“Eddie?” Joe asked, the Alice in Chains still booming out of the speakers behind him.

“Hey, look who it is,” Eddie said, his voice calm and cool, not at all like the shaky, waffling tone he’d had in their youth. “My old friend.”

“What the hell is this?” Joe asked, distraught.

Eddie grinned, and Joe could read the satisfaction in it. It looked like he knew of things that Joe did not, and Joe’s cluelessness was absolute fuel for him.

“Am I dreaming?” Joe asked. “Or is this really a new kind of cell phone or something?”

Eddie chuckled. “Oh, Joe. Slow as always.”

“Eddie? Eddie, seriously, what the hell is this?” Joe yelled, beside himself.

“Oh, you’re drunk, too?” he replied. “This is priceless.”

“Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Joe could hear the helplessness in his voice and it scared him.

Eddie maintained his smarmy grin, like this was all just too much fun for him. “Look, you called me, alright?”

“Called you? What the hell are you talking about?”

Eddie chuckled. “God, you really do have no idea.”

“No, I don’t. Will you please tell me what’s going on?” Joe pleaded. “What is this thing?”

Eddie spoke with a scary calm. “Well, it’s rather surprising that it came to you, but…”

“But what?”

“No one ever should predict whom the Trickster might choose. He reads tea leaves that no one else can.”

Joe remained quiet, feeling a chill upon hearing the moniker. Trickster.

“So,” Eddie continued. “I guess it means you’ll be one of us now.”

“One of us? One of who?” Joe asked intensely.

“The dream weavers.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a very exclusive group, Joe. You should consider yourself very fortunate.”

“What kind of group? What do you do?”

“You make your dreams become real. Your deepest desires. You can spin them.”

Joe gaped back, speechless.

“You’re probably doing it already, and you don’t even realize it.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Has anything good happened to you recently, Joe? At work, or otherwise? Something that you may not have deserved?” His tone was annoyingly smug, like he already knew the answer.

Just as he envisioned a flash of Danielle, with her racy smile, and her sharp eyes staring into his, an instant, burning skepticism rose up to replace it—his own personal defense system kicking in, yearning to spurn all of this. Whatever was going on here—he rejected it all, harshly. He lashed out in kind.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck this is, Eddie, but I’m not part of it. Whatever game this is, it’s for you and all your dork friends. Not me. Leave me out of it.”

Eddie’s smug grin actually vanished, and just for a second he looked again like the vulnerable kid from middle school. But then his eyes narrowed once more as he replied. “You’re still an asshole, I see. You always were. Even back when you were my so-called friend.”

Joe took a deep breath, while casting a quick glance at the bar around him. The atmosphere was unchanged—the customers were dotted here and there around the bar, conversing merrily with each other, the bartender mixed drinks dutifully, and the music still blared. Nobody at all took any notice of what Joe was doing. Thus he could ascertain easily enough that what he saw in the glass ball was for his eyes only—only he could see Eddie’s smarmy face looking back at him. But nevertheless, he felt self-conscious, and he worried how stupid he must look while talking into a glass ball. So he kept a tight lip while Eddie spoke once more.

“I should have known you’d react like this,” Eddie said. “You’re not suited for it. Your mind is ill-equipped.”

Still, Joe didn’t reply. He only gazed back with questioning, hateful eyes.

Eddie shrugged. “Go ahead, be ignorant. Be dismissive. It’s fine. Here’s a little tidbit to get you moving.”

Joe felt a growing dismay. He wished he could just end the call, but he didn’t know how.

“I’ll find her first,” Eddie rasped.

Joe felt his stomach surge. Any self-consciousness vanished instantly. “What? he asked, almost screamed. “Who?”

Eddie flashed back his smug grin. “You know who.”

“No, goddamn it, I don’t. Who?”

Joe knew he was going to say it, and then he did.

“Jennifer Carter.”

Joe felt his eyes widen, his heart pound.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed again, this time almost evilly. “She’s out there, Joe. She’s part of this. She’s moving. She’s drifting.”

“She’s part of this? Part of what?” His voice hung in the air, and Joe wanted to say more, but to his great frustration, no other words would follow.

Eddie stared back at him, and in his eyes Joe saw clear wickedness. “I’ll find her first,” he sang, his voice in a slow drawl, the smug grin still imprinted on his face.

The grungy metal continued wailing around him as Joe felt the bar spinning. Eddie’s words struck him like a red hot iron in the stomach. His fist grasped the glass ball tightly, and he felt the urge to smash it into the bar rail and be forever done with it. But he didn’t. For as he held the orb aloft, he could feel for the first time the growing, budding power originating from within the device. For that’s what it was—a device of some kind, and it would be the catalyst for the events to follow, as they all slid down the rabbit hole. Eddie knew it, and damn it, Joe did too. It was hidden behind thick, hazy layers of alcohol, but he knew it…

“You looking into your crystal ball?” The voice was followed by a booming laughter from Steve the bartender, who looked at Joe from the other side of the bar with a jeering expression.

The intrusion broke his stare on the glass, as he looked over at Steve, wondering what he’d seen. But it looked like Steve was purely joking, and it was obvious that still no one else could see what he saw inside of the orb. Steve did, however, notice Joe talking into the glass, like he was trying to be a wizard.

“Yeah, my crystal ball,” Joe answered, finally. “You’re right, Steve. I’m asking it why anyone would ever want to grow such a prominent neck beard.”

Steve nodded approvingly at the comeback. Then he walked off.

Joe looked back at the device in his hand. But Eddie’s face was no longer there. The glass ball had fallen dead and showed nothing but a mundane blue surface. Whatever feeling of power he had was gone, too—like it had never been.

He wondered again when he’d fallen asleep, or if he’d actually been drugged. It was the only way to explain the hallucination. A hallucination indeed—it had to be.

“Bullshit,” he whispered back. It was real. Deep down he knew it was. He’d just communed with Eddie somehow, like the glass ball was a video call on a cell phone.

He tried to activate it again, but he didn’t know how. He actually tried rubbing it, like it was a genie’s lamp. While doing so he saw some people across the bar, snickering at him. A couple of them were girls. He recognized their expressions—clearly they thought he was loony. That he was a loser. He felt each one of their amused glances like a sledgehammer across his face.

Their reactions made sense, though. He was, after all, drunk, and alone, and God only knew what kind of expression he wore on his face. He’d become the crazy guy at the bar. With dizzying waves coursing through him, Joe took a deep breath, trying to keep it together. He cast the glass ball aside, and it sat on the bar in front of him, nestled against stacks of napkins and coasters so it wouldn’t roll away.

“You alright, Joe?” Steve asked, walking back over to him. He actually looked a bit concerned.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. I’ll take another shot, though. Another beer too, please.” He knew he’d just doomed himself ever more so, but he just didn’t care.

His drinks came moments later. He sipped from the shot first, desperate for the warmth that it gave him, and he closed his eyes, feeling it flow through him.

Then he heard Eddie’s voice again.

She’s out there, Joe. She’s drifting. I’ll find her first.

He winced, as though someone had twisted the fiery red iron still lodged in his stomach.

“Where in the actual hell did you go to, Jennifer?” he whispered out loud to himself.