To See You Again

Brooklyn had a way of making history feel crowded.

Rain drummed against the windows of the subway car as Zoe Decker stared at her reflection in the glass. The city blurred by in streaks of yellow light and wet concrete, but she barely noticed.

She had lost her job forty-three minutes ago...

Not that she was counting.

Her boss had given her the usual speech. Budget cuts... Restructuring... Nothing personal.

The words bounced around her skull like a bad joke; As if she hadn't already spent the last month trying to learn how to exist without Damien.

A month. Thirty-one days since the phone call.

Thirty-one days since a state trooper had knocked on her apartment door at two in the morning.

Thirty-one days since someone had explained that a drunk driver had crossed the median and hit Damien's car head-on.

Thirty-one days since her entire future had ceased to exist.

The wedding invitations were still sitting in a box in her closet.

The guest list was still saved on her laptop.

Sometimes she even caught herself reaching for her phone to text him.

Sometimes she even typed the message before remembering.

The worst part was that the world kept moving...

People still laughed, coffee shops still opened...

Neighbors still complained about parking spaces.

The city acted as though nothing important had happened.

As if Damien Grey had never existed at all.

A gust of cold wind shoved rain beneath her umbrella.

"Perfect," she muttered.

By the time she reached her block, her shoes were soaked.

The warm glow of a coffee shop on the corner caught her eye.

Normally, she would have gone straight home.

Normally, Damien would be there waiting for her.

But home wasn't really home anymore. It was just a place full of ghosts.

So she crossed the street.

The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside.

The smell of coffee and cinnamon wrapped around her like a blanket.

For the first time all day, she felt warm.

The shop was mostly empty.

A college student worked on a laptop in the corner.

An elderly couple shared a muffin by the window.

A barista with bright blue hair offered a sympathetic smile.

"What can I get you?"

"The strongest thing you've got."

The barista laughed.

"I'll take that as a large coffee."

Zoe managed a small smile.

A moment later, she settled onto a stool at the counter.

Steam curled from the surface of her coffee.

Outside, rain crawled down the windows in silver rivers.

Inside, everything was quiet.

For the first time all day, nobody expected anything from her.

Nobody wanted explanations or optimism...

Nobody wanted her to be okay.

She wrapped both hands around the mug and stared into the dark liquid.

"Rough day?"

The voice startled her. A man had taken the seat beside her.

She hadn't even heard him sit down.

He looked to be somewhere in his forties.

Dark coat, dark hair, and calm eyes.

The sort of face that disappeared in a crowd.

Zoe gave a half-hearted smile.

"Yeah."

The man nodded as though she had confirmed something he already knew.

Then he reached into his coat pocket and slid a black card across the counter. No logo, no company name... Just an address printed in silver lettering.

Zoe frowned.

"What is this?"

The man stood.

"The answer to all your problems."

She almost laughed.

"Right."

"I know you have no reason to believe me," he said. "You don't know me. But you should go."

He adjusted his coat.

"See for yourself."

Before she could ask another question, he walked toward the door.

The bell chimed... Then he was gone.

Just another stranger disappearing into the rain.

Zoe looked down at the card.

A single address. Nothing more.

For a moment, she considered throwing it away.

Instead, she slipped it into the pocket of her jacket.

Then she picked up her coffee and forgot all about it.

The card should have ended up in the trash.

That was what sensible people did with mysterious invitations from strangers.

Unfortunately, Zoe had never been particularly sensible when grief was involved.

Three days later, she stood in her apartment staring at an overdue electric bill. The final notice sat beside a stack of unpaid wedding deposits that she still hadn't found the courage to cancel.

Flowers... Catering... A photographer.

Thousands of dollars spent on a future that no longer existed.

The apartment felt smaller these days.

Every room contained a memory.

Damien's favorite mug still sat in a cabinet.

His running shoes remained beside the door.

His jacket still hung from the coat rack because she couldn't bring herself to move it.

Some nights she swore she could still smell his cologne.

She knew it was impossible... that didn't stop her from looking.

A sharp knock echoed through the apartment.

Zoe jumped.

A moment later she remembered... The landlord.

Again.

She ignored the door, and eventually the footsteps retreated.

Silence returned.

The kind of silence that felt heavy... Oppressive... Alive.

With a sigh, she grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair.

A small black rectangle slipped from the pocket and landed on the floor.

The card.

She stared at it.

For a moment, she considered tossing it into the trash.

Instead, she picked it up.

The silver lettering gleamed beneath the kitchen light.

The address was only a few subway stops away.

Brooklyn.

An area she'd passed through dozens of times.

Nothing remarkable or suspicious...

Just another street in another neighborhood.

"What am I doing?" she muttered.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Anything...

Anything to stop thinking.

Anything to avoid sitting alone in an apartment that felt like a mausoleum.

An hour later, she found herself standing in front of the address and immediately wished she hadn't come... Because there was nothing there.

At least nothing that made sense.

The address led her to a narrow space squeezed between two aging brownstones. No storefront, no windows, no sign... Just a black door.

One solitary black door sitting where no door should have been.

Rainwater dripped from a nearby fire escape.

A cold breeze rattled loose newspaper along the sidewalk.

Zoe checked the card again.

Same address.

"This is stupid."

Yet she remained standing there.

A strange feeling tugged at her chest.

Curiosity... Or maybe desperation.

Sometimes they felt the same.

She climbed the short set of steps and knocked.

Nothing happened.

For several seconds, there was only silence...

Then a voice crackled through an unseen speaker.

"Hello. How may I help you?"

Zoe nearly jumped out of her skin.

She looked around for a camera but couldn't find one.

"Uh..." Suddenly she felt ridiculous.

What exactly was she supposed to say?

A stranger gave me a card, and now I'm here?

The voice waited patiently.

"I was given an address."

A pause.

"Go on."

"Someone at a coffee shop gave me a card and told me that I should come here."

Silence...

"Name?"

"Zoe Decker."

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Almost as though someone was checking something.

Finally, the voice returned.

"Welcome, Ms. Decker."

A metallic click sounded and the door unlocked.

"Please come in."

The door slowly swung inward.

Zoe hesitated... Every warning she'd ever heard screamed inside her head. This is how people end up on true crime documentaries.

But something stronger pushed back. The same thing that had gotten her out of bed every morning since Damien died.

Hope.

Even when hope made no sense.

She stepped through the doorway and the world instantly changed.

Her feet froze.

The hallway beyond the door should not have existed.

From the outside, the space between the buildings couldn't have been more than six feet wide.

Yet beyond the threshold stretched an enormous white room.

Brilliant, spotless, and Endless.

The walls gleamed like polished marble.

The ceiling rose at least thirty feet overhead.

There were no decorations or artwork.

No visible lights... But everything glowed with a soft, even illumination.

At the center sat a single white desk.

Behind it sat a woman dressed entirely in white.

The woman smiled warmly.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Decker."

Zoe stared. Then looked behind her.

The black door still existed.

Still opened onto the rainy Brooklyn street.

Somehow this impossible room remained.

Her pulse quickened.

"What is this place?"

The woman stood.

"You'll understand soon enough."

That wasn't an answer.

The woman seemed unconcerned.

"Please follow me."

Against every instinct she possessed, Zoe obeyed.

The woman led her across the pristine room toward a set of double doors. As they approached, Zoe noticed there were no seams in the walls. No vents, no security cameras... Nothing.

This place looked less like a building and more like an idea of a building.

Perfect, artificial, and impossible.

The double doors opened soundlessly.

A bright blue light swept over Zoe from head to toe.

She stopped.

"What was that?"

"Registration."

The woman continued walking.

"Registration for what?"

"For you."

That answer somehow explained even less.

A long hallway stretched ahead.

Every surface remained stark white.

Identical doors lined both sides. Dozens of them. Perhaps hundreds.

Each completely featureless.

Each perfectly identical.

Zoe's unease deepened.

"What exactly is this place?"

The woman smiled.

"The place people come when they need something they cannot find anywhere else."

Before Zoe could ask another question, they stopped before one of the doors.

The woman turned,

For the first time, her expression became serious.

"Place your hand on the wall."

"What?"

"The wall."

Zoe hesitated.

Then slowly pressed her palm against the smooth white surface.

A faint pulse of light spread beneath her hand, like ripples moving through the water. The wall hummed softly.

A voice emerged from nowhere.

"Identity confirmed."

The door slid open.

Zoe stared. Beyond it waited a room unlike anything she had ever seen.

She had absolutely no idea that within the next five minutes, everything she believed about reality was about to shatter.

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