“This has to be a dream,” she said, unable to convince herself. But the warm rush of air across her legs and face was far too real. Perhaps she had fallen into a drunken slumber and this was a fever dream? The stress of her week must have finally gotten to her, and seeing that creepy lawyer had been her brain tossing one final detail into this bizarre fantasy.
She had plenty of time to contemplate these things as she fell.
MAN IN THE MIRROR
Beth’s fall slowed dramatically before impact, and she was easily able to rotate her body to land softly on her feet. Looking up, all she could see were the clouds she had passed through on the way down. There were now several red marks on her left arm, each one from a nasty pinch that she’d given herself to try to wake up from this strangest of dreams. Now that she was on the ground, she saw that she stood in a beautiful garden with a large marble gazebo in the middle.
“How peculiar,” she said, expecting her voice to echo, or come out low, or do anything that would make her realize that she was, in fact, lying in her bed. Her sanity had already taken too many hits recently, and she felt like she was one crack away from using a crayon to write legal briefs for dead celebrities. Turning in place, she realized that the garden itself was a giant floating island. After walking to the edge, she frowned at the large amount of sky underneath. Whatever ground existed was somewhere below the distant mists. Squinting, she thought she saw the ripple of waves through the gaps in the fog.
Smoothing out her nightgown, she turned to the garden.
“Okay, dream logic. Clearly the gazebo is meant to be my destination. Probably reminiscent of my latent sexual frustrations or my father’s inability to express his love.” Beth turned toward one of the nearby hedges. A small statue of a bird with a top hat turned its head to face her. “What do you think, Mr. Bird?”
“Nevermore?” The statue shrugged its wings.
Beth saluted the bird statue, which returned the gesture in kind. Beth wandered through the shorter hedges, stopping to smell the crimson flowers that sprouted above their clipped tops. They smelled of lavender and sulfur, the scent burning Beth’s nostrils. Other small statues of animals in top hats greeted her, removing hats or waving pleasantly when she walked past, her nightgown catching on some of the thicker branches.
The hedges had no discernible logic, but Beth was content to drift between them. After all, she would probably wake up the moment she reached the center, no matter when that happened. She greeted more of the statues, which had become larger and more intricate. An elephant used its trunk to tip its hat to her before resuming its gentle spray of water on the foliage.
Beneath the gazebo, a picnic-style lunch had been spread out on a red blanket. Wines, cheeses, and a tray of meats awaited her. Soft red cushions surrounded the picnic, and Beth sat down on one of them. After grabbing a bottle of wine, she poured herself a drink.
“I see that someone has joined me.” His voice was thick with an accent that reminded her of every Russian character she had ever seen in a movie. Taking the cushion opposite her, he lifted the tails of his jacket before sitting. He wore a bright-white button-down with a purple coat and a matching top hat. His skin was a dusky purple with hints of red in the shadows of his eye sockets, and when he removed his hat, a tangle of black-and-red hair spilled around his shoulders. Two large horns protruded from the upper part of his forehead, and his toothy grin was full of daggers. His bright-yellow eyes glowed in the shadows of the gazebo. “I am always in the mood for some good company.”
“Ah, shit.” It all made sense now. Between the demon and the ominous sky, she was clearly in hell. Determined to play along with the dream, she set her cheese back down on the blanket. “That’s just fucking great. Now I can’t eat any of this.”
“Why not? I assure you that the food here is very good.” To demonstrate, he popped a piece of cheese in his mouth. “Delicious.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s delicious but not immortal-soul delicious.” Beth crossed her arms. “I’m guessing that if I eat the food, I get stuck here. Simple as that.”
Her host never broke stride, his smile fixed. “Come now, why would I want to trap you here?”
“Duh.” Beth held up a finger on each hand and stuck them to her forehead. “Demon. Maybe you’re bored or you have a quota to meet.”
The demon laughed. “You really must try this food. I picked it out just for you.”
“Well, maybe just a bite.” Beth lifted the glass in a mock salute and paused. Logic dictated that this was a dream, but it all felt so very real. A lucid dream, perhaps? A breeze tousled her hair, and she shivered. She had been playing along, but now she wondered if she should play it safe. “After all, it isn’t every day that a demon makes you a meal. What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, I wish I could tell you,” the demon replied. “Frankly, I am a little surprised to see you down here. Generally I am informed of my guests prior to meeting them. Your arrival was a bit of a shock.”
“I see. Yet you have quite the spread.” Beth spilled a bit of wine on the back of her hand and wiped it off on her gown. The stain blossomed throughout the fabric, and she did a quick mental count of her fingers. She had read somewhere that a finger count was a good test
