Page 7 of A Midlife Vanishing Trick

I’m dreaming, aren’t I?he thought,yet he already knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was no dream.

Neither was finding himself in the middle of the woods after falling through that void with Johan’s hands wrapped around his throat.

He’d thought he must be dreaming then when he found himself lying on solid ground, completely alone and surrounded by trees. He wasn’t in pain—at least nothing like what he expected to feel after plummeting through the depths of that chasm. And when he’d opened his eyes, the darkness that greeted him had been dotted with tiny pinpoints of light scattered across his vision—stars.

For a while, Stanley thought he might be dead, that the fall must have killed him, and that this was some sort of last-minute dream or even the afterlife. It was a silly thought, though no less unbelievable than the idea of a dimension called Frost Mountain or a pit that seemed to have no end.

How long had he and Johan fallen? Minutes? Hours? All he’d been aware of was the darkness. That, and, of course, his struggle with Johan as they plummeted toward their doom.

Or what should have been their doom.

When he awoke, Johan was nowhere to be seen, and Stanley made haste to get out of the woods. It was only after he’d spotted the roads and buildings that he realized he was neither dreaming nor dead, not to mention he was no longer on Frost Mountain. This place seemed all too familiar. He was back on Earth.

More than that, he was back home, back in Torpe, his hometown.

He looked around. In the glare of the truck’s headlights, he could see the road stretching into the night. Buildings and trees stood half-silhouetted against the sky in the distance. In all his four years trapped on Frost Mountain, he’d never once forgotten his true home, but even now, memories flooded his mind—memories of the time he’d spent here, of his life on Reyes Ranch.

Sweat trickled down his chin to his bare chest, already slick and dirty. It was an odd feeling to be thrust back here. And now ...

He looked down at the woman lying in his arms and felt a powerful throb in his chest.

“Allison,” he whispered, a slight quaver in his voice. “It’s really you.”

In his arms, his wife remained as she was, chest heaving slightly. If he weren’t utterly convinced that this was not a dream, he would have questioned the reality of his situation yet again. This was the love of his life, the woman he’d thought he’d lost forever, right before him now.

“It’s been so long, Allison,” he said.

His heart swelled with joy, his mind struggling to comprehend everything that had happened since he fell into that pit. But hecould deal with all of that later, he decided. Right now, what he needed was to get them off the road and back home.

Home. The ranch. The thought made him smile.

He glanced down the road. Which way was home anyway? He had to assume Allison had been headed that way before she nearly ran him over. Stanley couldn’t remember exactly where the ranch was—his mind was still filled with memories of Frost Mountain—but he was certain it would come to him. He was back in Torpe, back on Earth. As far as he was concerned, he had all the time in the world to fully refresh his memory.

Right now, though, he needed to find a way to get them both home.

Rising to his feet, he walked around to the side of the truck, gently setting Allison’s unconscious form in the passenger seat. Then he settled behind the wheel and, for a second, merely stared at the wheel. Could he still drive? There were no cars or roads on Frost Mountain. To get them home, he’d have to rely on the hazy memories of his time before his life turned upside down.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Let’s do this.”

He turned the key in the ignition and started a little as the engine roared to life. He chuckled as the truck slowly rolled forward. Gripping the steering wheel, he brought his foot to what he assumed was the gas, and it lurched to a stop.

“Look at you, Stanley,” he said, smirking at himself. “Hitting the brakes instead of the gas. Forgotten how to drive a truck already?”

Next to him, Allison stirred. He glanced at his wife, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“We’re going back home, baby,” he said.

He hit the gas, and the truck took off into the night.

***

When Allison opened her eyes the next morning, she decided she’d probably had a little too much to drink the night before.

She’d tumbled in and out of consciousness a couple of times during the night. When she finally woke up, it was from a strange dream in which she’d run into her husband Stanley—which, of course, was not possible.

When she pried her eyes open, the sudden light almost blinded her, and she felt a tiny throb in her head. She sat up, blinked her eyes to adjust to the brightness, and gazed around.

She was in her bedroom. Allison frowned. How had she gotten here? She sighed. She must have been so drunk that she couldn’t remember the ride back to the ranch from the Blue Cicada or getting herself into bed. She looked down. She’d even changed out of yesterday’s clothes into something more comfortable.

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