“Ah, Joe,” the man called out, his voice ringing in the night. He sounded as though happy to see him, like he’d been waiting for him to step on out. “Good to see you,” he added.

It was Roy. Roy yet again. Of course it was. Joe felt utter exasperation. The guy would just not go away.

“Who is that guy?” Nick asked over his shoulder.

Joe looked behind him and saw the other partiers had gathered on the balcony alongside him and Nick, some watching the sight below in total bewilderment, others with beers and wide-eyed smiles, like this was great entertainment.

“What is he doing?” someone asked.

Joe shot his attention back to the street and saw a curious thing, that Roy carried something in his hand, something large, and his curiosity rippled into sheer disbelief as Joe realized it was a baseball bat.

“How are you, Joe?” Roy asked, as he held the bat up high in the air. A second later he brought it down in a wide, crushing arc directly onto one of his headlights and Joe winced at the sound of the shattering glass.

The voices on the balcony with him reacted wildly, like they’d just seen a particularly vicious hit on a football field.

Despite everything, Danielle tugged on his thought strings yet again, even in that moment, and Joe spun around to see her. She remained back in the living room, all by herself now, and he expected to lock eyes with her again as a whirlwind of emotions ran through them both. But no—not this time. Instead she stood there in the dim light of the living room, already scrolling on her phone.

Joe winced again at the sound of breaking glass from outside. He turned back around rapidly, and this time he saw it was his rear window—the entire surface of it was a spider web of cracked glass that caved inside the car as Roy lifted the bat up from it.

A cloud came over him as Joe gritted his teeth. He found that he didn’t need to think anymore—it was time to just sit back and watch his actions unfold. It was easier that way. Taking a back seat in his own body, he did things that he didn’t think possible. It started with his hands grasping the cool metal of the balcony railing in both hands as he then launched himself over the edge and the air rushed past him as he fell three flights. He landed gracefully, in a crouched position, catlike, while saying to himself, yes, I just did that. He didn’t even bother looking back up at the balcony to bask in the utter shock of his friends. He just didn’t care—they were inconsequential for the time being.

He lunged to his feet and then scampered quickly over toward his car. Roy still stood on top of it, and he wore a wide, satisfied grin.

“Good, good,” Roy said. “Get mad. Get angry. Let it all out.”

Joe leapt atop the hood, as the car groaned and shook. Roy dropped down off the other side. Joe followed him, as they skirted down the sidewalk. He noticed a few bewildered bystanders on the street, all of them keeping a careful distance.

“I know, I know, you’re mad,” Roy said, with a consoling tone. “I’m sorry I had to do all that.”

It barely registered with Joe. He lunged at him, but Roy sidestepped to avoid it.

“You got to admit though, it was brilliant. You weren’t going to listen to me, but your friends—you should seriously thank them by the way—flushed you right out of there. That was beautiful.” Roy still gave a satisfied grin, even as Joe sprang at him again.

Again, Roy dodged the attack cleanly. The strange chase had taken them far down the street, and past more startled bystanders.

“Listen, Joe. I think, once things settle down, you’ll have realized you passed a big test tonight. And you can prepare for the next part. I can help you.”

Joe moved at him slowly but then exploded, trying to catch him off guard. His hands came close to Roy, but still grasped just air.

He fell to his knees, huffing.

“Trust me, you’ll need help,” Roy explained. “The dreams are all well and good, but the nightmares follow, Joe. They’ll come next. They always do. And you’ll need help.”

Though it looked like the words registered, Joe wasn’t ready to accept them yet. “Fuck you,” he muttered instead.

“Yeah, I know, you’re pissed about your car. I’m sorry I had to do that. But I had to get you out here somehow.”

Roy stopped in front of Joe and stood looking down at him.

“You ready to listen yet?”

Joe still didn’t reply.

“Well… you’ll come around eventually,” Roy said. He extended his hand, the one not holding the baseball bat, as though to give something to Joe that he held in his palm.

“Take this,” he said.

Joe’s hand darted forward and latched tightly onto Roy’s. For a second he heard Roy laugh, giving in, like he was saying, okay, do what you gotta do, kid.

Clutching him by the outstretched hand, Joe pulled him harshly around as Roy’s body left the ground. After a full spin, Joe let him go, launching him toward the shadows of a nearby alley that was lined with garbage bins. Roy’s body was a missile through the air and hit the containers like a bowling ball knocking over pins, a loud ruckus that sent the bins toppling over and spewing their contents messily.

All was quiet for a moment as Joe panted heavily. The bystanders still maintained a wide distance, and they stared at him like he was an alien. He heard their distant muttering but it didn’t concern him much. Instead he felt the piece of paper in his grasp—for despite everything, a transfer had been completed as they’d locked hands, and he now held the item that Roy had intended to pass onto him.

It was obvious soon enough what it was, even though it had been crumpled, mashed and even stepped on, ever since it had been so haphazardly tossed aside. With mounting guilt and dismay sweeping through him, Joe opened up the letter that Jennifer Carter had written for him so many years ago, and beneath the bluish-white glow of the streetlight he could still see her lovely handwriting, the style perfectly vibrant and girly, with the occasional heart and smiley face.

The sight held him fast and his head hung heavy.

He realized that Roy had actually gone way back into the deep part of the bar where’d he’d been with Danielle, and he had retrieved the item that had been tossed aside. He tried to imagine Roy, amidst the chaos in the wake of the altercation, picking it up off the table—or peeling it off the dirty floor, wherever it had ended up. Somehow he had known it was there, and somehow he had known of its importance…

Joe looked into the shadows of the dark alley, where he could see Roy getting to his feet.

“Kid… that was a fuckin’ cheap shot,” he muttered from the alley.

A cloud seemed to lift further off of him. With urgency, Joe looked back up to Dave’s 3rd floor balcony, from where he had jumped—in itself a startling feat. The fight had carried them down the street, so it was too far away to see well, though he was sure several people were still gathered out there, and likely most of them remained in stunned silence for all they had witnessed. It was too far away and too dark to see who was who. He certainly couldn’t see Danielle among them.

Danielle, he thought. Danielle. He breathed heavily, the panic returning, wondering what had happened to her, wondering what might still be happening to her.

His head swiveled all around yet again, and he glimpsed the growing amount of bystanders on the street, still staring at him like he was some kind of intruder. Some kind of anomaly.

Because it’s true, Joe thought.

He had to make everything right somehow. With Roy, and with Danielle. With Nick, and with Dave. He had to fix everything.

But then he heard the shrill blast of an incoming police siren, and instead Joe ran like hell.

He kept to the shadows and back alleys, scurrying like a criminal, or like a creature in the night. The pedestrians he passed stopped in mid-step, keeping their distance from him. Joe sprinted by them without any acknowledgment. When he emerged onto another major road, he spotted a taxi heading in his direction, and opportunistically Joe hailed it down, actually stepping out into the middle of the street in doing so, forcing it to stop. Then he hopped in quickly, and instructed the driver to take him into the city.

Joe sunk low in his seat, breathed deeply, attempting to calm himself. It was very quiet in the cab, with the music playing so softly he could barely hear it. He thought back on the night and all that had happened. It seemed the last clear thought he’d had was during those first couple rounds of drinks, back at Dave’s apartment, when the sun was still in the sky. It seemed like ages ago. He couldn’t believe how fast he’d slid downhill ever since. It all started with just her text—just that one text. It had caused an avalanche.

Within minutes they crossed the Potomac and then passed by the monuments on the Mall. They looked ghostly, glowing in the fluorescence that surrounded them. But he was glad to see them still there, and unchanged. He was changing, but at least they were the same, and the thought gave him the slightest modicum of comfort.

At the late hour they zipped easily through downtown D.C., and it wasn’t much longer until they neared his apartment building. In the back of his mind he knew it was probably stupid to be going home. This was confirmed, as the cab began to slow, and Joe saw someone standing at the entrance to his building. He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes.

The figure stood there, unmoving at the door, engaged in his cell phone. He was a tall guy, with his giant hair formed into what looked like a pompadour. His beard was as neatly trimmed as Joe had seen in so many pictures.

Landon. Danielle’s friend, or boyfriend, or confidant, or… whatever the hell they were. It was him—there was no doubt in his mind.

He wore a long brown coat that Joe thought looked like ladies apparel. Like Danielle, he was young, very young, like he’d just become legal to drink not long ago. It looked to Joe like his quiet and calm were misleading, almost intentionally so, because he could surely burst into action within a fraction of a second. It was startling to realize how badly Danielle had misread this guy. Because he was dangerous, there was no doubt. Joe could tell this with just one glance. He wondered if Danielle really was that clueless, or… if it all was just part of whatever game she played. It had to be the latter, he concluded, grimly.

“Who the fuck are you?” Joe whispered, still staring at the guy. It was quite clear he waited there for Joe. He had the place staked out. What the hell else would he be doing there?

“Keep driving,” Joe said to the driver with a hushed urgency.

The driver complied without hesitation, like that wasn’t a weird request at all, and they coasted right past the building as Joe knelt lower in his seat, hiding from Landon as they passed him.

“Turn the corner here,” Joe whispered from the back seat. “Then go another block, if you would. And… that’ll be good.”

Joe thought about it and couldn’t believe what he’d intended to do. Sure, there was an annoying and possibly psychotic dude standing outside his building. But Joe just didn’t care. Fuck it all, he thought. I just want to go home. And I’ll be goddamned if someone’s gonna keep me away from it.

Joe decided he’d sneak in the back door and then lay low in his room. What better way to hide, than in plain sight, he thought. Joe figured there was a chance it was a genius decision, and an equal chance that it was perfectly idiotic. The responsible thing to do would be to go somewhere else, anywhere else. But Joe just didn’t care. He wanted to go home—to his home—and he wanted to go to sleep, and he wanted for it to be the next day, and for all this madness to have vanished away, the same way a dream vanishes after waking up.

He also thought about the bottle of vodka that sat in his freezer. It was more than half-full. It was about the only thing in his freezer. He really wanted that, too. It was there, and it called his name. It screamed his name.

Joe paid the cab driver, and then departed from the taxi quietly. After it rolled off, he darted stealthily down the street. On the side of his building—away from the entrance—he located the fire escape. The ladder on the lowest level was secured and well out of reach, so to prevent anyone from accessing it from the street. Joe took a good long look at it.

It was about twenty feet in the air, twice as high as a basketball hoop.

He’d never done this before—used his fire escape—and on any other occasion it would seem stupid and dangerous. But on this night, Joe embraced it. He’d been through too much. He just didn’t care anymore.

Joe didn’t even have to think about the jump up—his legs felt like they were on springs as he launched his body in the air. No one was in sight, but he thought that if someone would have seen him, it might have looked like he simply levitated.

He grasped onto the metal structure of the lowest level platform, and spiderlike he climbed over the railing onto it. Then he crouched, waiting for the structure to stop shaking before continuing his ascent quietly up the ladder.

He climbed eight floors quickly, ignoring the growing dizziness from the ascending heights. He arrived to his platform, buzzing with a strange feeling of pride and accomplishment at the fact that he had indeed made it to his home, despite all the other strange events the night fostered which seemed to want to drive him away. He climbed in through the window—which was unlocked, or course—and slinked into his bedroom. There he breathed deeply, grateful to be home, feeling like nothing could bother him there. Even in the moment he knew that thought was ridiculous, but it was comforting nonetheless.

He purposefully kept the bedroom dark so as to not reveal his presence to anyone out on the street. By the moonlight alone, he made his way into the kitchen. Once there he flicked on the dim oven light. He poured a tall glass of water, drank it, and followed it up with another one. Then he retrieved the crushed letter from his pocket, unfolded it and examined it. What a day it has been, he thought to himself, realizing that it had started the same way it was ending—with him finding and reading Jennifer’s letter. The oven light was meager, but it was just good enough to see her writing and feel the power it held, like a buoy keeping him afloat. He was amazed how he’d lost the letter, but nevertheless, it had found its way back to him.

He kept the letter on the counter as he then went to the freezer, feeling his other great thirst asserting itself. He pulled the bottle of vodka out and took a drink directly from it. Then he paused and relished in its satisfying warmth.

Feeling more pacified yet, he walked back into the dark bedroom and looked out the window onto the city. He wondered if Landon was still standing down there like a dumb-fuck, and it tickled him thinking that he was.

Joe tried again to comprehend all that had happened that evening, and how exactly he’d spiraled so out of control. Each of his thoughts invariably touched on Danielle, and he pondered whether or not she was as messed up as he was. He also wondered what had happened to her after he’d ran away, leaving her in Dave’s apartment with his drunken and confused friends all around her. An image assaulted his mind—there was no stopping it, and it was electric and jarring—and he saw Danielle with one of those other guys from the party. Amidst the chaos and confusion, after Joe had split like a scared rabbit, they’d left together, on a whim, more or less. But things escalated dramatically from there—the night dictated so—and now they were alone, in their privacy, and she was on top of him, her head tilted back in passion, because finally she found a guy who could satisfy her.

Joe saw black stars that clouded his vision, and when they slowly faded away they had been replaced with dust. There was also a noisy rain of particles falling to the floor—it came from the drywall, where there was a gaping hole that his fist had just gone through.

Panting, he pulled his hand away, hearing a second rain of particles rattling onto the hardwood floor. Unfazed, he sipped deeply from the cold vodka in his other hand and continued to gaze out the window onto the dark city.

A minute later he heard a noise in the foyer behind him. He turned in haste, but then calmed when he saw who it was standing there in the shadows.

“God, you’re a mess,” Roy said, shaking his head.

“I know,” Joe replied.