(...)

Greg stood in the bedroom with only his underwear on, holding the phone. It was dark outside; the time of year when night comes on suddenly. Through the living room is a small balcony. "Godamnit," he says. "God fucking damnit." And throws the phone against the mirror. Shatters. He imagines sparks and fire but the phone stays silent.

"What's wrong?"

"Who said that?" He turned around.

"I can help you, Greg," the voice said. Male voice, low, calm. But there was no one there. The door was locked, Amber moved out almost month ago. There were clothes and empty boxes, food in the kitchen sink, dishes on the table. "Don't bother looking, you can't see me."

His heart started beating fast.

"Oh no oh no oh no--"

"Can you hear me?"

Greg is sobbing.

"Greg, can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you."

"Step onto the balcony."

He did as he was told. The TV was shattered, and the mirror in the bathroom had blood on it. These are things Greg was dimly aware of.

"Look down," the voice said. "Do you see me now?"

A car went by. Someone was riding a bike by the park. The sky over Queens in the distance was turning black from purple in streaks.

"What-- what am I looking for?"

"Look across the street."

A man by the park bench was looking up at him. His skin was like white light. He had mouths were he should have eyes. That's what it looked like from the 17th floor. Greg cried harder.

"What's going on here?"

"I am here to save you," the voice said, and as it did the mouths all moved, looking like dark holes in the man's white face. Dressed in surgical scrubs. Holding something small and silver. He put it in his mouth.

And then Greg jumped. The fall was so fast he barely had time to change his mind.