I sat at the dining table. We were in her parent’s place. The smell of brewing coffee and sizzling eggs filled my nose like a long-forgotten memory.

  Miranda didn’t speak to me. She hadn’t since we left the bedroom. Her back faced me with the cold shoulders. I looked down at my fleshy hands and clenched them. Maybe I should just wring her neck and be done with it. But, for some reason, that didn’t feel like the right answer. This didn’t appear like an illusion meant to trick. I needed to figure out what it was.

  “You’re not real.”

  “How many times are you going to fucking say that to me?” Miranda snapped at me. She smashed her wooden spoon down on the counter. The utensil snapped in half. “Did someone punch you in the head? Did you smoke something laced? What’s wrong with you?”

  “We don’t have to pretend,” I replied. “Let’s skip to the important part.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Miranda demanded. “I’m the one that woke up with hands around my throat. Have you finally fucking lost it you dumbass?!”

  “I told you already, you’re not real. I’m in Hell-“

  A loud crashing sound appeared above my head and glass shards rained down atop me. I touched the top of my head and reddish liquid coated my fingers. I gave it a sniff.

  Wine.

  “No, I’m the one who’s in Hell,” she asserted.

  I had to give the magic here credit for the authenticity. Nothing destroys the illusion of how great things were than to relive it firsthand. How often did we fight like this? How quickly did it devolve into a screaming match? A bottle, a lamp, or whatever she had at hand be launched across the room to strike me. Maybe I should be relieved that she was feeling well enough to attack me with a glass bottle.

  “I’m sorry I choked you, I was confused,” I apologized.

  “Where were you?”

  “What are you talking about? The state executed me,” I answered with a laugh. “They injected me with chemicals and I went down into an infernal abyss. You probably didn’t notice because you were too busy being high.”

  Her body drooped and a crestfallen look crossed her face. I could see shame in her eyes.

  “I know I relapsed,” she whimpered. “That’s why you left me. But, why are you talking about dying in jail. I got better and you came back. We were a family again. But, now I wake up to you choking me with a look that you don’t love me anymore. Are you still holding a grudge? Is this your way of punishing me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  What a bizarre illusion. It couldn’t even get the details right. That, or Miranda is so deluded that she can’t accept that I’m dead. I know her mother got dementia at a young age, but this seems extreme.

  We turned our heads to the sound of the front door opening. I walked in with a kid. Well, someone who looked exactly like me walked in with a version of Gunner that looked to be about eleven. My son went wide-eyed with shock as he looked from me to the version of his father that stood next to him.

  Miranda screamed as if I had stabbed her in the chest. She scurried away from me in a panic.

  “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?” My doppelganger demanded me.

  I smiled. That’s exactly what I would have said if the roles were reversed. He was already charging me without waiting for the answer, a great move. But, I looked so…uncoordinated with that shoulder charge.

  Was it because of the tricks I picked up in jail and Hell? I didn’t look scary at all. I stepped in and kicked the shin of the plant foot. My alternate version lost balance, allowing me to grab onto him and throw him to the ground.

  I picked up a shard of glass from the ground and jammed it into his throat. A look of surprise crossed his face. If he were me, this would have been his first defeat. And so handedly too. I could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to comprehend what had happened but it only made me embarrassed at how tough I once was.

  “Dad!” Gunner shouted as he was frozen in place with fear.

  Miranda screeched. I looked up to see her rushing at me with a kitchen knife. I swallowed for a moment before punching her full-force in the face. She collapsed to the ground, the back of her head hitting the tile hard. Blood pooled on the kitchen floor.

  “Mom!” Gunner screamed.

  I picked up the blade and stood up. The kid was just standing there. No survival instincts. Didn’t even run. Is this the kind of child that came from me? It was unacceptable. The world would eat him alive as soon as they saw his weakness.

  “So, that’s what this was,” I said to myself as I walked over to my weeping son. “A vision of what would have been if I didn’t kill Miranda’s dealer. Boy, tell me what your father did for work.”

  “H-he w-as a s-ec-curity guard,’ Gunner stammered.

  “Who did he work for?”

  “A-a man n-named Mr. C-Charles.”

  “Ha!” I exclaimed, making Gunner jump in surprise. “Looks like you survive in this world, Charles. You must have been more stressed about the mass arrests than you led on.”

  I looked back at the two bodies on the floor. If I wasn’t executed, I would have continued living like a dog until I died. I would have been forced to conform to a world that I didn’t belong in with a woman who kept making the same mistakes and raising a son who didn’t know how to fucking run away when someone was killing his family.

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  “What a dog shit life.”

  The charade was over. I stabbed my fake son in the neck. He didn’t move away from me; just took it without a fight like a disappointment.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured, patting my dying son on the head. “You weren’t real to begin with.”

  I turned up the gas stove to high and placed a stack of coupons and fabric on it. Wisps of smoke floated through the hallway as I walked out of the house. I stood in the lawn for what felt like hours as the flames slowly rose up and consumed every single scrap of that building. I watched until it became embers, white hot in the earth.

  But, the illusion did not end.

  With a sigh, I turned around to face an identical house to the one that I destroyed. I walked to the front door and opened it up. Candles that smelled like fall filled my nose. Pictures hung from the wall. I saw a photo of the three of us wearing matching outfits. I had none of my tattoos and Miranda looked like she was healthy. Her features were gaunt, but vibrant.

  I walked into the kitchen where a fake me was eating dinner with Miranda and Gunner. They all looked happy and the place didn’t reek of smoke and grime.

  “Who are you?” Miranda shrieked as my illusion hopped to his feet.

  He looked strong, only in the sense that he maintained a workout regimen. But, the way that he stood, the way that he lacked any sort of aggression outside of protecting his family was concerning to me.

  This me had never killed anyone. He ran away from home with Miranda.

  “Where’s Kenny?”

  “Kenny died years ago,” the illusion of myself said in confusion. “He hung himself. Why are you asking about Kenny? Why do you look like me?”

  “You chose Miranda over Kenny,” I said knowingly. “I imagine that you were so focused on paying for your own expenses that you couldn’t afford to help Kenny. Education costs money. Shit, even the SAT costs money. I bet Charles killed dad as soon as you stopped working for him and Kenny couldn’t cope.”

  My illusion took a step back, shock covered his face. My conjecture was right on the money. I knew because I had agonized over it as well. Do I abandon Kenny to save Miranda or neglect Miranda and save Kenny? My life is definitely better. My son looks better.

  Maybe everything was better.

  “Was that wrong?” He asked, all of the regret and second guessing bubble up behind his eyes.

  “There was no right choice,” I answered. I turned from the kitchen and started walking out. There was no point in going on a rampage here. “Oh, and buy a gun if you don’t know how to fight. I could have killed all three of you.”

  As soon as I closed the door, the house disappeared. All that awaited me was the identical house that sat on the opposite side of the street.

  This house was different. Grass grew up to my knees. The porch looked rotted. The paint peeled off of the wood. I opened the door and the lights were all off. I could hear the sounds of the television running from the other room.

  I entered to see Miranda sprawled out on the couch. She was watching some trashy dating show that she liked to binge. She looked so much worse than who I just saw; older, wearier, obliterated by the passage of time. A bag half-full of pills sat on the ottoman near her face. This one felt right. Sad, unable to change.

  “This shit again,” I muttered as I picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

  “Why do you only show up when I feel good?” She asked.

  “You don’t look good,” I retorted. “When was the last time you went outside?”

  She placed a finger to her lip before checking the calendar on her phone. She frowned, counting the numbers twice, then three times before giving me a guilty look.

  “Last week?”

  “You need to get outside more,” I nagged. “You look like a fucking zombie. The whole fucking place is depressing as shit.”

  “Of course it is!” She shouted, sitting up on the couch. “You’re dead.”

  “I’m dead?”

  “Yeah, few years back now. You went and strangled that fucking dealer a-and all those other fucking people apparently.”

  “I did that for you!” I shouted. “That guy was turning you into the kind of person you swore you wouldn’t be again because he slipped some shit in there. Fuck! I should have killed your dumb bitch friend too for getting you back on that shit. Wasn’t she at the intervention? Didn’t she introduce you to rehab?”

  “You didn’t do that shit for me! You did it for yourself!” Miranda shouted right back. “You left and never came back! But, I still went and picked up your ashes.”

  I looked over to see an urn on the shelf. A photo was obscured by the darkness. I took a step towards it.

  “Sorry, yours aren’t on the mantle. Dad didn’t want you to be on display for Gunner to see.”

  “Then who’s in that urn?”

  “Dad. He died in the spring. Mom’s in a home because she couldn’t stand staying here anymore. You know I couldn't take care of her.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Shed.”

  I just nodded. I didn’t really deserve to be put in a prominent place. I’m just glad she didn’t flush me after all that screaming.

  “Why are you here and why are you so talkative this time?” Miranda asked, cutting to the point of the matter. “You usually just stand in the corner when I’m having a trip and just watch me.”

  “I’m in Hell and this is a trial of sorts,” I answered plainly. “Once I figure out what I need to do, I’ll be out of here.”

  “So, you went to Hell,” Miranda commented. “Figures.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Am I going too? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Are you neglecting our son?”

  “I’ve neglected him since he was born.”

  “Then, probably.”

  Miranda rose from the couch and stretched. She walked up directly towards me and stuck out her hand. It passed directly through me. She looked down at the ottoman, down at the pills. Tears welled up in the corner of her eyes.

  “I guess this is supposed to be my warning,” she remarked. “Did you get one, you know, before you killed those people?”

  “No.”

  “I guess no one loved you enough to tell you.”

  “Guess not.”

  “Tell me about this trial, what have you seen?”

  “I saw what our life could have been like,” I explained. “First, I saw what our future would have been if I hadn’t killed that guy. It was pleasant, but we weren’t really doing all that well. She accused me of loving another woman.”

  “Sounds shitty. And I would have had no clue that you were a murderer,” she added bitterly.

  “The other one was much different,” I continued, ignoring that comment. “It was the version that I focused on us instead of getting Kenny through school and out of the state. We were doing wonderfully, we looked happy. But, Kenny wasn’t alive.”

  A remorseful look crossed Miranda’s face.

  “He sends me money, you know, Kenny,” she informed. “He says it’s for Gunner. I talked to his wife on the phone and she said he took the news of your death real bad. Couldn’t look in the mirror without having a breakdown. I guess he feels shitty that he was a coward the whole time and you died for it.”

  That soft-souled son of a bitch. Does he really think I didn’t know what I was doing? He didn’t know that I started to enjoy my work far too much. If I hadn’t been who I was, then I’d still be alive; I could have easily survived. It was all on me.

  “Well, you can tell him I don’t blame him for any of it.”

  “Maybe this was all just a way for us to let you go,” she said.

  “At this point, it could be anything,” I replied with a shrug.

  “And what’s this about loving another woman?” Miranda asked. “That true?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” I answered truthfully.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She killed some civilians in a war,” I replied. “But, unlike me, she seems like she wants to be better than she was. She sees Hell as a place to grow instead of a place that you let go of the restraints that held your true nature back. You’d never guess where I found her, melting alive because her friends betrayed her. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be boiling.”

  Miranda looked at me for a long time as she processed what I said. I knew that it was psychotic for a regular person to understand, but Miranda seemed to just accept it.

  “Then I feel bad for her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she sounds like a decent person. You’re going to let her down. Goodbye, T-”

  And it was all gone.