I sulked down 5th Ave, my daily dose of depression hanging over me like an umbrella. All Holden Caulfield and shit.

I didn’t look up, but I pictured skyscrapers reaching to the heavens of capital by my side, the smell of cigarettes and greasy $2 fries, while the fresh rain all the way from the lakes of Upstate New York would patter against my umbrella. But then, I arrived at my destination, closed my umbrella, and let the real world fall into view. Allenburg, West Virginia. Population: 356 sad country bums and me, now at the Old Maid, the only bar for 32 miles of winding mountainous roads. Fuck.

I exile myself to a town with only 5 rows of streets for some spiritual awakening or perspective on life. I guess I did it because I hate myself. Or at least a version of myself, one I’m trying to shed.

It took me two trains, a bus, and a walk to 481 Broad St. to find out that I don’t have an aunt who lives here. She moved away years ago, and it suddenly seemed conceited to expect a foreign family member to take me in, life-crisis and all. I cut all ties with my family when I moved to New York, and for good reasons. They all said a career couldn’t go anywhere, that being a walking, talking mannequin doesn’t pay the bills. It didn’t matter that they were right because I figured it out myself. And I liked learning the lesson that way. I’m best friends with spite.

Anyway, my money ran out by Cumberland and I was running on fumes the rest of the way. I’m used to being able to bribe with my body back in New York, but I learned quickly that it doesn’t happen here. Not only since I’m not a woman, but there’s the ever-looming presence of God watching here through these people. I get a kick out of the presumption they have.

But I had a sneaking suspicion coming into town. There had to be some boys with secrets or girls who aren’t children of God but were willing to be a little friendly. To get me out of this place. And as I enter the Old Maid, heads turn. But I don’t think it’s my clothes or even my looks. It’s not attraction, it’s disgust. I’m an outsider. I’m a threat. But as the rest turn back to each other to spread the newest bit of gossip in town, one pair of eyes linger. I head towards their owner, my prey, running my hand through my carefully cut hair to introduce myself to him.

Amid the clicks and clacks of keyboards and greyscale Cisco phones letting out monotone rings, Ryan gave an intense yawn to the computer’s camera at his desk.

“Ryan, are you with us?” The unimpressive bubble of Ryan’s boss came over the screen. Although he was Ryan’s boss and the manager of his division, Mike, had a camera was eternally doomed to be pixelated and microphone worn to extreme tinniness.

Ryan straightened up and adjusted his tie, trying to wipe away the notes of the oncoming weekend that had swept him away from the task at hand.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. Present and accounted for,” he said lightly, seeing his smile flash in his own bubble. Leslie and Linda seemed to give soft smiles in their own bubbles, but next door, Mike continued unamused about quarterly reports and blah blah blah…

Ryan ran his hand through his hair, attempting to avoid showing the stains of the day that had accumulated in his armpits. He added dry cleaners to his to do list, as his strained eyes continued to flirt with the clock at the top right of the monitor. His mouse hovered over the button to leave the meeting as soon as it flashed 5:00, but Mike’s banter refused to end.

“The sales, they aren’t where we want them to be…”

All around Ryan, coworkers were gathering coats and wishing each other a good weekend. The receptionist hung up from the final phone call and Ryan’s cubicle-mate, Brett, passed him a note asking him if he’d be at O’Brian’s for drinks after work.

“If Mike will stop reciting the goddam constitution,” Ryan wrote back.

“…a good weekend,” was all Ryan needed to hear from Mike’s raspy voice to exit the meeting and rub his eyes. In reality, he wanted a warm bed and an eternal sleep more than drinks with coworkers, but anything over being in this office would suffice. As long as it was relaxing.

Ryan wasted no time clicking “Shut Down,” playing the usual game against himself to gather his belongings for the weekend in the 59 seconds the computer took to wipe itself of the week. As he buttoned his coat and grabbed his laptop bag with 16 seconds to spare, his Microsoft Teams chat came alive.

Dozens, hundreds even, of messages flooded the inbox from an unknown user. He quickly canceled the shut down and examined their all-caps, ominous message. He was now the last one in the office.

TO: RYAN J. ANDERSEN READ THIS MESSAGE IN ITS ENTIRETY THERE IS GRAVE DANGER THIS MESSAGE IS A RESULT OF COUNTLESS HOURS OF HARD WORK TO CONTACT ANOTHER UNIVERSE THIS MESSAGE IS SENT FROM A SEPARATE UNIVERSE THAN YOURS BY AN ALTERNATE VERSION OF YOURSELF PLEASE RESPOND IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO RESTORE PEACE ACROSS THE MULTIVERSE

Ryan looked around at the computers, clean of any screensavers with smiling families on the beach, dogs in a cozy living room, or couples kissing. Ryan was completely and utterly alone. Just him and the weight of the week he wanted to dump. And this new message. That brought grave danger.

He yawned and opened his phone, putting in directions to O’Brian’s as he walked out to his car.

I told Melissa just about everything, those years ago when we shouldn’t have had many worries. I should’ve only thought about awkwardly shaking her father’s hand, then Melissa and I critiquing expensive layered cake and hors d’oeuvres, taking all the free leftovers home that we could to our inner-city apartment. Instead, I cleared the hurdle of telling her about my past, my family. Half-wizard blood.

My brain had always been teeming with knowledge of a magical, fairy-laced world floating around this earth everywhere from the dirty, pulsing subway beneath our city’s feet to the sunny shores of Hawaii. I always was familiar with spells cast and guardian fairies floating around, naked to the invisible eye, practically weaving their invisible selves into the flags of every nation. Melissa asked if it was like Disneyland.

She came to understand the complexities of wizard life. Of my powers, though limited, and the different ways my family and I learned to see the world. And she came to love me, and our children. The wizard blood didn’t reach either of the twins, but they began to understand their dad’s ability to toss them a bit higher out of the pool, or materialize a patch of backyard snow in the steamy summer, as normal.

But I didn’t tell any of them one thing.

It was college. I was struggling. Not with grades, or living alone, or even self-esteem. I just wanted someone to love.

I was the last of my friends to be single. How could I, the one with the most access to the supernatural and a world built on charm and love, be single? I couldn’t stand it. So I met a questionable fairy down a back alley one rainy Saturday night.

When I say “fairy,” don’t think of a delicate, sparkling little dragonfly. Think of a born and bred New Yorker (Jets, not Giants, he told me) with an accent thicker than the crust he likes on his pizza. Who happened to have fairy blood. He claimed the real Tinkerbell was his second cousin, twice-removed. Magic truly lives all around us… especially where we don’t expect to see it.

Without getting too much into the details, imagine a supernatural Craigslist. Now imagine our charming fairy, Tony, offering love for sale; 2 grand a spell. Sure to make you fall in love. I didn’t see the catch until my invoice came a few days later; transfers in genetics, only valid 20 years.

I bumped into Melissa two days after my little affair with Tony, thrilled as could be. Until 20 years later, when the cracks started showing.

I knew it first by Jamie coming home, flustered more beyond his usual teenage angst. I was stirring spaghetti on the stove. Melissa asked him where his brother was, he didn’t respond. I used a tried and true spell to let the spaghetti finish itself as I followed him upstairs.

“I don’t want to talk,” his muffled voice strained through the door after a few knocks.

“Jamie, you can tell me anything,” I said softly.

I was surprised to see him whip open the door to reveal his tear-stained face.

“Amy dumped me.”

I was so shocked I almost forgot to lean into his implicit invitation for a hug. They had been together for years and were planning on going to the same college.

“Oh my God, buddy, I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t have time to connect the dots to the spell before Melissa was dealing with Jamie’s brother downstairs. His boyfriend had called it quits too. That’s when it clicked.

You can read this as a PSA for not trusting a shady spell in a back alley, or letting true love find it’s way, or whatever. It’s probably best for you to make your own interpretation. I’m tired of writing. And anyway, the divorce lawyer will be here soon.

My therapist, my brother, my mom. Those are the three people who know. I’m about to make it four.

Jackson and I incidentally first met by bonding over my therapist.

“You see Susan too? Oh, she’s great,” he said sweetly, eyes as innocent as morning dew. “She helped me come out to my family,” he said matter of factly. And that’s the first moment I knew I might just be able to love him.

You see, I’m different. I mean, sure I’m different, but not because of that. I love Jackson, and we’ve been dating forever, and everyone who knows us supports us, and if they don’t, they can go—

“Henry? You look worried?” Jackson asked from the passenger seat. Exit signs and freeway lights glazed over us in a steady rhythm as I focused ahead.

“I—I’m fine, I just—“ I needed to tell him sooner or later. I had been thinking about how I should do it forever. Nothing seemed to click, nothing seemed to take the fear away.

I didn’t care when I told people about Jackson. I didn’t fear then because if I wasn’t accepted, at least I had him. But what if he can’t accept this? What if he leaves me stranded, with no last resort. I know I can’t drag this out any longer. So I take an early exit and pull into a dimly lit grocery store.

“What are you—“

“I need to tell you this now, J.”

He looked at me with concern, like a vulnerable pet on one of those infomercials.

“You don’t know this about me. But I’m… my mom, and my brother and I, we’re…”

“What? You’re what?”

I took deep breaths, not knowing how to fill the space between us.

“I see things differently, and I can do things differently, I—“ How the hell do I tell him?

“Listen, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can say it.”

“I’m a—“

As if the universe, too, was fed up with my blabbering, my instincts had kicked in before I had the chance to recognize it. Three key moments flashed through my mind that I relayed to Susan the next week: a bolt of fear through my veins as quick as the two hooded figures that appeared outside our windows, a sudden jerk of my arm over to Jackson like a death grip, and the flash of his face realizing it all as we were suddenly transported beyond the car and into the safety of the grocery store.

I didn’t tell Susan, however, about about our culmination of understanding in the frozen foods into one sweet, sure kiss.

I can’t believe I had fallen for it. Of course his new girlfriend was out of town. Of course our children, forever split by our own two differences, were now asleep in the guest bedrooms, probably drugged by him like I am now.

“Would you want to have a drink together? Just for old times sake?” Jonathan had asked me from the beckoning warmth of the front doorway. He could tell I was dawdling on the rainy porch, umbrella meekly held in my left hand, not wanting to let the kids go for the weekend.

“Of course,” I said, slyly inviting myself in.

I now lay limp, unable to speak, unable to move, unbuckled on the floor in the back of his Raptor. He tells me not to worry, it’ll be over soon. I can tell we’re on Route 195 but the slight curves that he always took to fast, and still does. Some things never change.

My involuntary drool adds to the caked mud on the rubber floor mats peppered with McDonald’s bags and convenience store soda cups. It doesn’t make a very comfortable bed. Nor a flattering picture of my ex husband.

I end up dumped in a low, muddy place deep in the forest. He doesn’t get violent. He just tells me the kids will be okay then presses his 9mm into my chest. I got it for him for our 10th anniversary. I was always hesitant to buy it for him.

I’m already numb so the shot doesn’t hurt that bad; only the realization that this dumbfuck of a man who never knew left from right is the reaper of my souls, and now the wrong side of my chest will be left to bleed out for God knows how long. But I finally come to peace with leaving him as I leave the world.

I anticipate the coming and going of consciousness in what will become my last hours, but right before he walks away, I think I hear him say, “In a way, this is a happy ending for the both of us.”

My dirt caked hands felt cleaner than the dusty corners of my soul that lay rotting in the grass. The sun would be up soon, the detectives prowling near my corpse like a pack of apathetic, meddlesome vultures. And I would be dead.

I didn’t mind the idea of death, I really didn’t. I remember thinking I wouldn’t really mind if my death was in a week. Not because I don’t like living, but more because it meant I wouldn’t have to go back to the sludge of post-holiday work, driving the kids to Jonathan’s every two weekends while we make awkward small talk instead of the usual fights and his girlfriend glared at me between cigarette puffs.

I had watched one of those true crime specials a week ago, to get my mind off of all of this. It was one of those brutal ones where there’s no motive in sight, but sure as hell a group of unsuspecting, young, and now dismembered victims, and a suspect who has no capability to feel emotion. That wouldn’t be these detective’s suspect. No, this was a crime of passion alright.

But that’s what the problem was. He didn’t do it right. See, to anyone else, a body rotting on a damn forest floor in January is just depressing. There’s no emotion to it. Jonathan would never be caught. And that’s what haunted me most as soft light began to penetrate the shallow mist, and sirens drew closer, though faded low in my ears.