His shot was gone. His beer was nearly gone too. Joe didn’t know what to do next.

His phone screamed at him to pick it up, but he was so damn tired of it. It didn’t do him any good anyway. It only did him bad. Meanwhile his mind spun with images of Jennifer, the glass ball, and Eddie’s smug face. All of them mixed, and collided, forming into a strange, shaky collage.

Nicotine pangs rose up fiercely then, swiftly replacing his phone in the addiction seat, at least for now. It was always something.

He got to his feet shakily. He knew he was entering dangerous territory, on the verge of a blackout, and that he should just go home and pass out. It was a voice Joe often had—it whispered to him the right thing to do. But he rarely listened to it.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” he said to Steve, who nodded back in response.

Joe walked out of the door and stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar. The night air felt good and it livened him up for a moment, but after the flick of his lighter the cigarette smoke was even better, even though it brought him right back down. He dragged deeply, only vaguely aware of how quiet it was outside. Even at that late hour, it was rare—even impossible—to see an entire city block so devoid of people. Bits of trash and a few cigarette butts littered the sidewalk. Ghostly white halos around each streetlight became gradually smaller in the distance, and Joe stared at them as he smoked. The night air was humid and warm.

Then he realized he wasn’t totally alone like he’d thought.

In the shadows alongside the building there was the orange glow of a cigarette, and stepping forward from the darkness was a man named Roy McKee. He was a common barroom acquaintance, so common actually that he and Joe had been drunken best friends on many a night. But he hadn’t been around recently. Joe couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen him.

“Holy shit, Roy,” Joe muttered woozily, his voice a high-pitched squeak as he coughed smoke out of his lungs. “What are you doing back there? Lurking in the shadows?”

Roy stepped forward. He wore a wide, smarmy grin just underneath the bill of his Yankees cap, worn low on his face. His clothes were jeans and an old hoodie. It was odd seeing him in such drab apparel. Normally Roy was in one of his suits, tying a few on after work.

“Seriously, where have you been?” Joe asked. “I haven’t seen you around here in so long I thought you might have died.”

Roy’s smirk never relented. “I’ve been around,” he muttered, while the smoke from his cigarette billowed in the air, framing his head in glowing wisps.

Joe’s face wrinkled in confusion. Even through his drunkenness he could tell something was off. Normally Roy McKee had a very distinct charisma to him—when he spoke, there was a calmness there, and his words were delivered so effortlessly, with an air of intelligence that anyone could get behind. Joe used to jokingly call him the CEO and wonder why he wasn’t off somewhere running a company. But then he’d see Roy after those first couple drinks at the bar, and he’d think to himself, ah, that’s why. His composed demeanor transitioned rapidly into one that was totally off-kilter. Each drink would tug a bit more on the thread that composed the sweater, and it was only a matter of time before it all unraveled—by the end of the night, Roy was oftentimes a total mess. But, Joe could more or less commiserate with that. Roy’s problems with alcohol felt very familiar. It was a character attribute that felt almost endearing in his eyes. And it certainly had nothing in common with the man who stood before him now. For this guy appeared downright sinister, with his eyes narrowed in the darkness, and cigarette smoke framing his face. Joe figured such a strange impression had to be just in his mind, though. After all, on this weird night, Joe felt off kilter too. So he tried to set things back to normal.

“You scared the hell out of me, man,” Joe said casually, while stepping forward, reaching his hand out, offering a handshake, as they’d normally do. Roy reciprocated, but oddly. Normally Joe would get a perfect slap-shake interchange from him, with just the right gangster edge to it. But this time it was lame and loosey-goosey—like a child’s handshake.

Joe studied him closely as they both dragged from their cigarettes. “I thought you didn’t smoke anymore, Roy.”

The man didn’t answer. He only just offered a light shrug.

“And what’s up with the Yankees hat?” Joe asked, still trying to liven things up. “I thought you were a D.C. cat through and through.”

“I am, it’s just that… sometimes I like to pretend I’m from a real city,” Roy replied, as his grin became venomous.

Joe felt an unpleasant wave rush over him. “Well, keep pretending then, you fuckin’ poser,” he said. “Just let us all know when you’ve decided which city is cool enough for you.”

Roy just maintained his grin as a response.

“At least I know where the fuck I’m from,” Joe added. So much for setting things back to normal. Now he felt like punching the guy right in the face.

Roy looked like he’d never been more entertained. It was like he’d accomplished exactly what he’d wanted to, by getting Joe riled so. His eyes were mere slits in his head and crow’s feet grew at the corners of them.

Joe felt waves of unease. The man he once knew was gone. Sure, on those past evenings, Roy may have always been slightly unraveling while sitting at the bar, usually right alongside Joe. But even on those boozy nights, when Roy’s drinking problem took center stage, it was clear that the guy had a great big heart. He was the drunk who was always eager to help out, and sometimes overeager. He’d buy you a drink, give you advice, loan you money—whatever you needed. He was certainly never, ever like this… shady.

“Seriously, are you okay, man?” Joe asked intently. “What’s going on with you, Roy? You seem different… like you’ve changed.”

Roy just maintained his grin, like this was all too much fun. “We’ve both changed, Joe. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

“Yeah?” Joe asked, while dragging from his cigarette.

“I mean, sure, the dream really kicked things off, but it started well before that.”

Joe felt numb throughout his entire body. “What started?” he asked.

Roy’s cigarette was down to just the butt, from which he took one last drag before he flicked it into the darkness. It hit the ground in an orange burst. Then he looked up and grinned, with his eyes narrowed and gleaming in the darkness. “Just remember, Joe. She’s not even real. At least not entirely.”

“Bullshit,” Joe replied firmly. He felt a strong urge to sock Roy in the face for even suggesting this. He had to pull himself back. “She’s real. She’s just… she’s lost in time, or some shit. How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Joe gritted his teeth, angrily.

Roy chuckled. “That’s not who I mean,” he said.

“Who do you mean, then?” Joe asked with a scowl.

As he asked the question, Joe felt his phone buzz with an incoming text. Uncontrollably, he fished it out of his pocket and saw it was from Danielle.

Roy’s grin somehow increased in magnitude. “Need to get that, Joe?”

He fought off the urge to read her text right away. Somehow it would play into Roy’s game. So he dropped the phone back into his pocket, acting like her text really wasn’t a big deal, and that it didn’t really have any control over him. Then he dragged from his cigarette.

“So if she’s not real then how am I fucking her?” Joe asked, still trying to reel himself in.

“Maybe those aren’t dependencies,” Roy remarked. “Not anymore.”

In his haze, Joe could barely grasp what he meant. “Are you saying I’m making her up?”

Roy shrugged. “Or she’s making you up. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

Joe rolled his eyes as he dragged deeply from his cigarette. “That’s great, man,” he said. Roy has gone fuckin’ loony, he thought to himself.

“If you lay down with her again, there’ll be no going back. You’ll be in the dream, for ever more.”

“For ever more,” Joe repeated sarcastically, speaking behind a fresh cloud of exhaled smoke.

Roy continued, unfazed. “To be clear, I’m not discouraging it. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s nice on this side, Joe. It really is. You don’t hide what you want anymore. You just take it.”

“This is so weird, man,” Joe muttered, with actual pity. “Why are you saying this?”

Roy’s grin was reminiscent of a snake hissing. “I’m obligated to. You’re at a crossroads, you know. You’re standing at them right now. If you take a certain path, I want you to do so knowingly. Willingly. Because you want it. Because you can’t resist it. That’s the most pure way. That’s when legends are made.”

Joe gave him back a dismissive, almost hateful, stare.

Roy seemed to feed off it, baring his teeth, as he continued. “You can play as big a role in this as you want. Mark my words. You’re in this.”

“That’s fantastic, Roy. Thank you,” Joe muttered lifelessly, totally giving up.

“It’s all up to you, Joe. You’re not just a cog in the machine. You can be as bad as you want to be. Go crazy. Break all the rules. Wear the fucking crown. It’s all up to you.” The words had spewed out of Roy like a broken faucet.

Joe sent back a lazy stare. “You have gone completely off the deep end, man. I actually feel bad for you.”

Roy showed his vulture-like grin one more time, and then his eyes looked in the distance over Joe’s shoulder at a car pulling up. The tires crunched noisily on the pavement as it came to a stop by the curb near them. The engine purred softly as the driver waited.