Joe’s fingers felt cold and he wondered why. It felt like he awoke from sleep but he was really just finally regaining some kind of wherewithal, pulling himself free of the blackout. He stared at the inside of his refrigerator, and his hands had been rifling through the contents within. He hadn’t been careful—items were toppled over in his drunken search for food. Looking now with slightly clearer eyes he could see there was really nothing in there that was edible. But more importantly, Joe realized he was okay— looking around, he could see he made it back to his apartment.

Joe sighed in relief, and at the same time lost his balance and fell backward on his ass. He landed on the kitchen floor with a loud bang and he heard the appliances rattle around him. He didn’t get up right away, as he waited for the spinning to stop, and so he sat there, hunched over pathetically on the floor. The refrigerator door was wide open and it was the only light on in his apartment, outside of the thick moonlight that came in through the windows.

He realized he wore nothing but boxers. He tried to put two and two together and his best guess was that he had been preparing for bed, and it was only after peeling off all his other clothes that he realized he should try to eat something. Getting food in his stomach before passing out always helped to lessen the hangover. It looked like there wasn’t any to find, though. Still staring at the inside of his refrigerator, he could see nothing in there except some old condiment bottles, a few stray beers, and a nearly empty pickle jar that looked ancient.

Despite everything, Joe breathed in sweet relief yet again, glad that his survival instinct had kicked in. After all, he’d made it back to his apartment, and he wasn’t waking up in some unknown place—someone else’s bed, perhaps, or a drunk tank.

All was not well though. He heard that clawing noise from his bedroom, the same one he heard before, like a raven was hopping around out there on the fire escape. His head turned slowly toward the sound, his jaw ajar, his eyes lazy.

Joe pulled himself up, needing one hand pressed flat on the floor to steady himself, as his body teetered, threatening to collapse to the floor again. But once he finally stood upright, the apartment stopped spinning, and he managed to walk rather smoothly into his bedroom. He stopped at the doorframe and peered within.

The window was wide open, as usual, and the thin white curtains danced lazily in the night breeze. The thick moonlight spilled in atop the floor, making the hardwood gleam.

He heard a voice whisper his name in the darkness. Something was out there, calling to him. Joe felt a dour chord strike within, like a distant bell tolling, and he stared at the window in fear. He knew what it was, and he knew that it would call again. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

The voice whispered to him once more and then it happened, just as he knew it would, and it was like he was outside of his own body, watching himself pace closer to the window. He moved robotically and trancelike, a kind of gait he shouldn’t have been able to manage considering his intoxication. A centipede, slate black and nearly a foot long, moved across his bedroom floor. He’d never seen anything like it, in D.C. or otherwise, but he passed by it without the slightest hesitation. That he wasn’t bothered by it let him know how off things were.

Standing at his bedroom window, he felt the air coming in from the cool night and it carried the voice yet again, calling his name, and the thin curtains brushed against his body. Heedless against all else he climbed out through the open window and onto the fire escape. He’d often smoked cigarettes through that open window, with an arm hanging out, but he’d never actually ventured out there like it was a balcony as he did now. His distant, detached senses screamed at him to stop, but it was a useless pleading. With his entire body weight on the platform, he felt just how rickety it was, and how the entire metal structure seemed to sway back and forth with each one of his movements, no matter how minor they were. The metal felt like it burned his bare skin, but whether it was a hot or cold burn, Joe wasn’t sure. The city below was shadowy and quiet, the liquid blue moonlight interrupted by pockets of ghostly white streetlights illuminating stretches of the urban gloom. There was a hint of movement down there, from something unnatural, and upon noticing it Joe heard that distant bell toll again.

His shadow was down on the street.

He’d seen it many times before, for this was not its first visit. Sometimes it came as a monster, like it had been in his dream recently—a cartoonish, roaring thing, like a creature from an old B movie. But other times, it was human, and it looked just like him, only a dark, remorseless version of himself. The latter was far, far more vile to behold. There was a frightening pattern, that this thing only came to visit when he was shitfaced as he was now. This made for conditions that were ripe indeed for its presence. The villain seemed to revel in it, knowing that Joe was so fucked up, and therefore so vulnerable.

Staring down into the street, he saw it step under a streetlamp so it was in full view. It was almost a relief to see that it was in its creature form. Not a hulking beast this time, but rather it appeared as a thin, mantis-like thing, its form unnaturally tall, like someone walking on stilts. Joe would have much preferred its monstrous roar over its voice though, because that voice was all too human, all too familiar, and a frightening harbinger of things to come. It spoke in a thin whisper, and Joe shouldn’t have even been able to hear it from eight floors up, yet he did anyway—he heard it very clearly. While it spoke its face was a maddening blur.

“You’re not meant for this,” it said.

It stepped forward with an impossibly thin, inhuman leg, its stride massively long. Joe clasped onto the railing as the world spun. He felt his stomach rise and he wanted to expel everything that was inside of it, but he suppressed it, at least momentarily. The acid stung his throat.

The shadow still gazed at him from below, its stare piercing and burning into his psyche. Joe wanted to move away from its gaze but his body felt heavy, like he was made of stone, and each of his legs weighed a ton. A wave of gooseflesh covered his skin from the cool night breeze and Joe shivered violently.

This was the real test, he knew. The monster from the dream—the hulking beast—that had been just a precursor. A foreshadowing. Now it was real, and once again, Joe looked out from high above onto a city that was ghostly empty, while a monster prowled the streets. There was not a woman in his bed though, Joe realized with a sudden panic. It made him think he may have made a big mistake. A woman should be with him—she should be there, so he could go in and lay down with her. That was how he’d won last time.

“Joe.”

He snapped his head forward, as his mind blanked. The mantis continued pacing through the dirty alley, its movements slow and plodding, yet still Joe knew it could move fast if it wanted to. It could snap into action with frightening speed, like a cheetah emerging from brush to chase down its prey.

“Joe,” it said again.

He didn’t dare reply. Instead he gazed at it, unable to look away, and so he saw its shape changing, evolving, into its most vile, most dangerous form. Still black like a silhouette, the mantis took the form of a man, of roughly his same height and build.

“Joe, really. Just get out of this while you can. You’re not meant for this.”

The shadow spoke with a casual fluidity—just like one of his friends trying to convince him of something he didn’t want to do. The slang and intonation were perfect, and the words were biting.

“Even if you were strong enough, you’re not smart enough. You’re going to fuck it up. At the worst possible time, too. You always do, Joe. It’s better for everyone to just bow out now. It’ll be easier this way.”

The worst part was how Joe wanted to agree with him.

“Just think about it, Joe. It’ll be so easy to just end it now. You won’t have to deal with any of this.”

Joe felt his hands latch tightly onto the metal railing. Now it felt decidedly hot. He peered over the side of the ledge and the waves of dizziness met him instantly as the world spun again. Far below on the street the villain stood looking up at him. It was the only thing not spinning. It was too dark to see any expression on its face but still Joe would guess it was grinning. He could feel the evil delight that the shadow took in all of this.

“It’ll be so easy. And don’t feel bad. Everyone will just think you were drunk, you know? No one will blame you. They’ll blame themselves for not recognizing your problems, and for not trying to help you.”

The world spun faster.

“It’ll all make perfect sense.”

Joe’s hold on the railing begin to loosen. To slip.

“I mean, you were drunk. Of course you were drunk.”

He felt it coming up from his stomach in a massive wave. Joe wanted badly to expel everything over the side, but he suppressed it. Vomit stung his throat and his nose, and it burned, but still, he held it back. In its place came a few loud, wet burps. He spit out the saliva that flooded his mouth.

Joe felt perhaps worse than he ever had.

The shadow laughed, not in a dark, comical way, but rather like an immature kid—a bully from middle school. The worst, cruelest one. It was like it just couldn’t help itself—Joe’s pain was too rich. Too pure. Bullies, the worst ones, fed off it.

“Fuck you. Go away,” Joe whispered, his eyes pressed shut, though all along he still heard the awful laughing of the smug bully.

But when he opened his eyes the shadow was gone, as though Joe’s words actually had dispelled it. The street was clear.

But all was not well. It was far from it actually, because the true terror still remained. It was him—it had always been him.

The shadow knew him well, it seemed. Joe had lied to himself earlier—for he knew the truth, that he had stood on that fire escape several times before, usually in the early morning hours, his head spinning from alcohol, and he’d thought about it. All he had to do was step off, and all of his troubles would be no more. He was eight floors up, after all—the fall would take care of everything. Never mind the coming storm, or whatever lay ahead. Joe was better off not around for it. They were all better off.

Joe peered about the buildings around him and to the city street below. All remained perfectly still and quiet. The shadow was gone, as though it had never been there at all, and there wasn’t a soul in sight otherwise. Not even any vehicles rolling down the dark streets. Even in the wee hours of the morning, it was rare for the street to be so empty. Thus it was an ideal stage—no one to deter his leap. There’d be no audience to see him fall.

He leaned his body forward, ready to go over. It would be so easy. He thought that maybe he should put on some clothes first, though. It’d make for a more dignified corpse. But he thought that if he went back in he might not make it back out again. And so that would only prolong his agony. So it was now or never, he realized. He inched forward ever closer, with much of his weight actually hanging over the railing, and he looked straight down at the pavement eight floors below. Even though his heart pounded, a strange calm came over him. Because he realized he wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. He wouldn’t be such a punchline. Because that’s what he was, and that’s what he’d always been. It was quite clear to him during those dark morning hours standing on the ledge. That was when the awful thoughts came charging to the forefront, the terrible ones that he normally kept hidden behind his quick laugh and his easy smile. The dark thoughts no one would suspect, surely not from easygoing Joe Baxter.

But he had them, and they were bad.

In high school he’d only had just a few brain cells it seemed, and those were usually soaked in alcohol. And in his office now, as a so-called adult, he was pretty much a joke. He’d been there for years, and he watched all the younger coworkers as they came in and generally sailed right past him up the career ladder. They were all smart, and they embraced technology so easily, making it all look so effortless. Why was he so different? Why did he struggle so? Why couldn’t he just accept things as they were, and move on with them? And his relationship with Danielle, the summer intern, was surely the great, ongoing inside joke amongst the whole office. Joe nodded sullenly. It was the bitter truth, and it made sense. She even had a boyfriend, it seemed, but Joe just looked the other way, not even caring. Not even really asking her about it. He did nothing well, other than drink, and flirt shamelessly with any girl that happened to be within his relative proximity. But they didn’t give out awards for that. He wouldn’t get a raise for that. If anything it was amazing he hadn’t been fired yet. His behavior was probably borderline at best. For every Danielle that liked it and responded to it, he wondered how many others might have felt uncomfortable, or even harassed? He couldn’t believe he’d never thought of that before. Really, he was just a shambling idiot who couldn’t do anything well, because he couldn’t ever break the hold that his perversion cast over him. It was a great weight that had been thrust upon him, one that the world had increasing disdain for, but there didn’t seem to be any way he could remove it.

His feet came off the ground as his entire body balanced precariously on the rail. His heart pounded, realizing it was happening. He was finally going to do it. He’d finally succumb.

But then he sensed a presence standing behind him.

Desperately, he turned and saw she was there. On the ledge, standing right with him. It was Jennifer, of course, and she looked just as she had on that day in Atlantic City. Although this time she stood in the dark of night—her clothes, her blonde, tousled hair and her mirrored sunglasses were each a radiant blue, thick with moonlight.

He felt his bare feet touch back down onto the metal as he backed quickly away from the edge, as though to mask what he’d been about to do.

“Jennifer,” he whispered, speaking in awe. “You’re here?”

“Yes,” she replied.

He thought about how she had always been the one person who’d seen something in him, the one person who thought he was smart, and unique. So it made so much sense she’d show up now, when he needed her more than ever before. But…

“How…?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, and instead she leaned forward to kiss him. That kiss, which once met his forehead, now met his lips.

“Be strong,” she said, her last words to him as she backed away.

She would be gone again in just a moment, and despite the sobering sense of awe that nearly brought him to his knees, Joe fell back on humor, as he most always did. After all, she was catching him standing outside on the fire escape, wearing nothing but boxers.

“If I’d have known I’d have a visitor tonight, I would have put on some more clothes,” he said, shrugging, tears streaming down his cheeks.

She giggled in response.

Joe smiled at her, a wide, loopy one, the likes of which he hadn’t shown in some time. Looking back at the city skyline behind him, he saw it starting to brighten with the light of dawn. The eastern sky was coming alive with gleaming pink and purple hues.

When he looked back at Jennifer, he was not surprised at all to see she was gone. She had vanished as suddenly as she arrived.

But she wasn’t really gone though, and with a contented glow cast over him, he climbed back in through the window, while eyeing his bed with great anticipation. A dizziness overcame him then, and if his bed had been a few more steps away, he may not have made it. But luckily, it was near enough, and so after a staggering lunge forward, he let gravity take over, and he fell into it. His slumber was instant.