footfalls brought his attention back to the street outside.

He peered out the window just in time to see the hulk pass by once more, its claws twitching in anticipation, ready and eager to rend and kill. Then the monster stopped its deathly march, and the entire city was a silent shell, and only the three of them existed—Joe, Jennifer, and the monster. With the beast standing idle, an impossible quiet fell over the city, and Joe feared their slightest movement or even whisper would alert the monster outside to their presence.

Jennifer drew his attention, as she turned toward him in the bed while slipping the sheets away. Underneath she was unclothed, and so having removed the sheet she exposed that majestic landscape of her torso. Her eyes had fallen shut but now they fluttered open and looked at him again.

He returned her gaze, his expression raw, his eyes intense. He’d lost his virginity to her, once upon a time. She’d lost hers in the same moment—they’d lost it together. That meant for a special bond between them, Joe knew. That bond was important—it was some kind of an ingredient, for whatever was going to happen.

“Just decide,” she whispered.

Joe could think of nothing else as he moved in smoothly on top of her, their bare skin meeting together warmly and pleasantly. For Joe realized then a startling thing—that he was as naked as she.

The bedsprings groaned with the additional weight though, and out in the street, the monster turned its head briskly toward their building and growled in suspicion.

Joe could see all this, the monster moving steadily across the block, approaching them, baring its teeth. But then the beast stopped and the world was deathly quiet.

It was the integral moment. In an instant the monster would be ready to dismiss any noise it had heard and be on its way, continuing its imposing march down the empty city streets. It would reign terror wherever it went, but they’d be safe—at least for the time being.

Their faces were just inches apart, and their gaze never broke, save for her eyelashes batting once or twice. The monster was already turning away, but Joe couldn’t stop himself as he slid his way in, relishing the sight of her eyes falling shut, her mouth agape in pleasure.

“Jennifer… what’s happening?” He could barely speak the ecstasy was so great.

“Joe…” she said, the pitch and intensity of her voice rising.

In his peripheral vision he vaguely noticed how she never let go of the glass ball—she clutched it tightly in her palm all along. And what had started slowly and gently became like a snowball tumbling downhill, picking up speed and momentum and utterly impossible to stop. First the bedsprings groaned and screeched, and then the headboard began to smash against the wall with absurdly massive clangs. It became so loud that Joe thought he heard it echoing up and down the block. Still he didn’t care. It was worth it.

The beast on the street roared in triumph, realizing it had found its prey. Its footfalls grew louder and louder as it crept closer, soon becoming more than thunderous and shaking the very earth itself. Joe and Jennifer could hear it coming, and they knew it was something terrible—yet still they could not stop. Their actions only grew in intensity, and soon their vigorous motion caused the entire building to sway from side to side like a hula dancer.

She screamed and so did he, the natural progression taking them there, neither of them with any say in the matter. Their voices drew the beast forward with renewed quickness, the sound of its massive clawed feet hitting each stair like a hammer to an anvil.

Still Joe didn’t care. He’d made his decision. And moments later he was finished. Jennifer’s eyes, seconds ago closed in ecstasy, now looked up at Joe hopefully, and with gratitude, like something important had been accomplished.

Splinters and fragments of wood that had once been the door exploded backwards into the bedroom. The beast stood in the empty doorframe, its eyes black and dead.

Joe stood to his feet as the dust and splinters rained through the air. He stared at the beast with a focused hatred, watching it as it changed. It became no longer a monster, but a man, its face devious, and mockingly it looked just like Joe, albeit a twisted version.

This was the ultimate evil, Joe knew. It looked like you, and it mocked you. It knew all of his worst thoughts and fears. It was his inverse; his shadow.

But no matter. He was ready. With Jennifer—he was ready.

Joe charged, and the villain reared to meet his attack head on. Upon clashing together, the two figures tumbled to the floor, where they grappled, Joe’s body a mass of taught, rippled muscle, and his opponent one of inky blackness. Amidst the struggle, the floor beneath them gave away, as did the one below that, and several more thereafter. Eventually, Joe was all by himself as dust and debris from above poured a heavy, continuous rain upon him. The shadow had come apart entirely, and in his hands he held what looked like black cords and gallons of ink coated his arms and much of his body.

He cast the sick cords aside and climbed to his feet, splashing through the ink, barely able to see through the falling debris. But amidst the mayhem he saw before him the man with the wrinkled face and long, thin black and grey hair. He wore clothes of rough leather. His slanted eyes were piercing, and his thin smile was wide and smug. Joe knew he looked upon the Trickster for the first time, or at least some version of him. But Joe didn’t care. The Trickster meant nothing to him. He thought only of Jennifer.

The stairs were still intact, at least enough to be used, and Joe took them several at a time on his way up. More than once his foot fell through the decaying steps, but each time he popped it back out and continued the ascent. He called out her name, and just barely he heard her calling back, her voice a faint song amidst the groaning walls and falling debris around him. But it was just enough to direct him to the right floor, and then to the right room. The doorway was mere hinges with scattered wood and sawdust on an old carpet.

Darting inside, he leapt over the hole in the floor that he and the shadow had fallen through. The bed was empty though—Jennifer was gone. Joe froze, his body heaving, covered in blackness and debris, processing her absence into a renewed rage. Then he noticed that she’d left something behind—the blue glass ball. It sat on the sheet, nestled up against a pillow. He snatched it off the bed and clutched it tightly in his palm as she had done before. He stared blankly into the dark blue glass, wondering what it meant, and why she had carried it.

Then he felt the presence behind him.

It was the Trickster yet again. He stood by the window, the light from the crimson sky behind him turning his body into a haunting red silhouette. It seemed impossible the Trickster had made it up there so quickly. But there he was, still with the smug grin that also seemed to be mocking him.

While still clutching the blue glass tightly in his balled fist, Joe felt his patience snap yet again as he launched his body at the Trickster, wanting to tear him to pieces in the same manner he’d done to the shadow. But upon contact with the man, it became apparent it was not actually the Trickster, but just a standup, like a cardboard cutout—there was no weight, and no depth. Joe went straight through his body like he was made of tissue paper, and with nothing to slow down his momentum, he exploded out of the window.

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He fell several flights, surrounded by shattered glass, as the broken pavement of the street rushed up to meet him. He screamed all the way down, and the maddening cutout of the grinning Trickster fluttered in the air behind him.

*

It wasn’t so much a scream as it was a grunt of effort, of sheer intensity. Joe leapt off the bed and landed with his bare feet on the hardwood, poised in the darkness of his bedroom. Somewhere in the world, wherever she was—he wasn’t sure, because he’d lost touch with her several years ago—but he knew that Jennifer Carter had also just woken up. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was ajar and for a second they could still see each other, like their connection wasn’t yet fully closed, even though the dream had ended. She had the startling knowledge in her eyes, the same knowledge he had, that it had been real. Somehow, someway, the dream had been real. He didn’t pretend to know how the hell that was possible—he only knew that it was. He couldn’t dwell on it though, he couldn’t dwell on Jennifer, because the image of her faded, and then his world began to spin around him as the consequences of his momentous decision were realized, and he felt the overwhelming weight bearing down on him as he collapsed to his knees. It was so much more than a dream, he knew, but this realization, this small window of truth, was closing quickly, the same way dreams fade after waking. He knew he’d lose the truth in just a few more seconds. And then it would be gone. He’d look back on this as just a weird night when he had a disconcerting but ultimately meaningless dream.

“Joe?” Danielle asked as she woke, her voice sleepy, but nevertheless laced with alarm. She was curled up in the sheets, which covered half of her torso, much like Jennifer had been in his dream moments ago. Her naked, exposed curves were a soft silver-blue in the moonlight that drifted in through the window. Joe also wore nothing—sleep had claimed them both easily, after making love a few hours ago.

Joe realized he was shaking, and that his body was wet with sweat.

“Joe?”

“Yeah?” he muttered blankly, buying some time. His thoughts were delicate, tenuous, and slipping further away with each second. He got to his feet and staggered towards his desk, looking for a pen or a pencil, but at the same time realizing that even if he were to find one, he’d have no idea what to write down.

“Are you okay?”

He heard the concern in her voice, but never mind that, he just needed to find a goddamn pen.

Joe lurched forward again, increasingly aware that, despite everything else, his head was pounding. He teetered on the fine line of last night’s alcohol and the next morning’s hangover. His hand fumbled about noisily on his desk. Danielle could hear his rapid movements and it only increased her concern. Her head came up off the pillow, her wide eyes searching for him. Finally she found him, and she gasped.

“Joe! What are you doing?” she asked.

While staring into her eyes, his mind went blank. No words would come. There was only the pounding and aching of the budding hangover. His heart continued thumping heavily.

“Answer me!” she pleaded.

“I… I don’t know,” he replied, finally. “I just had some sort of fucked-up dream.”

She sighed. “What kind of dream?”

“Ugh, it was… fucked-up.” It was the only description Joe could muster. However, he was also sure that no other term could describe it quite so perfectly.

“A nightmare?” she asked.

Joe nodded slowly, vacantly.

“Do nightmares always leave you in that kind of condition?” she asked with a sleepy giggle.

Joe knew what she meant but he had not the wherewithal to reply. Instead he paced toward the kitchen to get some water. His mouth was parched, and his head felt like it was full of broken glass. Absently he noticed the vodka from his freezer, how it still sat in the middle of the counter amidst a discord of dried alcohol rings from the bottle. Likely they’d hit that once or twice after coming home. Surely it seemed like a great idea at the time. While suppressing a shudder, he grabbed one of the glasses sitting in the sink, filled it with water, and chugged, all along wishing the hangover was his only problem. But he knew it wasn’t. Something had been set in motion, something substantial, even life-altering. Only he couldn’t explain it.

He crept slowly back to bed. He wasn’t sure if Danielle had fallen back to sleep yet, as he gently climbed back into bed beside her.

“You okay?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yeah,” Joe lied.

“What did you dream of?” Her voice was the faintest of whispers.

“I… don’t know,” Joe lied again. He had to. He figured that no good whatsoever could come from telling Danielle even a single detail. The details were shocking, even for Joe.

“Cannot remember?” she murmured again, softly.

“No,” Joe whispered. His head pulsed, and the pain became more acute, like a drill bit going into his temples. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He just wanted it all to go away.

He snuggled in closer to Danielle and wrapped his arms around her. She was just 22, her body soft like silk, her skin wondrously smooth. Joe was creeping up on 30 and each time he held her he had an awful thought that it would never be as good as it was with her, not ever again. Danielle was the last one.

Instantly he felt his body respond to hers, a livening that felt like magic but was actually just biology. She’d already fallen back asleep though, and he listened as her gentle breathing deepened into a steady sleep rhythm. He sighed, wishing sleep would come back that easily for him. But his body felt like it’d been jolted by electricity. He turned back to his side of the bed, and the broken glass in his head rattled and clinked as he forced his eyelids shut. He wondered if he’d ever feel in control or if the rest of his life was always going to be so haywire.

*

Joe opened his eyes to see his room filled with daylight. Danielle was curled up in the sheet next to him. The sounds of the waking city drifted in through his open windows. The horns honking and bus engines roaring—it seemed louder and more pervasive than usual. On top of it all there was a loud and ugly call of a raven, and it was close, perhaps just outside the window on his fire escape.

He shut his eyes again, and after a moment of blissful unknowing, he winced.

It was just like so many other mornings. It had become a sad tradition for Joe, whereupon waking he was immediately overcome with the disconcerting task of trying to remember all that had happened the previous night.

He and Danielle had both been drunk—that much was clear. Her simple and harmless proposal, you want to grab a drink after work? was brought to him so innocently, and Joe had said yes before the words even finished coming out of her mouth. Well, they had that drink, and countless others thereafter, as hours later they closed down the bars and ultimately the night had landed them promptly together in his bedroom. Her prim and proper business suit was now a crumpled pile on his bedroom floor.

She was Danielle Rondeau, and they were coworkers. She was a summer intern in his office, actually. As if that wasn’t dicey enough, it was a Wednesday morning and they both had to go to work.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done this. It was becoming a habit, actually.

To further complicate matters, he was pretty sure she had a boyfriend. Or, at least, some other guy in her life. Joe had stalked her on Instagram more than enough to know this. He’d seen the other guy—more times than he cared to. He was prominently featured in so many of her photos, a towering, bearded dude, with a neatly manicured appearance and an edgy fashion that Joe didn’t understand at all. Joe couldn’t help but wonder who the guy was, and how he’d react if he knew Danielle was in his bed right now, wearing no clothes at all.

She’d already gone through multiple cycles of hitting the snooze button on her cell phone, after each of its intrusive vibrations. It was one of these that had woken him up. Joe winced again. His head still felt like a bag of shattered glass. The sleep had done little to help him.

There was another jarring vibration from Danielle’s cell phone, and she finally relented to it as she sat up in bed with a sleepy sigh. She fumbled with the phone, turning it off, and then, while pretending he was still asleep, Joe watched her get out of bed. In the thick morning light he could see her tattoos, each of them small, dark designs that matched her dark hair and eyes perfectly. Still in silence, he watched her put on her lingerie, as she stepped into and pulled up her thong, and then reached her hands behind her back, clasping her bra together. Throughout it all, Joe felt a continuous surge within him, as his blood rushed, and his heart pounded. His hangover was fierce, and he was still reeling from the strangeness of the night, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just stupidly horny. It actually heightened it somehow. There were spritely women everywhere, it seemed—in his bed, in his dreams, in his thoughts. It all had a cumulative effect on him in that instant. He wanted more… mercilessly he wanted more, it was nearly unbearable. The rigidity was painful.

Danielle vanished into the bathroom. She came back out a few minutes later and noticed he was awake.

“Hey,” she said, talking to him casually, still in just her lingerie. “You okay?” He saw a flash of metal from the stud she wore on her tongue.

Unable to form any words, or even think straight, Joe just nodded.

She found her clothes and began to put them on.

“You scared me last night,” she said, pulling her skirt up her legs and onto her hips. “What kind of nightmare was that?”

“I can’t remember it,” he mumbled. It was still a lie, of course—but there wasn’t any other option. The truth—that he’d had a wet nightmare with an ex-girlfriend from high school—well, it just wouldn’t do.

Danielle went about her routine, getting herself ready. Joe always marveled at how she never seemed to get hungover, no matter how much alcohol she drank the night before. It certainly was true that morning—she was positively glowing. Her exotic, almond-shaped eyes. The beauty mark on her chin. The way she put her hair back haphazardly, so a wild shock of it hung to one side.

Standing by his door, she turned around one last time. She seemed put off by his quiet, even though he was clearly awake.

“So are you coming with me on Saturday?” she asked. “I don’t think you ever actually answered me.”

Joe felt himself reeling, trying to remember what she was talking about. With relief he felt a thread of remembrance fall loose from the haze. There was a party on Saturday, at some club. She wanted him to go with her. But it wasn’t in D.C. It was in New York City. She was always going up there. Danielle and her limitless energy. God bless her, and her youth.

“Well?” she asked again.

“Yeah,” he blurted. “I’m in.” He had no idea yet if that would actually be true or not. He did score some molly yesterday though, just in case. He hadn’t done ecstasy in years, but… it was fun to act young again. To try to keep up. Drugs were part of it. For better or for worse.

She gave him back a light smile, but it faded quickly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, studying him.

He nodded meekly.

She still didn’t move. She just stood there, looking back at him as though expecting something.

Joe opened his mouth, feeling obligated to say something, anything. She waited. But no words came to him.

Finally she rolled her eyes in an annoyed way and then left his apartment. The door shut and Joe sighed.

He figured she would get back to her apartment and then go about her normal morning routine. She’d shower, change, get to work and then be a total firestorm as usual, her hangover not affecting her in the least. He really liked it—her aggressiveness, and how she could assert herself so effortlessly at work, even as an intern. He had always been calm and passive, even shy. So in their case, the old saying was true—that opposites attract. Sometimes quite heatedly.

His day would be much different than hers. He couldn’t handle work, for one. Right away he picked up his phone and he called in sick. After making the call, he rolled over, frustrated, wondering if anyone had ever called in sick to work for the primary reason that they were too horny to come in. He sighed, and while doing so he felt his phone buzz with an incoming text. He picked it up from the nightstand and saw it was from Danielle—she was texting him already. Of course she was. She was always very quick with her phone.

He read it cautiously.

what have you become shy in the morning?

Joe grimaced. As if in response, he felt his phone buzz again.

i could have helped you out you know… silly

This time he groaned out audibly, his voice pained.

A few minutes passed and he still didn’t move from bed. The effort to get up seemed unattainable.

His phone buzzed again.

He picked it up quickly, fully expecting to be tormented yet again by another of her witty texts, but it was not the case. Instead Joe felt his body seize when he read her message.

oh and who is Jennifer?

He told himself to calm down, that she’d probably just heard him call out her name while they’d slept. That kind of thing happened. But he knew it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. Nothing would ever be simple again.

He knew this because of what he clutched in his hand. It was the real reason he couldn’t get out of bed. It was something he’d found lying on the sheet in the morning when he’d awoke in pain and misery from the hangover, while her phone had been buzzing with its intrusive vibrations. It was sitting there on the bed, as it had been in the dream, and he’d grasped onto it, mired in disbelief.

It was the glass ball Jennifer had carried. It was a perfect sphere, tinged a royal blue. She’d carried it in his dream, he’d taken it, and now it lay in his bed. It seemed to have followed him back from wherever he’d been.

From outside he heard the loud and ugly caw of a raven once more. He could even hear its talons scraping on the metal of the fire escape that was just outside his open window.