Shelleytown

That was eerie too. Did everyone here have nothing better to do than stand around and watch a stranger drive by?

And it had been overcast half a mile ago, but here it was suddenly a clear blue sky.

Adam was sure he was just letting the paranoid side of his brain get ahead of him. Maybe his eyes were going. Just one more thing that was falling apart.

After three wrong turns, he finally reached 250 Primrose Avenue, the address scrawled down on a page of Emmanuel's memo pad. It was a house like all the others – a cozy light-pink domicile with a narrow triangular roof. Plastic flamingos sat on the lawn, still in the breezeless air that smelt strangely like baby powder.

Adam double-checked and triple-checked the address. This was supposed to be his house. There was no car in the driveway, so he pulled in. Adam got out, walked through the neatly-trimmed yard, and knocked on the front door. He hoped someone was home. To be more specific, he hoped it was this Shelley woman who had wreaked bureaucratic havoc across his life without even meeting him.

The door opened. Adam was greeted with a boisterous hug and a warm kiss on the mouth.

"Welcome home, honey!"

Brook lay around the apartment for about 15 minutes after Adam had left. She flicked on the TV, discovered that there was nothing on, and turned it off again. She picked up one of the books she had got from the library, but found her eyes scanning the same paragraph over and over again, unable to derive any meaning from it. She couldn't stop thinking about Adam and what he was doing. Specifically, she couldn't stop thinking of the elusive and possibly imaginary Shelley Devitt.

Brook trusted Adam. She really did. They had been together too constantly, and too openly, over the past several years for Adam to have been living a double life this whole time. It just wouldn't have made sense. Brook had had boyfriends cheat on her before, and after several bad experiences she knew the signs – when he seemed to have mentally checked out, started telling jokes about you to his friends, and started making very vague excuses for not being able to go out this weekend. Adam had done none of that.

But maybe he was a different breed of adulterer. Maybe Brook's skills at reading Adam just weren't as good as she thought they were. It certainly wasn't impossible that he had deceived her this whole time. After all, it made more sense than this being all some sort of paperwork SNAFU, and once you eliminated the impossible...

But Adam wouldn't do that. She knew him. She loved him.

Brook let this debate go on for a few more rounds in her mind before she finally got off the couch and threw the book down. "Fuck this," she said. "I'm going after him."

"A-are you Shelley?"

The voluptuous woman who had just greeted him at the door smiled. "Why are you playing games, silly? Come on inside."

When she said it, it sounded so reasonable. It was the least he could do. Adam stepped inside and took his shoes off. The woman shut the door behind him.

"So how was my sweet-cheeks' day at work?" said the woman.

"I think you have me confused with someone else, ma'am," Adam said. His head was spinning.

"Don't you ma'am me, Adam," she said. The woman playfully spanked him. "Call me sweetie, honey, or cutie pie, or even plain ol' Shelley – just don't call me late for dinner."

Adam found himself stepping over the threshold and into the house. It was warm and inviting, the walls painted in a maternal mixture of yellows and blues. A faint scent of baking – perhaps some cookies, or even an apple pie -- wafted through the air. He hadn't decided to go inside, but it was as though something had been tugging at his feet and he didn't see any reason to resist.

Shelley winked at him and pivoted on her heels, facing back into the recesses of her suburban home. "Kids! Daddy's home from work!"

Kids? Daddy? But there they came, bounding around the corner, blonde-haired androgynous tots that all went up exactly to his waist. They rushed at Adam and again he found his legs tugged on by some mysterious force. He fell to one knee and the first child, a boy, jumped up into his arms. A girl grabbed his knee and hugged it as if trying to wrestle him.

He had never seen these children before, but when they wrapped their small arms around him, it felt more right than anything ever had.

And there was Shelley, the beautiful and lovely Shelley, leaning over with that angelic smile that only she could produce. "How about you sit down, honey? Take a load off. I've got dinner in the oven."

"Of course," Adam said. "I would love that."

Brook had been driving for what felt like hours, but there was still no sign of Woodside. She had borrowed her mother's car, and the map in the glove compartment showed no sign of the suburb. Google Maps came up similarly empty. And yet when Adam had used it earlier, it had displayed the location plain as day – he had showed it to her. She was trying to work off that memory, but she just took one wrong turn after another.

She stopped at a gas station and asked how to get to Woodside. Everyone there had just scratched their heads and said that they had never heard of a town by that name. In desperation, she had called Adam. No signal. Her fiance had driven off these back roads and out of the known world.

But maybe it had all been a scam. Maybe this was just Adam's escape plan, a way to run off with his mistress – or maybe his wife. He could have just turned off his cell phone, driven across town to a seedy motel room, and toasted Brook's ignorance with the surely beautiful and wicked Shelley.

This was the most rational and plausible explanation for what was happening. But Brook knew that it was completely nonsensical. Adam could no more betray her than he could sprout wings and fly. And given recent events, the wings were probably more likely.

And then, at last, it was there at the side of her vision. A small and battered sign denoting a turn-off: WOODSIDE – 9 MILES. Shelley swerved into the turn-off so hard she almost crashed into the guardrail. How had she missed this the previous four times she had passed?

The highway she drove on was empty. Brook could hear every twinge of the engine and every pebble kicked underneath the tires. When she checked in the rear view mirror, she could no longer see the sign that had caused her to drive this way in the first place. But she knew that she was going in the right direction, and she knew that she had been right to come after Adam.

The TV played all his favourites – Gilligan's Island, I Love Lucy, Andy Griffith. Adam found himself sinking into a familiar groove of the couch as one of his children nestled into his side. Shelley had produced a cold beer and was off putting the finishing touches on whatever culinary delight she had for him tonight. Truly, life was good.

Only this wasn't life. He knew that, dimly, in the back of his mind. For one thing, his children seemed to keep changing every time he turned around. Sometimes there would be two and sometimes three. Sometimes they were adorable tots and sometimes sulky teenagers. The room itself changed too, a Norman Rockwell reproduction becoming an oak bookcase, a worn rocking chair becoming a glistening coffee table. And the TV shows proceeded in a strange dreamlike fashion, with nonsensical plots that were quickly abandoned. Lucy wandered into Mayberry and then was abruptly back in the chocolate factory.

What was he thinking about? Of course this was real. This was his house, his family, and his beautiful wife.

Adam was overcome with delight and hunger as Shelley came in with a heaping portion of food, served in a convenient TV-dinner tray. This was no microwaved meal, however: steaming baked potatoes, tender pork chops, and lightly seasoned green beans that were far more delicious than such a pedestrian menu has any right to be. Now that he thought about it, the meal reminded him a lot of his mother's cooking.

He devoured every bite of it. Shelley had a tray too, but he never saw her eat from it. She just sat there, staring with undisguised adoration as he digested her meal. When he looked over again, her plate was clean. She must have eaten while he was focused on his own food.

"Did you like it, honey?" Shelley said.

"It was delicious."

She beamed. "Wonderful! Now, sweetie, there's just one thing I have to ask of you."

"Anything for you, darling." Darling? Since when had he called anyone "darling"?

Shelley held out her fist and then opened it. In her soft palm was a golden ring topped with the clearest, most beautiful diamond Adam had ever seen. It made the ring he picked out for Brook look like a party trinket. Wait, who was Brook? Probably someone he used to know, way back when...

"You left this on your dresser this morning," said Shelley. "Do you not wear your wedding ring at work any more?" It could have come off as a suspicious query, but in this moment Shelley seemed entirely innocent.

"I..." Adam tried to focus back to the events of this morning, but they were gone, like a dream that vanishes from memory two minutes after you wake up. He couldn't even remember where he worked – but he was sure that he had the knowledge somewhere in his mind, just over this strange fog bank.

"It's okay," Shelley said. She was always so understanding. "I'm sure you just forgot it."

That had to be it. Adam nodded. "Yeah. I forgot."

"Are you gonna put it on now?"

Adam looked down at the ring, a slim band of gold that seemed to fade into the pink of Shelley's palm. Rationally, this shouldn't be a big deal – they were already married, had been for years, and Adam felt the marriage in his bones. But rationality was in short supply right now. He knew that if he took that ring and put it on his finger, he would be entering into something he couldn't get out of, something that would change this irrevocably.

"Honey?"

Adam hesitated.

To the eye the streets were freshly paved with bright yellow lines, almost a Platonic ideal of a city street. But Brook's car rocked up and down as though it was driving over a field of rocks. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and drove as slow as she could stand.

On the sidewalks people gathered to watch her – men at first, middle-aged middle-managers in the sweatshirts of colleges hazily remembered, watering the lawn, their forgotten hoses spurting uselessly into pools on the sidewalk. Then their wives joined them, pinched-face PTA members in cardigans and yoga pants. The couples stared out at her, judgemental, unyielding. And then came the children, all blonde and pale and androgynous. They clutched dolls and teddy bears close to them, but kept their eyes closely fixed on the intruder.

It was then that Brook realized that dozens, possibly a hundred or more, people were standing on their front lawn, staring at her. They all had identical expressions, which were a mixture of guardedness and disappointment. And they all had the same face.

Brook managed to tear her gaze from the suburban army that had turned out to stare at her to discover that she was just about to plow into a house. "Fuck!" Brook whipped the car around and managed to do a hasty U-turn in the cul-de-sac that she had sworn had been a through street a moment ago.

This time she saw the streets move, stretching out towards each other and connecting in a smooth circle. Brook was gobsmacked. She was trapped in a kind of urban Ouroboros.

She didn't know what to do, and she certainly didn't know what the hell was going on. But Brook knew that staying where she was was a bad idea. Leaving her car in the middle of the traffic impossibility, Brook got out and slammed the door behind her. She walked towards the house she had almost crashed into. The second she reached the sidewalk, she found that the suburbanites had multiplied. Hundreds of cozy little families packed every inch of sidewalk. They formed a human wall, if indeed they were human.

"Excuse me," Brook said. "I need to find Adam. I... we need to get out of here."

They didn't move.

Brook put her shoulder forward and bodily pressed through the mass. They yielded, but only barely. It was a moment later when Brook realized that she was now completely trapped inside the mob. And worse, they had begun grabbing at her. They weren't violent grabs, but familiar ones – the fatherly slap on the shoulder, the wife's back rub, the child clinging to her ankle. But when ten of these grips were upon her at once, she felt like she was being restrained.

And then Brook realized what they wanted to do. These hands, these soft pale hands that could be in skin-cream commercials, were trying to rip the clothes from her body. They were trying to pull her hair until it was an appropriate matronly length. Those hands were trying to claw off her tattoos and rip out her earrings. And in the end they wanted to pull out her clitoris and rip away her vocal chords.

Brook shook off the hands and pushed her way through the mob. New hands grabbed her clothes and tried to shove her back. The door of the house was close now. Brook thought she could make it. She only hoped that what was inside wouldn't be even worse.

--

"Honey?"

Adam had been thinking about something – he couldn't remember what – but he instantly snapped back to attention. There was Shelley, his beautiful wife, kneeling before him with her ruby-red lips pursed. She was framed by his beautiful children, who all (both?) looked up at him expectantly. All she wanted him to do was take the ring and put it on his finger. It was a small thing to ask.

"Just put it on, dear. It's a symbol of our marriage."

Ah yes, the marriage. It had certainly been the best decision Adam had ever made. Just thinking back to that beautiful wedding day... well, no. He wasn't thinking back to it. In fact, he couldn't remember the wedding at all.

There was a loud thump at the door. It sounded as though something had crashed into it – maybe a wayward bat. Another thump. Maybe it was just a particularly heavy knock.

Shelley rose in alarm. Adam got up as well. Shelley grabbed his wrists and pressed him down with surprising strength. "You stay where you are, sweetie. I'll get the door."

"No," Adam said. In his brain, a sense of purpose was beginning to materialize where previously there had been nothing but fog. "I'm going to get it."

"Just put your ring on, dear," Shelley pleaded. But Adam walked past his wife and her horrified expression and opened the door.

On the other side was Brook. She stood on the picturesque porch with her clothes torn, her expression exhausted, and mud scraped all over her legs. Adam thought he saw a couple nasty scratches on her forearms. But she was here, and she was beautiful.

Of course. Brook. The woman he was going to marry, the woman he loved. How could he have forgotten about her? How could he have believed for a second that this fake mansion and this plastic life were his own?

"Oh, thank god," both Brook and Adam said simultaneously. Then they fell into each others arms.

"What's going on here?" Brook said, fearful but not accusing.

"I... I don't know." Adam looked behind him. Shelley stood in the hallway, looking distraught. "What... who are you?"

Shelley cried out like a woman betrayed. "How could you! After everything I gave to you... we could have been so happy, but you had to run off with that hussy!" And she continued to go on and on, spinning tales of adultery and deceit, but she wasn't convincing anybody. It all started to fall apart around them. The children melted into clay puddles. The bright green, freshly-cut lawns shrivelled. The identical houses fell into disarray. The army of neighbours had all vanished.

Adam grabbed Shelley by the hair and forced her back into the house, a rotting and decaying mess. She seemed so much less powerful now. "What are you? What do you want?"

Brook put her hand on Adam's shoulder. "Honey, you don't need to be so--"

"She made me forget you," Adam said. To him, that was proof of evil enough. "Now tell me: what the hell are you? Some kind of demon? A fairy? Just a stalker with a lot of smoke and mirrors?"

Shelley stared at the floor. "They used to call me a god."

"And now you're going around tricking men into marrying you? What if I had put on that ring? Would you have eaten me? Sent me to hell?"

"I would have married you," said Shelley. "We would have lived happily ever after. All of this – this perfect place – this was all for you."

Adam grabbed Shelley by the shoulder and shook her. "Why me, goddammit!" Brook stepped away. She had never seen Adam like this. He was starting to scare her more than anything around them.

Shelley blubbered. "I love you. I saw you when I was wandering the world, cast out and powerless, and my love brought my strength back. I knew I had to have you. I knew that only you could make me happy again."

"You love me?" Adam sounded incredulous. "You don't do shit like this to someone you love." He rose his hand to strike her.

Brook grabbed Adam's wrist. "Enough."

One look into his fiancee's eyes and all of Adam's rage was gone. He saw himself from the outside, as the brutish man raising his hand to strike down a pleading woman. Or maybe he was the insolent mortal who was about to anger something too vast and powerful for him to understand. Either way, he suddenly knew that he couldn't hit Shelley, and that Brook had once again saved his life.

Shelley sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Brook knelt down next to her. "Silly girl," she said quietly.

"I've been alive for thousands of years," Shelley said.

"And still such a silly girl," Brook said. "Adam and I... we're not like the people you once knew. We don't need all of this – the houses, the money, the children, the stability. Hell, we don't even want it."

Shelley looked up. Her face was expressive, but moreover she seemed to radiate outsized emotions, making them a part of the air around her. Right now that emotion was a strangled hope that couldn't quite believe in itself.

"All we need is love." And Brook leaned in and kissed Shelley.

Adam wasn't sure what to make of his fiancee's speech, or his actions, but the primal lizard-brained part of him couldn't help but admire the sight of the liplock. After all, Shelley was beautiful in a classical way, and he considered Brook to be the hottest woman he had ever met. But the kiss wasn't a display for him: it was a selfless gift to Shelley, and maybe a sign of things to come.

Brook leaned in to Shelley's ear, brushing away the homemaker's long brown hair before whispering something.

Shelley blushed. "Oh, well, I don't... you would... with me?"

"Why not?" Brook shrugged. "You were just talking about being around for thousands of years. I'm sure you have a lot to teach the two of us."

"But that's... indecent. Good married people don't do that."

"We're about to be married people," Brook said. "I don't know about good, though."

"Now, you..." Shelley was at a loss for words. "You're beautiful. Both of you. That's why I did all of this."

"You can do one more thing for us," said Brook.

Adam was shocked. Nothing had been said explicitly, but there was an electric charge in the air that he would never have expected a minute ago. The mood had shifted from hypnotic domesticity to angry accusation to something slippery and erotic, and he was getting whiplash. But he couldn't help himself from moving in and gently putting a hand on Shelley's shoulder.

"I don't know what you two girls are talking about," Adam said. "But I would probably go along with just about anything you guys said."

Brook gave him his favourite look. "Well then. Let's dance, cowboy."

She kissed Shelley again, and this time Shelley returned her passion. Adam watched with arousal and not a little envy as the two beautiful women's lips melded together. Brook broke away from Shelley and then grabbed Adam lightly by the hair, pulling him in to kiss her on the cheeks. Adam could taste Shelley, a strange flavour of baked goods and homemade lunches, on his fiancee's lips.