Half-reclining in the backseat of Phil’s sedan, I am not, thank God, feeling nauseous.

Very drunk, yes, but it’s not like I’m about to spill my guts all over the floorboards.

Given everything else that’s happened today, I’m counting that as a win.

The streetlights overhead pass in and out of my field of view in a hypnotic rhythm, almost lulling me to sleep. Most of the city’s asleep; after all, most people have to get up and go to work tomorrow.

“I know a guy that works at one of the big banks downtown,” Phil says. “Might be able to get you a job there. That’s kinda like what you did, right?”

“Uh-huh,” I say, feigning attention. Based on whatever that conversation I had at the bar was, finding work in the mortal realms might not be on the top of my priority list.

What was that conversation, anyway?

That guy — why didn’t I ask for his name? — was making things appear and disappear, including himself, so it wasn’t completely fake. Either that, or I’m way drunker than I think I am. But no, I’m pretty sure there was some real stuff happening there.

I don’t know if it was scarier if it was all in my head or if it was all real.

“Hey, Steph?” I say as Phil makes the turn onto my street.

“Yeah, Jenn?”

“…How come we’re still friends?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, turning around to face me.

“I mean, you’re the only person outside of my family from high school that still talks to me. Pretty much the only person from college, too. I mean, except for on Facebook when it’s my birthday or whatever, but that doesn’t count. How come we stuck together?”

“You pulled my butt through stats in undergrad,” she says. “I’ll never be able to repay that debt.”

“That’s all? I mean, that was nine years ago.”

“You’re also useful for when I want to beat somebody at Mario Kart…”

“C’mon, Steph, give me something. With everyone else in the world kicking me in the metaphorical gut today, I need you to feed my suffering, bruised ego.”

Steph sighs, then smiles as we pull up to my apartment, awkwardly reaching into the backseat to place a steadying hand on my shoulder. 

“Jenn Lewis. You are a fiercely loyal human being, sometimes to a fault, who refuses to accept mediocrity in anyone or anything. Your genius and kindness inspire me to be a better person every day. I guess most people just can’t handle how awesome you are.”

I laugh as I fumble for the handle. “I don’t deserve you,” I say. “Thanks for the ride, Phil.”

“Anytime,” he says. “Especially after you’ve had the suckiest day ever, but… Yeah. Anytime.”

“I guess we’re skipping the gym tomorrow?” Steph says.

“Yes, please,” I say. “We’ll pick it up when I’m not horrifically hungover. Which I’m definitely gonna be.”

“For sure,” Steph says. “I’ll text you.”

I exit the car and, after checking that I have all of my belongings, start my journey across the sidewalk to my building’s lobby. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue but, well, whiskey.

“You want some help?” Steph asks from her rolled-down window.

“Nah, I’m good,” I say. I appreciate her offer, but I need time by myself to think.

“You sure? You look a bit… Wobbly.”

I wave her off. “Worst-case scenario, I spend the night here!”

She laughs. “That’s another thing! Your sense of humor!”

With that, I stumble to the front door. They wait until I’m inside before driving off, because they’re wonderful human beings who care about my safety and well-being. I step inside and walk the familiar path to the elevators, pressing the call button I can find by memory as much as by vision.

With the button illuminated, I savor this moment of peace. I tap my feet against the dirty linoleum floors, keeping a certain amount of movement going as I sway back and forth to keep from falling over. My ears are filled by the buzzing fluorescents in the Pepsi machine, complete with fifteen-year-old artwork on the front. What do they do with my rent check, anyway?

I sniff the air. Something’s…

“Hey, babe.”

A familiar voice.

Oh, God. Now I’m feeling nauseous.

“What the hell?” I say, turning to confront the dudebro. “Did you follow me to my apartment?”

“Whoa, I’m just waiting for the elevator,” he says. “I live in this building too. Small world, huh?”

Yeah, what are the odds two people that went to the same bar five minutes from here live in the same apartment? Oh, right, they’re actually pretty good. Idiot.

“Can’t we just have a conversation?” he says.

“…Fine,” I say, stepping away from his overcrowding position to reestablish my bubble. I consider taking the stairs, but in my present condition, there’s a strong chance I would reach my floor and then tumble down the whole staircase again, landing on my funny bone every single time I hit the ground.

In other words, that option lost out by the slimmest of margins.

He doesn’t say anything.

He’s just looking at me. No, not at me. At my body.

I feel a million shudders run all through my person.

Am I really about to get on an elevator with this guy? Alone?

Why didn’t I take Steph’s offer?

“So, conversation,” he says. “What do you do? For work?”

“I just got laid off, actually,” I say. “A few hours ago. Without warning. But thanks for bringing it up.”

“Oh,” he says. “I’m kinda… in between positions, too. Starting a new thing.”

Of course you are. I bet you want me to invest in your startup or whatever.

The awkward silence returns.

Good.

Thud.

Thud?

I feel something hit me in the chest and enter me. I take in a sharp breath and wince, expecting to look down and see a gruesome wound based on the impact. There’s no blood, though; not even a hole in my shirt. Still, whatever it was, I feel it inside me.

“Whoa, you OK?” he says, for once acting almost like a human being.

Before I can respond, every muscle in my body tenses, now racking my body with pain. If I could, I would scream, but my whole being is inaccessible to me. A second later, I go completely numb; it’s a relief from the pain, but still disconcerting. I enter a fetal position, thankfully falling in such a way that my head doesn’t smack against the floor.

I hear a million voices in my head, all speaking at once, all saying different things. It also feels like something inside me is trying to control them, and they’re slowly being silenced.

As this happens, I regain sensation in my body and I feel my muscles change. The change is painful, but not as bad as the mind-blasting shock I felt a few seconds ago. My muscles become both stronger and lighter; I feel like I’m being pumped full of adamantium, and just slightly less painful than the searing pain that goes with hot metal flowing into my veins. It feels terrible, but it’s the kind of pain that comes from a hard workout times a billion. I’m filled with a new, surging energy

that feels like a runner’s high after a marathon of marathons.

And if this doesn’t have something to do with that little encounter I had a few minutes ago at the bar, then I officially have the weirdest luck in the history of the universe.

The voices fade, and so does the pain.

The elevator door dings and slides open.

“Do you need me to call 911, or…”

I look up at the dudebro. As he looks at me in this state, his face shows something like compassion. It’s not quite that, but for just a moment, I could believe that he’s human.

Maybe I was too quick to judgment.

“…No,” I say, composing myself as I stand up and dust off my clothes, taking a few breaths to steady myself. “Thanks, though. Don’t worry. I’m feeling just fine.”

“OK,” he says. “Good. So, should we get on the elevator, or…”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling as we step into the small, enclosed space.

This will be the test, I guess. If he acts first, he has it coming, right?

On my way in, I press the button for the sixth floor and take a position in the middle of the elevator, giving him room to do whatever he wants. I notice that the button almost felt non-existent under my finger; my strength is going to take some reining in, it seems.

I watch him press the button for the seventh floor and grin. “Hey, looks like I’m on top,” he says, laughing at his own joke.

So he’s a twelve-year-old boy on the internet. Got it.

I mean, fine, he makes stupid jokes that aren’t even jokes. That’s annoying, but it doesn’t warrant a death sentence.

“Oh, yeah, guess you’re right,” I say, feigning amusement. “Is that your modus operandi, then?”

“Um, actually, I think you mean modus operandum,” he says circling behind me. “As in, modus operan-damn, look at your fine…”

OK, nope. He’s terrible.

I sense his intent, somehow knowing what he’s doing without looking. It’s like I’m in concert with the air around me, listening to its movements to know what’s coming.

And what’s coming is totally unacceptable.

As soon as I feel his hand contact my butt and start squeezing, I hit him with a no-look backhand slap.

I turn to grab him by the scruff of the neck, but the scruff’s not there.

Why is the scruff not there?

My answer comes soon enough.

I feel the wind blow through my hair as his body rushes to the back of the elevator car, making several loud, unpleasant sounds all at once as it hits the rear wall.

Crunch.

Crack.

Squish.

Dear Lord.

Worst Rice Krispies sound effects ever.

For a few seconds, I can’t bring myself to look.

When I do look at him, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“Please, no,” I say, kneeling beside him. Blood. So much blood. Blood pouring out of several holes. And his face. Is it still even a face? How is the elevator still running with that huge dent in its side?

“No, no, no,” I say. “This… How did I do this? Please don’t be dead. Please, I didn’t want this to happen. I…”

The elevator dings open.

I run through a billion possibilities in my mind of what to do next, most of which involve sinking into a hole in the ground and hiding forever. This is irredeemable, right?

Like, I’m going to jail forever, right?

God, please, help me.

As the elevator doors start to slide shut again, I jump up and stick my foot in the opening just as it’s about to take me to his floor. In a rush, I scoop him up and carry him to my apartment, praying that nobody on my floor has a hankering for a late-night fast food run tonight.

I’m at my door. Nobody else in sight. Phew. I finagle my purse so that my fob gets close enough to the deadbolt to give the pleasant chirp, signifying I can unlock it and slide in before anyone notices. Thank God for technological advances.

I tumble into my apartment and all but drop the body on my living room/kitchen floor, more out of panic than exhaustion. God, so much blood. All over me. Did I leave a trail? Please tell me I didn’t leave a trail. Please make it so I didn’t leave a trail. I don’t know how I would not have left a trail, but I…

I watch the blood flow back into his body.

A steady stream, most of it fighting the flow of gravity, seemingly determined to re-enter this corpse.

Um.

That’s not how blood usually goes, is it?

Blood is the one that usually goes with the leaving stains everywhere, right?

Blood is the one that doesn’t defy entropy at every turn, I thought.

But still, I watch his blood re-enter him, wicking itself off my clothes and carpet and coming under my front door in ebbing and flowing puddles. I also hear the sound of metal and plastic being wrenched and scraping against itself from the direction of the elevator. Was something repairing my mistakes?

As the last drop of blood returns, I see some sort of green, viscous ooze-gas seep out from between his lips and float around. I try to feel it, but my hand passes right through.

“Huh,” I say, bending down to sniff it. As I do, a sizeable amount of it flows into my nostrils.

It’s an energizing experience, like a milder version of what I felt after the mystery projectile hit me. I don’t know what it is, but it feels good; I instinctively slurp up the rest of it.

Maybe not a wise idea, all things considered; my life is already weird enough without layering on this added bit of oddity.

At this point, though, I’m too far gone to make that kind of judgment. I’m physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted.

To the best of my ability in my current state, I take stock of my situation; I have a dead body in my living room, with all the blood returned to its body; my victim slain by my enormous new otherworldly power, and I have now consumed some nebulous blob that was inside him.

Also, I’m still very, very drunk, having consumed very many amounts of alcohol over the past some hours.

Right.

Only one option at this point.

I go to the bathroom.

(Still no puking, which is a plus!)

After that, I stumble into my bedroom, kicking off my shoes as I do. Unsurprisingly, by the time my face hits the pillow, I’m out.