The World on the Other Side

Prologue

SAGE

It’s easy to become a shadow. An imprint in the background of your life. An impression of who you used to be. It’s effortless, like sinking into deep waters on a moonless night when there’s no way of telling the ground apart from the edge of a cliff.

I did it once. I faded into darkness, until I was only a whisper of who I was. I watched life go by from the sidelines. I observed others silently, envious of their easy lives. Watching them despair over trivial problems, treating pebbles in their paths like boulders. As if a simple kick wouldn’t remove the obstacle in front of them. It was frustrating. Maddening.

For years I let it consume me. I stepped farther into the backdrop, growing darker as the sun repeated its futile climb, until there was only a sliver of me left.

Then, one day when I was fishing in a deserted pond, I caught my own gaze on the flat surface of the water, the afternoon sun creating a mirror in the middle of the woods. It was there that I caught a reflection of myself – the shadow.

My instinct was to turn away, knowing I wouldn’t like what I saw, but something made me stare a heartbeat longer than I normally would. I hesitated as I struggled to recognize the person looking back at me. I looked older. Rougher. My hair dull, my eyes tired. My skin sallow and my body frail. I knew I was still young, I hadn’t forgotten that, and yet, I looked like Death itself.

The sight sent a shock of lightening through me, traveling from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. My hair stood on end and my fingertips burned, but it was nothing compared to the fire consuming my heart. I clutched at my chest as it restarted painfully, my breathing staggered, until I could finally stand up again. And when I did, it was as if the fog that had been clouding my vision started to fade. The world was brighter than I remembered, and unfamiliar, but I knew my eyes would adjust over time. I didn’t know where I was, nor could I remember how I got there. I was still lost, but for the first time in a long time, I was ready to look for a way out.

Finally, with bated breath, I took my first step out of the shadows, and into the light.

The Doorway

OLIVIA

As a night owl, you crave any extra moments when you can fit a little more sleep into your schedule. When you can hit snooze on your alarm for those five extra minutes. When, by some luck, your 8:00 am organic chemistry class gets canceled and you have two extra hours of blissful sleep. Or, preferably, when the glorious weekend finally arrives and there’s no need for the annoying blare of music that startles you awake every morning. On those days, you can sleep in as long as you like.

At least that’s what I used to do.

As a college student, I used to look forward to those days, when I could stay up all night and sleep all day. I used to wish for a world free of alarms and closely followed schedules. Where I wasn’t always stretching myself like a rubber band, hoping I could pull myself a little further without painfully snapping back. Every morning when I would wake up just as dawn was breaking at the edge of the world, I would wish that every day could be like the weekend.

Until it was.

The Covid-19 pandemic obliterated any plans any of us had. It caused chaos and heartbreak. Frustration and division. We all grieved for the countless number of lives lost and for our own lives, which would never be the same again. This ominous novel life seemed like something we would never get used to, but eventually we did. We learned how to protect ourselves against it. We stayed inside. We washed our hands. We wore masks. Then, when vaccinations were possible…well some of us did that too.

I was lucky. I followed the rules. I never got sick. I finished school before cases got out of control. I moved back in with my parents, where I was able to take the gap year I always wanted to take. I finally had the time to expand my portfolio. To bring out the extensive collection of paints and brushes in the back of my closet, and finally work. At least that was my intention. Instead, my grief turned into numbness. My motivation was extinguished like a candle burning out after being lit for hours on end. Every day became the weekend. I stayed up all night and slept all day.

A year later, when it was finally time to go outside again, people emerged from their homes like butterflies coming out of their cocoons, newly evolved and protected thanks to the miracles of modern medicine. Pictures on Instagram shifted from homemade sourdough bread and family game nights, to pictures of crowded restaurants, mask-less concerts, and stunning landscapes as people showed off their long-awaited vacations. Everyone was out, enjoying their freedom, and yet I was still trapped inside my shell. The boundaries strong and confining. The inside simultaneously comforting and unbearable. I waited, inside the walls of my parent’s house, hoping that something, anything would change and terrified that nothing ever would.

***

“Olivia, are you sure you’re going to be okay? I could stay with you if you want.”

“Carrie,” my father interrupts, before I can say anything, “she’s going to be fine. She isn’t twelve anymore. She’s an adult. She’s got her Masters, for goodness sakes. She can handle being alone for a month.”

My parents stand at the door, luggage lined up and passports in hand, ready to finally emerge from their cocoons. It’s the first morning in a while that I am awake this early. The sun has only just made an appearance, allowing soft light to enter the windows of the living room.

“Dad’s right. I’ll be fine.” I lean my hip against the steel colored couch, forcing a smile I hope is convincing enough.

My mother ignores Dad’s words, carefully searching my face.

As anyone can tell you, I am a perfect combination of my mother and father. I have my father’s impressive height and my mother’s round face. His long nose and her full lips. My complexion lies somewhere between my father’s lightly tanned and my mother’s rich brown skin. I have my father’s aptitude for academics and my mother’s creativity. I have also, apparently, acquired their inability to hide their emotions.

Mom’s eyebrows pinch together with worry.

“I’m going to stay.”

“Carrie, you’re not going to –”

“Mom, no,” I say, interrupting my father, “you guys have been planning this trip for months. Who knows when they’ll stop people from traveling again. Just go, you need this trip.”

“So, do you,” Mom says, disappointed.

“I told you, I’ll be fine. I want to stay.” It’s mostly true. I don’t want to leave the house, which is not the same as not wanting to go, but it’s close enough.

Mom hesitates, reluctant to move.

Dad glances at the clock hanging above the fireplace. “Carrie, we’re going to miss our flight.”

“Mom, please go.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, throwing her hand up in the air.

“Thank you,” Dad says, relieved. He walks up to me, tucking me into a hug. “Call us if you need anything, okay?”

I nod into his chest. He pulls away, an eager smile on his face, before turning to grab both suitcases and carrying them quickly to the car.

Mom walks up to me, pulling my long braids forward so they rest on my shoulders.

“I don’t like this,” she says, softly. “I don’t want you to be holed up here alone, stuck in this house.”

“I won’t be. Mickey will be here to keep me company.” Mickey, our russet colored Labrador, looks up from his nap at the mention of his name before gently resting his head back down on his paws, seemingly annoyed to have been woken up. He has been the perfect excuse for my staying here. While he’s both adorable and incredibly sleepy most of the time, he’s also old and quite picky when it comes to people. So, it’s much easier for me to stay here and take care of him, instead of finding a dog sitter.

“Just, promise me that you’ll go out every now and then,” Mom says, still unsatisfied.

“I promise I’ll try.” It’s the best I can do. After more than a year of being inside I’ve become almost agoraphobic, terrified that if I step outside the house something bad will happen.

“Okay,” she says, reluctantly accepting my offer. “And, Olivia, don’t go to bed too late. It will only make your anxiety worse and you won’t have a chance to work on your portfolio.”

“Mom, I know you’re worried, but Dad is right. I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “That doesn’t mean you have to handle it all by yourself.”

I pull her in tighter, her short curly hair brushing my cheek.

She’s only partly right. My parents have done their best to be helpful this past year, and while I am eternally grateful, it does not change the fact that I have to deal with my anxiety alone.

When I step outside this house, I’m the only one dealing with the consequences. The shortness of breath. The speeding heart rate. The feeling of plummeting into a dark bottomless pit, my stomach caught in my chest as I fall…I will be the one having to live through it. When I’m outside of the house, in the middle of a panic attack I’m the only one who is able to fight back.

***

It’s hard to fight something that is intangible, like anxiety, which is why sometimes I like to imagine what it would look like in the flesh.

In my mind, anxiety is a monster. It has no discernable shape, just inky black features that drip like tar. Hidden in its misshapen body is the pulsing red glow of its beady eyes, just above an oblong mouth with bloody tissue stuck between its sharp thin teeth. It walks slowly and silently, creeping towards you. You don’t know it has been following you – hunting you – until it’s directly behind you and by that point it's too late. It devours you in one large bite, before you’ve even had the chance to scream.

Except, in my fantasy, I like to imagine that I would be able to hear it coming. It’s squelching steps along the pavement. The low rumble of its every breath. The sharp gnawing of its teeth, like the shrieking sound of a knife being sharpened, ready to devour its prey. It wouldn’t catch me off guard. I would be the one to surprise it. I would draw my sword, fearlessly charging towards the beast. The sun’s rays beaming down upon me, reflecting off of my steel blade as I lunge forward, plunging it sharply into the beast. I would stab and swing and maim until the monster lay at my feet, bloody and unmoving.

If only it were that easy…

Maybe binge-watching reruns of Game of Thrones was a bad idea. 

***

My first week alone does not go as well as I would have hoped. I’ve experienced a stretch of what one of my former teachers liked to call, productive procrastination.

I have cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. I’ve worked out every day this week, to the point of becoming a sweaty spluttering mess. I have organized my bookshelf so that my books are in alphabetical order and I have done all the laundry, so now my closet is at full capacity and can barely keep its doors closed.

I have done everything I possibly can, except paint.

It’s not that I don’t want to paint. I want to paint. There is nothing else in the world that I should be doing except painting at this moment. However, every time I go to pick up my brush, I get this sinking feeling in my chest, as if I’ve just stepped into quicksand. I’m stuck, unable to make another move. Then, once I’m trapped, the eerie voice in the back of my head begins to whisper. This is a waste of time. You’ll never make it as an artist. You’ll never be able to sustain yourself financially. You will try and you will fail, and then you will have to take a job that you hate and be unhappy for the rest of your life. There’s no shutting up the voice. It’s always lurking behind me: anxiety. It sits patiently, waiting for me to look back, and then it attacks – its bloody claws cutting into my chest.

It’s what has me searching for another project, whether it be cleaning the entire house, binging every single episode of The Office, or making a batch of cookies in the middle of the night. All of which always leads me to the same inevitable result: staying up until 4 am stressed out, until I eventually pass out, and wake up the next morning feeling undoubtedly depressed and, if possible, even more anxious.

I try not to mention this toxic cycle to my mother whenever she calls. She doesn’t need to worry while she’s gone, and according to my father they are having a wonderful time in Thailand. I can’t really blame them, it looks like paradise. Eternal sun, clear waters, exotic animals, and luscious feasts.

Mickey starts to bark, disrupting my train of thought.

“Okay, okay, hold on.”

In some ways, it has become more and more obvious that Mickey is getting older. His snout has a few threads of snowy white hair and his icy blue eyes have changed to a pale grey. In other ways, he hasn’t really changed. Mickey is pretty good at vocalizing what he wants. He barks when he wants to go outside. When he’s hungry or thirsty. When he’s bored.

Now that he has my attention, he sits at the front door waiting patiently for me to open it.

I push the door open and he rushes past me – nails scraping against our hardwood floors, searching for traction – and into our front yard, if you can call it that.

Growing up my parents worked for the UN, which means that we were constantly traveling. It was a time that I thoroughly enjoyed, before the pandemic and my resulting anxiety had taken over my life. For my parents, however, moving from one place to the next gave them a long list of ideas for where they wanted to live when they retired. Japan. South Africa. Or maybe even Italy. Then, one summer we visited Bar Harbor, Maine and my parents were sold. They loved the clear water, the boats, the seafood, the kind townspeople, the small town and the surrounding nature.

The house they bought, while encircled by beautiful Maine wildlife is not exactly in Bar Harbor, but it is on Mt. Desert Island – a small island off the mainland. Thus, our front yard is a little bit larger than a back yard. In actuality, although our house is a modest two-story home, we own a lot of the land surrounding the house, including a lawn, a large pond, and a quarter acre of trees.

It also means that Mickey doesn’t need to be taken on long walks and is free to roam around our grounds, as long as he doesn’t go too far. The neighbors have a couple of greyhounds, which Mickey does not get along with.

I step outside of the house and take a seat on the cushioned bench that extends the length of the porch, gazing out at the front yard. It’s bright out today, with hardly any clouds in the sky. It’s warm, but most of the heat is blocked out in the shade on the porch. With the sun out, colors are iridescent. The grass is a vivid jade, while the flowers lining the front of the porch glow in shades of magenta, violet, and rose. The scene is so idyllic, I half expect to see Alice pop up from the flower beds, having caught sight of the white rabbit, and begin her chase.

In the winter, it was cold enough that the pond became our own personal ice rink. Now, the water is just as still as it was at Christmas time, but I have yet to check whether it’s warm enough to swim in yet. Framing the back half of the pond are a mix of trees, making up the beginnings of a forest. A gust of wind blows by, dancing between their branches and picking up items left behind, leaves and seeds to be planted and grown elsewhere.

It’s the perfect place to paint, really. It’s not like I’m lacking any kind of inspiration here. Instead, I close my eyes, enjoying the breeze gently caressing my skin as I sit back onto the bench.

I glance back at the yard quickly, spotting Mickey sniffing the wild grass at the edge of the pond, before unlocking my phone to scroll through the pictures my parents sent me. I look at them wistfully, before giving up on the idea of calling and disrupting their vacation.

It’s been a couple of days since I talked to my parents, which means it has been a couple of days since I’ve talked to anyone. My parents are on vacation. My friends from college are busy with work. I am running out of people to talk to.

An unfortunate consequence of being too anxious to go outside also means that I have yet to make friends here in Maine, even after being here for a year.

Before I can begin to bring out hats and streamers for the pity party my brain undoubtedly wants to throw, I stand up looking around the yard for Mickey, ready to call him in so that I can go back inside.

“Mickey,” I shout, scanning the landscape.

When there’s no response, I walk down the porch stairs and onto grass.

“Come on, Mickey. It’s time to go back inside.”

I do a quick scan of the yard, but there’s no sign of him. I walk across the lawn towards the pond, the grass just tall enough to trail the bottom of my jeans. Standing on the edge, I look across the blue expanse and past it to the pine and spruce trees lined up like soldiers guarding the entrance to the forest.

“Mickey!” I yell, but there’s nothing but the sound of rustling branches and the beat of my ever-quickening heart; I can’t tell if it’s because I’m moving farther and farther away from the house, or if it’s because Mickey has yet to respond to my calls. Although he’s a bit old, his hearing is still good enough to hear me calling him.

I repeat his name, my voice ringing like a siren sounding an alarm. Leaving the pond, I dash towards the path leading to the forest. I weave between the trees, sweeping my gaze across the water when I can. In my mind’s eye, all I can see are two greyhounds, as big as wolves, leaping onto Mickey, teeth bared and saliva flying as they attack.

I stumble, suddenly, at the sound of barking. I catch myself before I fall, scraping my hands on a nearby tree, but all I feel is relief.

I leave the path behind and follow Mickey’s deep voice. The grass is no longer short and manicured, but dry and tall enough to brush my calves. Branches snap beneath my footfalls, leaves kicked up behind me as I run. Pine cones are crushed and squirrels dart up branches in distress.

I stop abruptly at the sound of a splash. I spin in the direction of the pond, but I hear nothing else. No more splashing. No more barking. Only silence.

I race past the trees until I emerge from the forest.

When there’s still no sight of him, I scramble precariously onto the large stones lining the pond. I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun as I skim the surface of the water.

There! On my right, ripples, expanding from their point of origin…but there’s no sign of russet fur in the water.

“Mickey!” I say, hoping that his barking will restart, but all I can hear is the sound of my uneven breathing. I cross one flat stone, then another, until I am only a few inches away from the water.

The splash couldn’t have been his, I reason, as my eyes dart across the pond. Mickey can swim. If he was in the water I would be able to see him. Getting on my knees, I peer into the water, praying that I’m not going to find a drowned Mickey.

The ripples have faded, the surface undisturbed and as flat as pavement. With the noon sun shining down, it’s like a mirror, reflecting the tan stones lining its edge, the surrounding trees, and the bright blue sky. So, when I try to look into the water, all I can see is my own reflection: my worried face – cheeks flushed and nose scrunched in frustration – framed by long black braids. I lean closer to the water, my arms bent in what must resemble a partial pushup in my attempt to see if there’s anything residing on the other side of the mirror.

I stare hard at the water, getting more and more upset. My eyes start to fill with tears, my vision becoming blurry, but I hastily blink them away. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe Mickey ran in and out of the water before I noticed. Maybe he’s in the woods.

Or maybe he ran all the way to the neighbor’s yard and is fighting with the neighbor’s dogs. I’m about to stand back up when I take a final glace at my reflection in the water.

Only it’s no longer a reflection. The figure in the water is…changing. My hair, long and dark, is now becoming exponentially lighter, into strands of long white hair. My round face is becoming narrower. My dark eyes are replaced by earthy green irises. There are freckles sprinkled across my cheeks and my eyebrows are growing thicker by the second. I touch my face, hands gliding across my hair and features, but everything feels the same, and yet, there is someone else staring back at me from the water.

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight, before opening them.

I hold my breath as I look into the water again, but the face is still there. It stares back, unmoving. I look behind me, expecting to see someone peering over my shoulder, but there’s no one. I’m alone.

I look back at the figure in the water, arms shaking. Their eyes blink once. Twice. Then, slowly, their lips stretch into a wide smirk. My heart leaps into my throat. I extend my arms, ready to get up and run, but my right-hand slips on the edge of the rock. I try to catch myself with the other, but it’s no use. I’m falling. Falling towards the reflective surface. Towards the creature smirking up at me.

I crash into the pond, breaking through the surface and erasing the mirror.

The Chase

OLIVIA

The water is deeper than I thought it was going to be. I’m completely submerged, my feet kicking as my body tries to reorient itself. As I fell into the pond, I prepared myself for frigid water. Even in the dead of summer, Maine’s pools are always a bit cold; it’s enough to turn your lips blue if you don’t get moving right away. The water today, though, is warm. Well, maybe not warm… but it’s not cold either. It’s almost like I’m floating on a summer breeze, rather than swimming in a pond. If I hadn’t fallen in – if I didn’t know I was in water – I might have thought that I was in a dream. Weightless. Moving through air, like a dandelion seed being carried on the wind.

I lose my train of thought though as I emerge from the pond. I swim towards the closest rock and try to pull myself out. It’s hard, though, as my clothes and my shoes are heavy with water. When I’m finally out, I lay on my back, letting the sun warm me as I catch my breath.

I sit up abruptly, remembering the face that was looking at me in the water. How could I forget? It’s as if falling into the pond clouded my thoughts. I look around, expecting to see something – or someone – waiting for me, but I’m alone.

Barking echoes suddenly, the sound bouncing off the trees. Only this time, there’s more than one bark.

The neighbor’s dogs – they found him.

Forgetting the state of my clothes, I stand up and leap across the stones before landing back in the grass. I take off at a run towards the neighbor’s house, stomping on leaves and moss, accidentally kicking stray nuts and seeds.

The barking stops abruptly, though, as soon as I break through the trees onto the neighbor’s lawn. I look around for any sign of Mickey or the greyhounds, but there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. No dogs. No people.

No house.

The neighbor’s house is gone.

Did I run the wrong way? I survey my surroundings. It’s hard to tell since their home is missing, but everything else looks the same. There’s the gentle slope, which would normally lead up to their house. The same one they invited us to sled down in the winter. There’s the maple tree at the base, which we would swerve to avoid on our way down the snowy hill, and there’s a garden of herbs at the top, which they like to pick at in the summer when they’re cooking. All that’s missing is their house, replaced by a blanket of tall, untamed grass.

I take a step back, alarmed at the sight. My breath comes out in short huffs and my stomach plunges into frigid waters. I can feel it, the panic ready to attack. This time, there’s no surprise, no sudden scare. This time I can hear the monster coming, its feet stomping in time with my hammering heart. It’s getting closer and the only thing I can think to do is to run.

So, I run. Literally.

I turn, racing back into the forest, and towards my house. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t process it right now. The only thing I know is that I need to go home. I should have never left the house. I should have kept a closer eye on Mickey. I should have –

I slow down as I pass the last few trees and stop near the pond. On the other side of the water, where my parent’s lovely cobalt blue home should sit, is nothing but a field of grass. I sink to the ground, grasping my forearms tightly to keep my hands from shaking.

There’s nothing left for me to do, no way for me to hide. The monster has caught up to me now. Its claws are in my chest, its teeth buried in my side. I can’t breathe. I gasp, trying to focus on my breath, trying to slow it, but all I can think is: Where am I? Where is my house? Where is Mickey? What is going on?

Maybe it’s just a hallucination, or maybe I’m dreaming. I pinch myself, hard enough that my nails leave a mark. Then I look up again slowly, hoping to find my house resting in front of me. To find Mickey sitting by my side, unharmed. To find that my parents have come back from their trip early, and that I’m not alone.

Nothing’s changed though. There’s no house. No Mickey.

But wait – there –

I spot movement in my peripheral vision. My head whips towards the trees, hoping to find Mickey, but instead all I see is a man leaning against a tree trunk. I hold my breath as I start to recognize his features – it’s the man who was staring at me in the water.

He’s taller than I would have expected. His hair a shock of white. It’s thick and straight, reaching the tops of his shoulders, a stark contrast against his cinnamon skin. Despite the color of his hair, he looks young. Maybe a few years older than me. He is wearing simple clothes, tan pants and a white shirt, both seemingly made out of cotton, but no shoes. He carries a modest backpack made out of the same material as his pants. When I look up at his face again, I find myself staring into those same mossy green eyes I noticed in the water.

“You,” I blurt, surprised. I quickly scramble to my feet. The monster pauses, as if it’s also in shock, but it’s only for a moment. Then thoughts come flooding in and it begins tearing into me again.

The man watches me as I begin to back away, looking for an escape route.

“Sage,” he says, stepping away from the tree.

“What?” I say, confused.

“It’s my name. Sage.” I stay silent, unsure how to respond to that. “And yours?” he says, after a few seconds of silence.

I’m definitely not answering that.

“What did you do to me?” I say, instead, unable to get the image of his reflection in the water out of my mind.

Sage watches me carefully, although he remains unmoved from his position near the tree.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you might need some help.”

His lips are moving and words are coming out, but nothing he says makes any sense to me. He wants to help. He didn’t mean to frighten me and yet, he has. If I need any kind of help, it’s help getting away from him and back home. Yes, everything will be fine if I can just get back…

I look around, still searching for an escape, when my eyes land on the pond.

The water. It was only after I got out of the water that everything changed. Maybe if I can step back into the pond, I’ll end up back home.

I try to edge subtly towards the water, but he notices my change in action and he takes a step forward. I move faster, my heart hammering painfully in my chest and my legs shake more than I would like them to.

Sage halts in his tracks, sighing. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I just want to help,” he repeats, but I’m not listening anymore. I jump onto the rocks, trying to stay balanced as I walk quickly to the water’s edge.

“Wait!” he says, holding up a hand. “Your dog! What about your dog?”

I’m staring at the pond’s surface. It’s unmoving again, the mirror back in place. I can see my reflection once more. My face is pale and I wobble, feeling a little dizzy at the rush of emotions. All I want to do is jump, back into the water, into the peaceful weightlessness that will carry me back home, but…I can’t. My eyes are wide to keep tears from spilling. Slowly, I turn around defeated, because there is no way I can leave here without Mickey.

“What did you do to him?”

“What?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Nothing! I was trying to explain, not well apparently,” he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I heard the splash and the sound of you searching for your dog and well…” He lowers his hands, releasing a slow breath. “I thought you could use my help trying to find him.”

“Who says I need your help?” I ask, fear weaving my words into prickly thorns.

“The Old Woods can be tricky to navigate if you’re not careful. There’s a creature living in there that would…make it hard to pass through.”

I think about the chorus of barking I heard earlier. I thought it was Mickey and the neighbor’s dogs, but maybe it was something else. My heart thunders painfully in my chest; strikes of lightning illuminate terrible images in my mind's eye: Mickey's fur stained dark red with blood, his body lying motionless beneath the trees. Rain threatens to fall, but I blink rapidly to keep the tears from spilling.

“Fuck,” I say, the word coming out choked with fear. Why? Why did this have to happen?

I take another deep breath, willing the storm to quiet before looking back down towards Sage. I examine him carefully.

After a year in lock down, I can’t seem to remember how I’m supposed to interact among other human beings. I want to trust him, to believe in what he’s saying, but all I can think about is the way his reflection was smirking at me. As if he had some kind of trick up his sleeve. If I could leave him here, I would… but I might not have a choice. It’s a risk, but it might be a bigger risk to roam blindly through a place I know nothing about.

“Fine. Fine, help me find him. And then I’m going home.”

He nods solemnly, walking towards the rocks and lifts a hand to help me down. I tread carefully from one rock to another, but ignore his hand as I jump down onto the grass. Just because I’m letting him help me, doesn’t mean I have to trust him.

I can, however, extend one courtesy. He gave me his, it’s only fair that I give him mine.

“I’m Olivia, by the way.”

***

We keep our distance as we walk, neither of us speaking for the first few minutes. I follow Sage, keeping an eye on the sun, to know which direction we’re walking in, hoping that I can find my way back alone if I need to. The woods look no different than they do at home; there are the same animals, the same sights and sounds. The smell of fresh pine trees and the earthy smell of wet leaves on the ground. I can almost pretend that I never left, except for the anxiety that has continued to follow me. It’s quiet now, lurking in the shadows, but I know it’s still there.

I survey our surroundings, watching for any signs of movement and listening for the smallest hint of a bark. Sage looks carefully as well, constantly scanning the woods and beyond. It's hard to know if he is keeping an eye out for Mickey, or for whatever creature he mentioned earlier. He's offered to help me, but I don’t know what, exactly, he could do even if something did sneak up on us. He’s tall, and looks strong enough, but he holds no weapons on him. He’s not even wearing shoes.

After about an hour, the trees start to thin out and I can start to see open space on the other side. Sage speeds up, whether in excitement or panic I’m not sure, and I do the same to keep up. Finally, we step out and onto a dirt path.

Now that we’re passed the trees, I have a better sense of where we are. Farther down, the path curves to the right, hugging the side of a rock wall. The woods continue along the top of the wall, where houses would normally sit. On the other side of the path lay large stones the size of cars, leading to the ocean. We’re standing where the main road should be, the one that leads into town. It’s eerie, the combination of familiar and unfamiliar.

 “The path cuts through the Old Woods, and is the safest way to travel,” Sage says, less tense than he was only a few minutes ago. “Besides, most animals that pass through don’t tend to stay in the woods for long.”

I open my mouth, his words sparking horror.

 “Not because they get killed,” he says, quickly. “It’s just that most animals that cross over are attracted to what lies at the end of the path.”

“Which is?”

“The town.” Sage starts to walk again and I follow him down the path. It’s a clearly well-traveled path – flat and hard packed – and it supposedly, leads into the town. So far there’s been a notable lack of any infrastructure, so I’m kind of curious to see what, if anything, in the town is the same.

Something else that he said sparks a question in me.

“When you say, cross over, you mean…?” I gesture back towards the way we came.

“Yes, through the pool, just as you did.”

“Do a lot of people, um, cross over?”

He hesitates and I look around us, thinking that maybe he’s worried about making too much noise.

“Is it okay to talk?” I whisper, nervously. “I mean, do we have to worry about the creature attacking us from the Old Woods?”

“The Ghost? No, there’s no reason to worry,” he says, smiling softly, “There are ancient enchantments that keep it from leaving the woods.”

Enchantments. I know that I’ve somehow stepped into another world, but the word is still jarring. On the bright side, at least I know that the path we’re on is safe. Or at least, safer than we were in the woods.

Sage opens his mouth to answer my question, but I can’t help blurting out another one.

“Actually, I’m sorry, but, where are we?”

He looks at me with concern. “We’re on the path towards the town.”

“Yes, I know. I mean, where are we? Where have I crossed over to?”

“Ah, I see,” he says, hesitant. “It’s a complicated answer.”

 “Well, we have plenty of time,” I say, gesturing towards the path. If my version of town is in the same geographical location as his, then it’ll be at least a couple of hours before we get there.

We continue walking down the path, approaching the ocean on the left.

“We’re in the Land of the Little Ones.”

“Little Ones?”

“Yes.”

“Who are the Little Ones?” I ask, looking up and down the path, expecting to see someone else walking along it.

He grins, the same mischievous grin he had in the water. Like he has a secret, only now he’s about to reveal it. Sage stops, turning towards me. He lifts a hand up, tucking his hair behind his ears. My heart stills in shock. His ears, they’re – they’re –

“Your ears, they’re…pointed.” I stare, my mouth gaping open at the sight.

“Yes, they are. I’m one of the Little Ones. Or, if it makes it easier, a fairy as your people would call me.”

“A fairy?” An image of Tinker Bell pops into my mind, but he bears absolutely no resemblance to her. He couldn’t be more different if he tried; he’s tall, muscular, and has no wings, unless they’re tucked somewhere under his shirt.

“Yes.” He pauses, giving me time to process this new piece of information. I guess I should have realized sooner that there was something different about him. Now that I know, it seems so obvious that he’s not exactly human. There’s something outlandish about the way he stands. The way he watches me. Every step, every movement, every glance seems purposeful. He’s graceful, and yet very solid and stable. It’s as if he belongs in nature. As if he could grow amongst the trees, flourish with the grass, or thrive in the water.

He’s wild; there’s no other way to describe him.

“To answer your first question, though: no. Very few people cross over onto our land anymore. It’s mostly just animals. They go back and forth quite easily; they are a lot less…apprehensive about it compared to other cognitive thinkers.”

I nod along, still stuck on the fact that he’s not human.

He starts walking again, though, and I clumsily follow him, feeling like I’ve left bits of my blown mind behind.

“And how does that work exactly?” I ask, clearing my voice and my thoughts. “I’ve swum in that pond before and I never ended up here.”

“Well, like I said it’s a bit complicated. There are different worlds – millions, trillions – that are just close enough to touch. Each shares a connection to another, although they are usually hard to find. If you can find a point of connection, you can pass through it – the Doorway – and go from one world to the next.”

This piece of information, though unsettling, is surprisingly, not altogether a new concept for me. I have a degree in Chemistry, not Physics, but even I know a little bit about the multiverse theory. Albert Einstein thought there were an infinite number of universes. That they existed collectively as a kind of foam, each bubble its own universe. Some similar to one another, while others are wildly different. This one, although it appears to look very similar to mine, is apparently missing a few important fixtures – my house for one. It makes this situation a bit easier to process, although it does little to help my nerves.

“I guess that makes sense,” I admit, looking out at the chilling ocean on my left. The sun is still high in the sky, but it’s started its slow descent. “Wait, that doesn’t answer my question, though –”

Sage stops, suddenly, frozen where he stands. I open my mouth, confused at his reaction, but he holds a hand up to stop me. He reaches his hand back, as if searching for something resting over his shoulder, to the right of his backpack. His hand wraps around nothing but air, but when he pulls his arm forward he holds a long sword in his hand. I gape, searching for the scabbard he clearly just pulled the sword from, but there’s nothing there. It’s as if he pulled it out of thin air. I gape at him, a million questions rising to the tip of my tongue.

“How did you do that?” I whisper, watching the way the steel sword catches the shimmer of light reflected by the ocean. The blade is huge, about twice the length of my arm. When I peer over his shoulder to get a better look, I see that the hilt is ornately carved into the shape of intertwining vines.

“Magic,” he murmurs back, as he treads forward carefully.

Magic. It’s the obvious answer, but vaguer than I was expecting.

At least now I know how he planned on protecting me in the Old Woods.

His left ear, now exposed, twitches slightly. I’m not sure what the differences are between humans and fairies, but with the way his ears are moving, like that of a wolf, I would guess that his hearing is better than mine. I look around slowly, straining my ears for sounds of footsteps on either end of the path, but all I can hear is the sound of the wind rustling nearby branches. I look towards the top of the rock wall to our right, where the edge of the Old Woods lies. The sound gets louder, howling through the trees until it reaches a pitch so high, I realize that it’s not the wind at all. Someone is screaming.

My eyes are so fixed on the trees that I don’t notice that Sage has moved until he’s tackling me to the ground, the sword gone from his hand as quickly as it appeared. Sage twists at the last second, so that I land on my side, instead of on my back. The whirlwind of motion makes my head dizzy, and my heart takes off at a sprint as I try to figure out what just happened. Words are beyond my grasp at this point, but my arms work. Sage still grips me tightly and I claw at him, trying to get him to release me, when I hear it. The sound of a loud and wet thud a few feet away.

Sage is already on his feet, looking at the place where we were standing a few seconds ago.

He curses something under his breath in a language that I don’t recognize, but I don’t move. I’m scared to see what he’s looking at. What would have landed on me if he had not pushed me out of the way.

The monster sinks its fangs into my body, paralyzing me with venom. I can't move and yet my thoughts are descending into an inescapable spiral. I wish that I had never left home. That I was back in my bed, under the covers instead of here. I wish –

Hands tighten around my shoulders, yanking me up into a sitting position.

“Olivia, are you okay?” Sage’s green eyes look into mine with concern. “Breathe,” he says, firmly.

I take a deep breath in and out. I do it again, following Sage’s exaggerated breathing for the next three breaths. Finally, I can feel a glimmer of relief.

“Better?”

“A little,” I whisper, realizing that I had been unconsciously holding my breath.

He offers his hand to help me stand and this time I take it. He pulls me to my feet, angling his body between mine and whatever fell from the woods.

“Is it…is it the creature you were talking about?”

“It’s one of the Ghost’s victims,” Sage says, carefully. “I meant it when I said that it can’t leave the Old Woods. Although, there’s nothing to stop anyone else from walking into it.”

I steel my nerves and my stomach, taking another deep breath, before walking around Sage.

The person lies face down, their dark hair tangled with leaves and dirt. Based on their shape, I would guess it’s a woman - or rather a female fairy as I notice ears poking up from beneath her hair- but it's hard to tell with the way the body has been crushed. Blood escapes the corpse, dark and foreboding. However, when I look at it closely, I realize that it’s mixed in with something else. It pools near her mouth and leaks from her ribs; a clear solution swirls amongst the thick red blood. Water.

“How…?” I start to ask, but Sage pulls me from the body and back along the path.

“We can’t be here,” he says, his voice rough. I stare at him, ready to yank my arm out of his grasp, but then I get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are hard like jade, staring ahead with determination. His shoulders tense, his lips disappearing into a thin line. I’m only able to recognize the emotion because I’ve experienced it. He’s on the verge of panic.

He walks briskly, finally letting me go once he’s sure I’m following him.

“There’s nothing we can do. We can’t help her. She’s gone.” He says, breathing labored. “He’s gone.” He breaths in and out deeply in an effort to calm himself, just as he did for me a few minutes ago.

“Okay,” I say, softly, noting the switch in pronouns, but knowing that now is not the right time to ask him about it.

We fall back into silence, the puzzling resemblance of a crime scene echoing through my mind. How did she fall from the cliff? Was she pushed by the Ghost or did she jump out of fear? The thought makes me glad that we haven’t had to spend too much time in the woods, although it might be harder to get back to the pond after seeing what can happen to the Ghost’s victims.

Sage maintains his quick pace as he starts to compose himself. He taps his hand, his wrist, and his side quickly with the tips of his fingers, while regulating his breathing. Slowly he starts to wind down, and ten minutes later, he no longer appears nervous or agitated, only eager to reach the town.

We don’t talk for the rest of the walk. Sage doesn’t make any effort to speak to me and I’m not willing to interrupt the silence surrounding his thoughts. Every now and then he mumbles something to himself, sometimes in that same foreign language; other times he repeats the three words, “he’s gone,” an echo fading as we get father away from the body.

The sun has started to set, and with every step, our surroundings begin to darken. There’s still no sign of Mickey. In fact, it seems as though there’s no one on the path but us. All I can do now is hope that Sage is right and that we will find Mickey once we get to town. 

I would guess that it’s almost six o’clock when we finally start to see signs of life. We’re at the edge of town, where tourists get their first glimpse of Bar Harbor, only there are no inns. No houses. No statue of a moose to greet you on your way in. There’s only a whisper of sound, a mixture of voices and the subtle thread of music. Without speaking, we both seem to speed up, as if we’ve been prodded by an invisible hand. I can feel it, the pull towards the center of town, as if there’s a spell laced into each note. Every melody an invitation to set your mind at ease. The rhythm guides us down the winding path, until it opens onto a large open field crowded with a handful of small structures and a copious number of campfires. More than that, there are fairies everywhere that I look. Fairies dancing around campfires, making their own music with carved wooden instruments. There’s the smell of roasted food and spilled ale. People pass in and out of the structures – small stone houses – that appear to be a type of pub or tavern, providing the food for the outside festivities.

The longer I look, the more I realize that fairies are not the only creatures enjoying the party. For every fairy, there are at least three more animals. Some are creatures you would expect to find out here – squirrels, raccoons, and foxes – but there are also cats, birds, deer, and by the sound of it, a few seals, although they’re probably closer to the water’s edge. Not to mention the bizarre sight of a fairy casually lounging across a sleeping moose, and the swaying outline of what looks like a bear. The animals circle the campfires, interacting with the fairies as if it’s a perfectly natural occurrence.

I look at Sage, startled by the scene in front of us, only to find that he’s already looking at me. He watches me critically, before lifting a hand. He touches my hair carefully. From a distance, it must look like a romantic embrace. A couple holding each other close, staring into each other’s eyes, while the whole world fades away around them. In reality, however, I notice the way that Sage’s eyes keep darting to the sides of my head. The illusion is broken, when I realize what he’s doing: he’s trying to make sure my ears are hidden. The monster rears its ugly head, jaws snapping, ready to bite as the thought arises; is Sage worried about someone finding out that I’m human?

I open my mouth to ask him, but he speaks before I can say anything.

“Stay close to me,” Sage says, his voice rich and warm, as if he’s speaking to his lover, and not the human he’s trying to keep hidden. It’s the first words he’s said to me for what feels like hours. He reaches his hand out for me to take, but I only look at it in bemusement. I want to pull on his arm, yank him back towards the path, and force him to give me a proper explanation before we enter a world I know nothing about, but there are already a few eyes on us. So, I take his hand, forcing the monster to the back of my mind before following him into the revel.

The Trap

OLIVIA

Sage holds my hand tightly, as we weave through the party and head for the nearest tavern. To my surprise, he speaks English to the barkeep, retrieving food and drink for both of us. The place is empty, except for the fairy behind the bar. Everyone else seems to be amusing themselves outside.

There’s a fireplace not too far from the bar, and we take a seat next to it at one of the many empty wooden tables. I can still hear a bit of the ruckus from outside, and the light from the campfires flicker against the windows every now and then, but otherwise it feels pretty removed from everyone else.

As I start to eat the food – a combination of poultry, corn, roasted nuts, and a handful of berries – I can’t help but glance at the barkeep. When we were walking outside, all I could see were shadows and flashes of campfire light illuminating the bodies of fairies and animals in constant motion. I could not see what the other fairies actually looked like; but in here, by the stillness of candlelight, I subtly survey the barkeep. He shares the same coloring as Sage, but he’s shorter and stockier. He’s bald, but his eyebrows are just as white as Sage’s hair. His mannerisms are also similar. Graceful, yet constantly in motion like a bird stuck in a cage.

I have so many questions – about the world and about the people here – but I won’t be able to ask Sage about it anytime soon. We have a long night ahead of us, and it will be spent surrounded by fairies.

I’ve shoveled down most of my food when the door to the tavern bursts open. Both Sage and I turn to watch as a group of fairies walk in, clearly inebriated. The four of them have long ivory hair, thick and flowing down their backs, some in braids while others’ fall loose in waves. They all look as young as Sage, and they wear variations of the same clothes – simple styles made out of thin material, like cotton or linen, however, they seem to be missing a fair amount of material. The two males in the group are both missing their shirts, their broad brown chests exposed, but one wears pants while the other is in shorts. The females on the other hand are dressed identically in shorts and cropped shirts, that look more like bras. Despite their lack of clothing, they all seem to be sweating, their skin glistening and their hair sticking to their backs and arms. But even with their ordinary clothes and their sweat slicked bodies, it’s clear that they are more than human. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it with Sage right away, but the more fairies I see, the more I realize just how wild they are. There’s a rawness in them that is beautiful, similar to finding a family of deer grazing lazily on a bed of flowers or stumbling across a waterfall in the middle of a forest. It’s wholly natural, yet somehow magical at the same time.

Sage pulls my chin gently towards him and away from the group as they order drinks from the barkeep. He leans forward, his face slowly approaching mine, and for a second, I panic, thinking he’s about to kiss me; but instead he tilts his head, moving his mouth against my ear.

“Don’t move until they leave,” he whispers so quietly I almost miss it. My shoulders tense and one of his hands come up to my shoulder, rubbing it softly in an effort to get me to relax. He moves his face into the crook of my neck as if he’s nuzzling it and I rest my chin on his shoulder. Sage has positioned us with my back to the group and I cling to him, as I try to keep my body calm. I make no effort to change my face, however, since they can’t see my expression.

I count my breaths, waiting for them to leave. They chat with the bartender, this time in the same foreign language Sage spoke in earlier. I can hear mugs moving across the bar. Coins being tossed down. Finally, there’s sound of footsteps heading towards the door. They cross the threshold, slowly, with the occasional stumble.

I sign in relief, ready to sit up, but there’s no slamming of the door behind them. I listen for the sound of footsteps, but there’s nothing. Only silence.

Then, a voice rings out, calling out across the tavern in that same foreign language.

Sage exhales briefly, mumbling a quick, “stay here,” before he’s getting up from his chair.

I look up carefully, keeping my face blank, despite the fear rolling around in my stomach, churning my food. Based on Sage’s reaction I expect to find hostility waiting for him, but there are smiles across the stranger’s faces. They each pull Sage into a hug, speaking enthusiastically loud in the way drunk people do. Sage interacts with them almost reluctantly, and I can tell that he’s eager to see them leave.

Suddenly the male closest to Sage gestures towards me, almost in question. They all turn to look at me and I freeze, involuntarily. The monster is out, taunting me like a cat playing with its food, but I do my best to ignore it.  I resist the urge to touch my hair, to make sure my ears are covered. Instead, I lift a hand to wave to the group, plastering what I hope resembles a smile to my face. They smile in return before turning back to Sage. I can feel them glancing at me every now and then, but I do my best to focus on my food, pushing it around with my fork.

Footsteps echo through the hall, and finally I look up to see them leave. Sage waves goodbye to them, before heading back to the bar. They pass through the door one by one. The last male is almost through the door, when he pauses briefly to look at me. He winks at me, a smirk pulling at the corners of his face, before he’s out the door. He does it so quickly that he misses my reaction. I stare at the door as it slams, startled by the image that pops into my mind. The wink, the smirk. It’s so similar to the reflection of Sage I saw staring at me in the pond. I resist the urge to shiver despite feeling like a trail of ants is crawling up my spine. Any appetite I had is long gone.

Sage chases the image from my mind as he reaches the table, two new drinks in hand.

“Let’s go find Mickey,” he says, and I stand up quickly, ready to join him.

Any comfort I had when we first got to the tavern has dissipated. All I want to do now is find Mickey and get out of here. I’m ready to go home.

***

We hold our drinks tightly as we wade through the festivities. Sage makes it look like we’re looking around for a spot to sit, but in reality, we’re looking for Mickey.

We spend most of the night making our way across town, starting at the center near the tavern, and slowly making our way outwards. We pass the area where the hospital should be, then walk the path towards the town square, past the bookshop and towards Hannaford, going campfire to campfire in hopes of spotting old greying eyes and russet fur streaked with white. The ocean lies somewhere to our right, but without street lights to illuminate our surroundings, it’s impossible to see it this far away. We make another round, passing the location of other Bar Harbor fixtures, the catholic church and the Abenaki museum, to the Reel Pizza Cinerama and then back to the town square.

The later it gets, the more anxious I get. We still haven’t found Mickey, even though we’ve covered a lot of ground. Sage hasn’t complained, but I know that he’s starting to get tired, and if I’m being honest with myself, I am too.

The moon has reached its peak in the sky, signaling that it is midnight. It’s been twelve hours since I last saw Mickey. Twelve hours since I got to this strange place.

Sage guides us past the town square and towards the water. The closer we get, the fewer campfires there are. I spot the seals I heard earlier, partnered with fairies as they dance from side to side on their flippers. We examine each group carefully, but soon we’re at the edge of where the marina should be, alone.

“We’ll sleep here for the night,” Sage says, quietly. He starts to unload his pack, pulling out pieces of kindling and wood. He gathers rocks, getting ready to start a fire. I walk a few paces away, nearing the water. It’s the closest I can get to being alone at the moment. I stare out at the ocean. The moon is just bright enough for me to see the horizon. I wonder if I stepped into the water here if I could get home, I think to myself. Not that I could leave, even if it was possible. Mickey’s still out there…at least I hope he is. I can’t even consider the alternative.

My eyes start to well up, and I blink tears away quickly before they can spill.

“It’s okay to let it out,” Sage says, softly.

I turn at his voice, surprised to see him standing beside me. Behind us, Sage’s fire is blazing, slowly warming my back. I return my gaze to Sage as he stares out at the ocean, his expression as sad as I feel.

“Just let it out,” he repeats.

I want to ignore his words. To fight it. To avoid the terror and anguish threatening to take over, but I can’t. My anxiety has been terrorizing me all day, from losing Mickey, to leaving home, falling into the pond, and finding the Ghost’s victim…. It’s almost too much. I’m scared to let it all out, but I don’t have a choice. There’s nothing I can do to stop the tears from pouring out. I expected tears to silently roll down my face, but once they start coming I can’t control them.

My body starts to shake and I fall to my knees painfully. I wrap my arms around myself tightly as I start to cry, gasping desperately for air between sobs. There are no words, no thoughts, only regret. Regret that I ever lost sight of Mickey. Regret for deciding to leave home, thinking that I could make it in this strange place. And homesickness. So much homesickness, for my safe space, for my family. I’ve never felt more alone.

I wish none of this had ever happened.

I cry loud and ugly tears, just as terrible as the way I feel. It feels as if they’ll never stop coming, but eventually they do. At some point they start to slow and my body starts to calm down. The sobs begin to quiet and the tears stop. I take a deep breath in and out, wiping the streaks of tears from my face. 

I stand up on wobbly legs, looking back out at the ocean, not quite ready to talk. If I close my eyes it’s almost as if I can pretend that my cheeks are wet with ocean spray, instead of tears, but I don’t need to pretend. I’m just as sad as I was before, but somehow the weight that has been sitting on my chest is gone. I know it’s not permanent. I know that the monster is still out there, but for now I feel detached from it. In this moment, I can catch my breath instead of holding it.

I turn towards Sage, only to find him staring at me. His nose is red, his cheeks damp. I look at him in surprise, and I realize for the first time that Sage’s day might have been just as bad as mine.

***

We sit close to each other in front of the campfire, warming up. Sage’s shoulder is pressed to mine as we nibble on some dried meat and nuts he had in his pack. For the first time, I’m able to enjoy the silence. It’s soothing after the painful sobs, and even though I wouldn’t wish those feelings on anyone, it’s comforting to know that I haven’t been the only one struggling today.

We finish our snack quietly before Sage pulls out what I assume is a sleeping mat from his pack. He positions it near the fire, and I lie down enjoying the warmth. Sage starts to position himself on the other side of the campfire, but I speak before he can.

“Don’t be silly,” I say, “you’ll freeze if you sleep there.”

Sage doesn’t argue. He lays down next to me, letting me stay on the side closest to the fire. The mat is a little small for two people, but we manage to lay on it without touching. We stare up at the stars, laying on our backs, as we listen to the sharp crackle and pop of the firewood.

I know I should probably go to sleep, but I can’t stop myself from finally asking the questions I’ve been holding onto for the past six hours.

“Sage, who were those people in the tavern?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and for a second, I think that he might have already fallen asleep, but then he speaks.

 “Those were some of my old friends.”

I frown, thinking of the way he interacted with them. “They’re your friends?” The words come out, before I have a chance to stop them. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I guess I can’t picture you guys hanging out together. They seem so, I don’t know, loud maybe isn’t the right word. Outgoing? And you seem like you’re a lot more…relaxed.”

“Well, we’re not as close as we used to be.”

I don’t know if I should say anything else. Each of his answers sparks another question, but I’ve only known him for half a day. It’s not like we’re friends. Well, maybe we’re not friends, but I do feel as though something has changed between us. Standing out near the ocean and unleashing a wave of emotion together seems to have altered our dynamic. It’s created an opening, a small door between the two of us. All I have to do is reach out, and turn the handle.

“Did something happen between you guys?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, gently.

He’s quiet again, but I can hear him thinking, trying to consider whether or not to share.

“It’s okay to let it out,” I say, murmuring the words he said to me only a few moments ago.

He sighs, and I stare up at the sky, counting the stars while he collects his thoughts. Then finally, he starts.

“We used to be friends. More than friends, really. The six of us were a family."

 “Six?”

“One of our friends, my best friend, Reed, he died.” He says the words in a whisper, as if he can’t bear to hear the words aloud. “The Little Ones – fairies – well, we like to have fun. Probably too much fun. We’re usually nomads, roaming around in small groups, but when we’re all together… well, you saw how everyone was tonight.

“Most of it is usually harmless fun, but every now and then someone likes to play a trick that goes too far.” He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Fairies are generally impartial to humans. Sometimes a couple of us go through a Doorway and visit the human world; cause some innocent mischief and come back with a few new stories to tell. It’s not as popular as it once was, though, and most of us grew bored of it. So, some of the more daring fairies started to lure humans in, to play tricks on them. To taunt them or test them.”

“I probably should have told you all of this before,” he says, turning towards me.

My stomach sinks. Is this what Sage was doing? Had he lured me here? Tricked me into coming for some nefarious plan? But his next words soothe my fears. “That’s why I wanted to make sure your ears were covered when we got to town. I didn’t want anyone thinking that was why I brought you to the party.”

“I see,” I say, hesitantly.

“Anyway, one night, at one of these parties, I and one of the males you saw tonight, decided to bring a human with us. We all had fun, the human included. Reed was especially excited. He was always so fascinated with humans. He would watch them through the Doorway, but he never wanted to disturb them. Only observe. He thought they were so beautiful to watch. Such complex creatures, he said. He loved them from afar. None of our other friends understood it. I couldn’t really either, but I loved him anyway, more than the others did. He had more compassion than all of us combined.”

“When the sun came up, I planned on bringing the human back to his world. To let him think that he had experienced some crazy dream the night before, but he was gone. Our friends were gone too. Reed and I searched for him. We didn’t find him, but we did find our friends. And when they told us what they had done…Reed was furious. I had never seen him so angry in my life.”

I hold my breath, the worst possible scenarios flashing through my mind. An image of a man drowned. Of being mauled by a bear. Or forced down a cliff.

“They sent him to the forest, to see how he would fare against the Ghost.”

I think of the fairy we saw today. The sound of her screams. Her body crushed, blood and water creating a pool near her mouth. I squeeze my eyes against the image.

“Reed ran into the forest, and I hesitated. For a second, I hesitated. I let him go in to the Old Woods, after the human without me. By the time I decided to chase after him, to make sure Reed was okay, it was too late. The human was dead and Reed…well we found pieces of him not far from the human’s body.”

Sage inhales slowly, his breath wavering, and on impulse I reach out to grab his hand. Tears roll on either side of my temples, dampening my hair. There’s no keeping them in, and they flow freely.

I turn my head towards Sage, my stream of tears trailing across the bridge of my nose. He turns too, so that we’re face to face. In the light of the fire, I can see twin water streaks across his face too.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, wishing there was more that I could say. He squeezes my hand in response, and I squeeze his back in solidarity.

“For some reason,” he continues after a moment, “I was able to leave the woods unscathed, but I never tried to rejoin my friends. For years I traveled alone, becoming an echo of myself. A ghost, wandering the land, with no mission. No plan, but to get lost. To forget the mistake I made. Until one day, by some miracle, I managed to wake up. I saw what I had turned into and decided that I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I still kept to myself, but I made my way from Doorway to Doorway, keeping watch. Making sure nothing like what happened to that human, happened again. I did it for Reed, and for myself.

“Which was why when I saw you come through…well, first of all, I don’t know if you could tell, but I was shocked,” he says, smiling softly, “I’d never seen a human just wander through a Doorway, uninvited. Nonetheless, I knew I wanted to help you. First to help you get home, and then to help you pass through here safely while you looked for Mickey.

“You’ve been so brave and so patient. I admire your strength, your determination, your confidence,” he says, letting go of my hand to gently lift it to my face. It moves as hot as flames against my cheek, and I suppress the shiver that threatens to arise. “You never gave up, despite your fear. I know you were hurting tonight, but don’t lose hope. You’ll find him. We’ll find him,” he amends.

 I watch him carefully for a moment, before sitting up. He pulls his hand back, suddenly worried and unsure. An apology makes its way to his lips, but before he can speak I lean over him. I place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, our tears pressed together between our cheeks. It’s warm, though; just as warm as the campfire, but more soothing. It’s a quick kiss, and then I’m pulling back. When I look down at Sage, he has a bemused smile on his face.

“Thank you, Sage, for all of your help” I say, sincerely, “and for sharing your story with me.” Sage has done what very few have been able to do. He’s calmed my fears. Sharing a piece of himself with me has helped me to feel safe. Knowing the reason behind his actions allows me to trust him even more after all that he’s done for me today.

I turn around so that I’m facing the fire, and curl in on myself. Sage turns on his side as well, getting comfortable, before growing still.

“Good night,” I say, and then close my eyes, feeling more at peace with myself than I have in a while.

***

I wake up, feeling surprisingly well rested after having spent a night of sleeping on the ground. I’m still facing the fire, but it’s gone out. There are only white ashen pieces of wood left. During the night, Sage managed to wrap his arm around me, either for warmth or comfort. I smile to myself, still feeling the lingering peace I felt last night. Reluctantly, I lift his arm, sliding out. I stand up, looking around for a place to relieve myself. We’re far from the woods, but there are a few stray trees not far from the water, and I aim for those.

I spot a couple of campfires a few yards away, and even from here I can tell that most of them are either empty, or surrounded by sleeping figures – both fairy and animal. I keep my distance from them, not wanting to accidentally wake anyone up. I’m able to crouch behind a large beech tree, emptying my grateful bladder. I start to head back in the direction of our campsite, when I hear the rustle of leaves behind me.

I turn slowly, expecting to find a squirrel, or a seal making its way back to the ocean, but my stomach drops when I recognize the two females from the night before; Sage’s friends from the tavern. Suddenly the cozy warmth lingering in my bones is gone. It’s like someone has poured a bucket of ice water over my head. I back up slowly, getting ready to run, when I bump into someone behind me.

“Hello there,” comes the sound of a velvet smooth voice, and there are hands tightening around my wrists like shackles.

“Sage –” I begin to scream, but a male covers my mouth before I can say anything else.

“Hold her still,” says the other male, walking past the two females. It’s the one that winked at me before he left. He has that same Cheshire cat grin on his face. He saunters over to me, lifting his arm, but I don’t see it until it’s too late. A rock – he holds a rock in his hand. He brings it down on me sharply. The pain is brief, and then everything goes black.

SAGE

I startle awake, to the sound of the ocean and the echo of a cry ringing in my ears. The sleeping mat still smells like Olivia, but it’s otherwise empty. I turn, expecting to find her standing near the campsite or near the water, except she’s not there. I get to my feet, ready to start searching for her, when I see a figure walking towards me.

It’s Ash. He’s still missing his shirt, and he has his incessant grin marking his face. There’s a light to his eyes, a glimmer of mischief that brings me back to another morning just like this one. My heart beats painfully in my chest and I rush towards him, fury in every step I take.

“What did you do? Where is she?” I demand, hands gripping his biceps tightly.

“Sage, relax,” Ash says, moving out of my grasp. “She’s fine.”

“Where is she?” I repeat, my words coming out clipped.

“Look, we just wanted to have fun like the old days. I know Reed was annoyed last time, but you and he had your time away and now we can go back to the way things used to be. Reed can’t take a joke, but I assumed you would be different.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, we were only trying to help. You kept going from Doorway to Doorway, looking miserable, by the way. I could tell that you wanted to cross over, but you weren’t brave enough to do it yourself. So, I thought I’d step in and bring one of them to you.”

“What?” I say, my voice deadly quiet.

“Well, it was really more of an impulse. I beat you to the next Doorway on your route. I thought about maybe jumping in, finding a human for you, but she was already on other side, searching for her pet of all things. I mean, everything just fell into place. I played with the water a little, made her think that her dog fell in. She was just curious to peer into the water and then bam! She was already on our side of the Doorway.

“And, uh, I might have played with the water a little, changed it so she saw your face instead of mine, before pulling her through. I made her think her dog made it through too, hoping to get her attention and yours, and well, you know the rest.”

“So, he’s not here?”

“Who?”

“Her dog,” I say, my temper rising by the second.

“No, never came through.”

I stare out to my left. The ocean is still in the morning light, peaceful and hazy. The complete opposite to the angry blue flames licking at the inside of my chest.  She risked her life coming here for no reason. She could have gone home.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.”

“Oh, come on! I did you a favor. At least you got to enjoy this one on your own first,” he sneers, looking suggestively at the mat. “See how much fun you can have, now that you ditched Reed.”

“We didn’t – Wait what did you say about Reed?”

“Well, I assume since you’re traveling alone, that you left that loser behind a long time ago, and for good measure. I don’t think –”

Fury burns through me suddenly, killing my inhibitions. I’m on him before he knows what’s happening. I tackle him to the ground swiftly, clenching my hands around his neck.

“You fucking asshole! Reed is dead. He’s dead because of you and your stupid games.”

“Reed is dead?” he asks, with genuine surprise on his face, but I could care less.

“I’m going to ask you this one last time, and if you don’t answer me, you’re going to be the one that dies next. Now, where is she?”

OLIVIA

I wake up half groaning into loose dirt and damp leaves. My head is pounding where the male hit me, and when I open my eyes, it takes a minute for them to focus. It’s even slower getting to my feet, and I lean on the nearest tree for support. I take a deep breath, looking around warily. I knew when they caught me, where they might bring me, but my heart still sinks at the sight of the Old Woods.

The monster is fully awake now. No longer lulled to sleep, it’s rested and is ready for a fresh onslaught of attacks. Anxiety starts gnawing at the edges of my brain and I fight to keep it at bay, at least for a moment as I come up with an exit strategy.

I’m surrounded by trees, no openings to the path in sight. There’s the sound of birds darting between trees, causing the occasional pine cone to fall. I can hear the chitter of squirrels scurrying across the ground looking for nuts, and the sound of a nearby creek, but no ocean. It’s hard to see the sun from beneath the trees, but the sky is pale blue, which means it’s still early morning. So, they can’t have carried me too far and soon Sage will notice that I’m gone and come looking for me. I just need to find the edge of the woods as quietly and quickly as possible before it’s too late.

Even though I can’t spot the sun, one side of the sky is clearly brighter than the other. Assuming my vision is accurate enough, all I need to do is head north east to reach the ocean, and to leave the woods.

I stumble from one tree to the next, keeping my footsteps as silent as I can. I avoid branches and the crunch of nuts. I’m quite certain that I have at least a mild concussion, but I ignore the ringing in my ears and instead focus on setting one foot in front of the other. It’s slow going, but I think I’m making progress.

I walk about fifteen minutes before I have to take a break. I’m scared that if I sit on the ground I’ll be too tired to get up, so instead I sag against a tree. My breath comes in and out in gasps, but eventually it slows, and that’s when I hear it.

The silence. No more birds or fallen pine cones. No more squirrels. Everything has gone still. I sit up, panic coursing through my body, and force myself to keep walking. I’m less careful, probably making more noise than before, but I don’t care. My brain is telling me to keep moving, to get out – out as fast as I can. Which is how I end up stumbling over something in my path. I land hard on the earth, hands reaching out to break my fall.

I gasp in pain, clutching my left wrist. I look around, turning instinctively to see what made me fall, and find myself staring into a pair of shadowed eyes.

SAGE

I race through the Old Woods silently. Memories keep flooding back to me. The image of the human, lying on his side, clutching his throat, dead. Reed, pieces of him strewn about, flesh exposed, blood trailing across scattered leaves. I blink hard, willing my mind to forget. He's gone. I can’t think of him now. I have to find Olivia.

The image shifts, my mind conjuring up new images. Olivia, torn to pieces. Olivia’s blood across the mossy earth. The sound of Olivia’s cries like the sound of swords clashing in fury. I push those too from my mind, but the sound…The sound of Olivia calling my name won’t leave. I skid to a stop, kicking up leaves as I truly pause to listen. It’s faint, but I hear it. Olivia, calling my name. Calling for help. Screaming in pain.

I take off, sprinting towards the sound.

“Olivia,” I shout, without thinking. She doesn’t seem to hear, but I’m getting closer. I’m almost there, the sound of her wails reaching a fever pitch.

I brush past a few more trees, then draw my sword, materializing it from the air behind me, ready to fight the creature that took away my best friend, and is threatening to take away my newest one.

But there’s nothing left to save. A whine leaves my throat and I drop my sword, falling to my knees.

Olivia, her dark braids soaked through with blood. Her fingers stained red, her chest open. Her heart on display for all to see. My hands frame her face of their own accord, holding her, willing her to wake up, but her eyes won’t open. How – how could this happen again? Leaning back, I look up at the sky, a blur of pale blue light, and shout in fury.

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair.

I bow my head, squeezing my eyes shut. My body begins to quiver and I suddenly realize that I’m crying. I don’t stifle a gasp, or a moan. I could care less if the Ghost heard me. I failed. I failed Olivia. I failed Reed.

I hear the munch of footsteps behind me over the sound of my cries, but I don’t move. I can’t. I can’t even bare to open my eyes and see Olivia’s broken body in front of me.

Behind me, a shriek pierces the sky – the sound of a ghost – in warning, right before it lunges out at me.

OLIVIA

I’m so shocked, I’m not even able to scream. I – I tripped over bones. Over a skeleton. Its eyes empty, now only dark sockets. Bony hands clutch its throat, as if clawing for breath. Its body crumbled, as if forced into a space clearly too small for the size of its bones. I scramble to my feet, eager to get away from it. I clutch my wrist, moving it carefully. I'm happy to find that it’s not broken, only sore. I take a step back, hoping to put distance between myself and the body, when I hear a sickening crunch under my foot. A hand. There are pieces of a hand beneath my foot. Bones turned into slim white shards. I look around, carefully, and notice there are bones scattered across the mossy earth.

His name pops in my head: Reed. I’m standing on Reed’s hand.

Then the skeleton must be…the human. The one Reed tried to save.

I take a shuddering breath, frozen to the spot. I’m stuck in a nightmare. The monster tears into my side, piercing my lungs. Air seeps out and I can’t seem to breathe. It tears its way to my heart, clutching it in its icy claws. I gasp, clutching my chest. Words echo in the back of my mind. A panic attack. I’m having a panic attack. This can’t be happening. Not now. I need to leave, if the Ghost finds me I’m dead. Just as dead as Reed is beneath my foot.

What do I do? What do I do?

The image of Sage’s face in front of mine pops into my mind. His exaggerated breathing. Sage looking me in the eyes, trying to get me to copy him the last time I had a panic attack. I hold onto the memory and force myself to breath in slowly. In and out. In and out.

I remember him walking, tapping his hands, his sides, and his collarbone with two fingers. I do it, trying to focus on the movement and on my breath. One-minute passes. Three minutes. Five. Slowly, the monster releases me and my breath starts to come back. My mind clears and I am able to think. To move. I take a step back, then another, and carefully retreat from the scene.

I turn around once the skeletons are out of sight, holding on to a nearby tree for balance. I pray I didn’t cause enough of a ruckus to attract the Ghost. I’m about to keep walking when I hear the sound of Sage’s voice call my name.

I freeze, unsure if I imagined it. I wait, hoping to hear it again, but it doesn’t come. Nonetheless, I race forward. Ten steps and I’m already out of breath. I call Sage’s name, but it’s too quiet. Too quiet for even his ears, but I don’t stop. I keep moving. I force myself to keep moving. If we can just find each other. We can get out. We’ve done it before. We’ll get out, and everything will be okay. We’ll be fine.

I think I’m pretty close when I hear another shout – Sage’s voice, crying out in anguish. I trip over my own feet at the sound, but manage to catch myself. The Ghost. It found him. I make a sharp right turn, towards the sound. I’m not sure what I can do to help, if anything. I’m not even sure if I should be running this way, or if I should be heading in the other direction, but then I’m already there. Looking at Sage’s back. He seems unharmed, although he’s shaking.

I open my mouth to speak, when I notice that he’s crouched around something. I take a step forward, peering over his shoulder, only to look into my own face. I – I look dead. Sage’s head is bowed, he’s crying I realize. So, he doesn’t see it when the body’s eyes start to flutter. Pieces of a puzzle in my mind start to fall into place; the fairy who fell from the cliff, the human Reed tried to save. Sage, now staring at my broken body.

Sage’s sword lays fallen behind him and I quietly pick it up. I take a few steps closer, struggling to lift the heavy sword. My arms shake and my left wrist aches, but I manage to hold it steady.

“Move, Sage!” I say, just as the Ghost opens its eyes – my eyes. It raises its hand, now tipped with sharp claws, ready to shred Sage’s chest open, but he moves just in time. I lunge with his sword, but the Ghost is too fast, darting out of the way like a snake.

Sage appears by my side, taking his sword back from me. He barely has a chance to look at me, his eyes red, but relieved, before he scoops me up in his arms. He takes off, running much faster than I thought he could have with me in his arms. I cling to him, gratefully, and realize he’s running northeast, towards the ocean.

I can hear the sound of rustling leaves behind us. Branches are snapped from their trees. Rocks kicked with alarming force, marking nearby trunks. It’s getting closer. Sage picks up his speed. There’s light in the distance. An opening leading out of the woods. We’re almost there. We’re going to make it. We’re going to –

Sage comes to an abrupt stop, stumbling a few feet from the last couple of trees. He puts me down quickly, drawing his sword from the air, and turns around looking for the Ghost. I’m so disoriented that it takes me a second to realize why we stopped. Looking past the last few trees is the ocean, bright and shimmering under the morning sun. But between us and the ocean, is the path and a startling drop. We’re on the cliff. The cliff that I now think the fairy might have jumped off of.

A plan starts to materialize in my mind and I reach for Sage as his eyes dart back and forth between trees, searching for the Ghost.

“A knife,” I whisper, “I need a knife.”

Without turning around, he plucks one from the air and hands it to me. It’s a simple knife, sheathed in a leather scabbard. I tuck it carefully into the loops on the back of my jeans, and then cover it with my shirt.

The Old Woods are silent for a breath, and then the Ghost steps out. It’s me again, or the Ghost transformed to look like the dead version of me. She walks up to Sage slowly as if she has all the time in the world. She smiles cruelly, showing teeth stained with blood. Her mouth moves, as if trying to form words, but all that comes out is a strangled hiss. Sage tenses, as if he’s getting ready to charge, but before he can I step around him.

He grabs my arm, ready to pull me behind him, when the Ghost begins to change. It’s switching forms, turning into something else. Something I recognize. A mass of solid tar. Gleaming red eyes. An oblong mouth, filled with pointy teeth. Claws dripping with my blood. The monster – anxiety – stands in front of me, in the flesh.

I’m prepared though.

Images flash through my mind. The fairy who jumped from the cliff with water and blood seeping from the corner of her mouth, as if she had been choking on water. As if was about to drown on dry land. The human Reed tried to save, his bony hand clutching his throat, as if gasping for breath. Body crumpled as if locked in a tight space. But it wasn’t until I saw Sage clutching my dead body that I realized.

“The Ghost feeds on the fears of others,” I say, as I walk closer to its hunched figure, “It paralyzes its victims by making them experience their worst fears, and then it kills them. Sage, your worst fear is that you’ll end up breaking the promise you made to Reed, to yourself. That you’ll have to watch another human die, knowing that you’ve made the same mistake twice.”

The Ghost disguised as the monster involuntarily stumbles back as I get closer. Suddenly, the oozing tar skin of the monster begins to change, the Ghost twists as it starts to transform again. “And my worst fear is anxiety…or at least, it was.” Its red eyes start to fade, its needle-sharp teeth retracting. It tries to step away from me, but stumbles as its body fluctuates between forms. 

I keep my breathing steady as I take another step closer, and another. Willing myself to focus on my breathing, and not the fear of death, or fear of fear itself. Anxiety is not a creature you can fight. It’s a realization I’ve made only because I’ve tried, repeatedly, and failed repeatedly.  If I try to fight it, I’m going to lose. The only way to stop it, is to accept it.

Last night, Sage told me to let it all out. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to let it all out. No more holding things back. No more trying to push it away, or hide it, or waiting for it to fix itself.

Pulling out the knife from behind my back, I lunge forward, plunging it deep into the Ghost’s chest. I pull my hand back, my knife drenched in black liquid, before stabbing it again. It wails in pain and swings a limb towards me in alarm, throwing me back. I land on the ground hard, but then Sage is there, arching his sword through the sky like an angel soaring down from the heavens to slay a demon.

He breathes steadily, managing his fear as he steps up to the Ghost and slices across its midsection. Black blood spurts, splashing the bottom of my shoes, as the creature’s body lands in two pieces.

Sage stands over the body, his breathing labored. He plunges his sword into the top half of the body, making sure the sword is deep into the earth, before stepping back.

He turns towards me, seemingly a bit wobbly as he walks over to me. The ground tilts, ostensibly uneven. It’s not until he’s holding my face that I realize how dizzy I am. The world spins around me, the shape of Sage’s face losing focus. I think he’s trying to tell me something, but I’m unable to move my lips. I sigh in resignation, and everything goes dark.

The Talk

OLIVIA

I wake up to blinding light illuminating the back of my eyelids. I open my eyes slowly, scared of what I will find, then relax when I see that Sage is sitting by my side. Grass tickles the side of my face and I sit up, rubbing my face carefully.

I focus my gaze on Sage, surprised to see him so clearly. The ringing in my ears is gone. The dizziness. The headache. I’m pretty sure if I tried to walk, my balance would be fine too.

I open my mouth to ask Sage what happened, but he beats me to the answer.

“I gave you a healing potion,” he says, gently, “I couldn’t let you go home with a concussion. Especially, since you saved my life.”

“I did not –”

“You did. You were the one who discovered the Ghost’s trick. We would not have made it out alive if it wasn’t for you.”

“Well, consider it a thank you for the time you saved me.”

He smiles softly, before pulling me in for a hug.

“How are you feeling, though, really? Did the potion work?” he asks, into my shoulder.

“I feel fine. Back to normal,” I say, my voice muffled in his shirt. “You don’t happen to have a few spare potions, do you? I could really use that back on the other side.”

Sage bursts out with laughter, almost unexpectedly. He pulls back, grinning widely.

“I do, but unfortunately it won’t work in your world. There’s no magic there.”

“Ah, right.”

His smile fades as he watches me, and mine disappears as well, as his face grows serious.

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

The explanation comes out slowly at first, but then quicker the more his frustration grows. How his friends pulled me through the Doorway. How they tricked us into thinking Mickey was here. How they thought they would surprise Sage with another trick: me, trying my luck with the Ghost.

I hold my face in my hands halfway through, unable to hold back my frustrated tears – not that I would want to. Sage pulls me into his arms again, running his hand up and down my back.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry they put you through this.”

I uncover my face and curl my arms around him, bringing us closer. Tears continue to run down my face, but I don’t wipe them right away.

“I’m sorry they put you through this, too,” I say, my voice thick. I keep my head against his chest, and he keeps his arms wrapped around me, neither of us willing to move just yet. “At least Mickey’s safe at home, as long as he didn’t wander off…”

“He didn’t wander off,” he says, assuredly. “I looked through the Doorway while you were recovering. It looked like he was sleeping.”

“You saw him?” I scramble to my feet. Even with a view obscured by grass, trees, and wildlife, I should have recognized where we were. There’s the pond a few yards away. There’s the rock that I pulled myself up on after I fell into the water. And just beyond that, a clearing, where my house should sit.

Sage takes my hand and helps guide me up the weather worn beige stones, so that we’re standing right at the edge of the water. The sun is at its highest point in the pale blue sky, once again creating a perfect mirror. The longer I look at it though, the more I realize that it’s not a mirror. It’s a window. I can see to the other side. The sun. The sky. And my house, with Mickey on the front porch, fast asleep.

I’m so ready to jump. To make this leap. To go back to my old life, with one small exception; to no longer allow anxiety to control my life. To finally dig out the paint in the back of my closet. To pick up that paint brush and finally commit my ideas to canvas. The fear of failure is still there, pricking my chest, but I know now that the only way through is to accept it. To accept the anxiety and manage it from there.

There’s just one thing I can’t seem to shake.

“Come with me,” I say, turning suddenly to Sage.

He looks at me in surprise. It might be the first time I’ve seen Sage speechless.

“There’s no one left for you on this side. But I’m here. I’m here for you.”

He watches me carefully, his eyes warm, but uncertain.

He brings his lips to mine, pulling me in by my waist. I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him as a fire builds steadily in my chest. He kisses me with passion, holding me tightly, but there’s a sadness to it. As if he’s saying goodbye.

I break the kiss, but he keeps me close.

“Sage –” I say, not ready to hear him say goodbye.

“I can’t come with you,” he whispers, “not yet. I need to find Ash and the others. They…they didn’t know about Reed. I need to explain what happened. Let them know what they did. Maybe punch him in his smug face a few hundred times.”

“Fine, I can understand that,” I say, pulling back. “But make sure you tell him that half of those punches are coming from me, okay?”

He smiles, a hint of sadness on his lips, before pulling me into him again. I hug him fiercely, crushing my lips to his. A few tears escape and when he pulls back, he wipes them away lovingly.

“Apparently, this is going to be a regular occurrence,” I say, gesturing towards my face, as I sniff.

He laughs softly. “Hopefully, not for long,” he says, letting me go. He says it in a way that promises more; that we’ll meet again.

“How will you find me?”

“Even after all this time, you have so little faith in me.”

“I do have faith. I trust you.” It’s the biggest compliment I can give.

I step away from him, staring at the surface of the pond. At the glass, about to be broken.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say, instead of goodbye. Taking a steadying breath, I make the leap off the edge and plunge into the water.

Epilogue

OLIVIA

Seven Months Later

I balance my tablet precariously on the table, next to my textbook and a tall cup of coffee. As much as I love to work in the studio, I can only spend so much time in that space. At least at a coffee shop there’s a change of scenery. A change of company. A change of pace.

Here I don’t have to be surrounded by classmates. Around fellow graduate students stressed about art. Here it’s the stress of every other adult, busy with their regular lives. Well, except for George, a boy in one of my classes who is currently sitting at a table in the corner of the shop. He’s scribbling so intensely on his tablet that the whole building could come down and he’d still be immortalizing the image stamped in his mind.

Looking back down at the table, I shift my attention back to my work. My stylus strokes across the screen, leaving traces of fiery orange, dark grey shadows, and colorful wild creatures. Fairies dance around a campfire, white strands of hair thrown back as they enjoy their music. Animals balancing on their paws, swaying to the music. The light of the fire illuminating the scene like a warm spotlight.

The bell of the coffee shop rings, echoing through the shop for the hundredth time. I ignore it, keeping my head down. It was distracting when I first got here, but now it’s just another sound in the background as I work hard to finish this piece.

I don’t notice it at first, but the bustling of the coffee shop has quieted, as if everyone is holding his or her breath. It becomes noticeable enough that I have to look up, to see what has interrupted everybody’s busy morning. A quick glance around the room shows me that even George is looking up from his work, his mouth hanging open. I follow his gaze to the entrance and find a man standing in the doorway, wearing a dark coat and a plaid scarf around his neck. His hair pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, a shock of thick white hair against copper skin. A grin creeps across my face as he takes quick strides across the shop. I’m already on my feet by the time he reaches my table, and he walks straight into my arms. I cling to him tightly.

“Told you I could do it,” he says, against my cheek.

“I never doubted it.”

The End