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.

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.