The Black Circle

What really happened to Shellie Harris?

Photo by Kaja Sariwating on Unsplash

“You wake up on the wrong side of the universe?” I prodded.

“Cute,” she said with a smirk.

“No, really,” I replied. “You’ve been a total twat.”

“You know I hate that word,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it.”

She looked away.

“I didn’t think being married to you was going to be such a fucking lovely adventure,” I said, trying to keep the category 5 shit-storm swirling around my brain at bay. “For the record, being your girlfriend was way better than being your wife.”

I spun around, but before I could storm out, she spoke.

“Wait,” she said. “Let me explain.”

I wanted to scream. I sighed instead, turned around, crossed my arms over my chest, and cocked my head to the side.

“I fell in a hole,” she continued.

“Fell in a what now?”

“A hole. I fell in a hole.”

“That must’ve been very hard for you.”

“Seriously, please just — you wanted to know, so let me tell you, bitch.”

“You know I hate that word,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it.”

“Touché,” I conceded. “Go on.”

“Let me try this another way,” she said. “I killed someone.”

“Um, what?”

“But that someone wasn’t from here — from Earth.”

“So, you killed E.T.?”

“No — well, sort of. Technically, I guess,” she said, her voice nervous and fast. “I fell into some kind of portal. It brought me to another world. I was there for a long time. Months. I killed someone. I didn’t mean to. I was defending myself. But there are rules. Laws.”

I opened my mouth to say something and nothing came out.

“Killing him was a serious violation of Interdimensional Law. When I learned this, I ran. They’re chasing me. I know it’s just a matter of time until they find me.”

I was totally shell-shocked. I didn’t know what to say.

“I know how crazy this sounds — but I promise you, this really happened. I know they’re going to get me. I’ve barely slept in weeks. I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to, but I just didn’t know how. I’m so sorry.”

“So — okay,” I softened my voice as much as the situation allowed. “You traveled to another world, stayed there for months, killed someone, made it back to our world, and now someone is chasing you?”

“Yes.”

“When did all of this happen?”

“March 3rd,” she replied. “I had a shitty day in court. Botched my closing. I was really upset and needed to clear my head, so I walked through the park.”

“And the hole was in Central Park?”

She nodded, tears running down her cheeks.

“When did you get back?”

“The same night. Not sure what time exactly. I came home and told you I didn’t feel well and went straight to bed.”

I thought about it. “Yeah, I do remember that. And your phone and watch were dead, right?”

“Yes. They wouldn’t power on when I got back.”

“And who is chasing you?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I can feel it — or them — whatever or whoever is chasing me. Going to the other world changed something. I’m aware of more — like my senses expanded. It’s like part of my brain was unlocked.”

“How did you get back?”

“I was terrified and running for my life when another hole opened up — right below my feet like last time.”

“To Central Park?” I nudged, trying hard to suspend my disbelief.

“No, I fell out on the sidewalk in Harlem. West 131st,” she replied, and began to sob.

“Oh, baby,” I said moving to embrace her.

She held out her hands to stop me. “No, don’t come near me.”

I froze. “Why not?”

“I think I make the holes — like when I’m really stressed and scared they show up. If it happens, I don’t want you to come with me. It’s a terrible place.”

“Everything’s okay, Shel. I’m here.”

I stood there helplessly as Shellie May Harris — my wife, my partner, my person, my cold-steel rational, Spock-logical, and objectively brilliant baddie, melted down to a puddle of her former self. How could this happen to someone so strong, so fierce, so driven?

It was time to work the problem.

“Look at me, Shel,” I said with a strength and confidence I didn’t feel. “We will work this—”

A perfect circle, completely black, appeared beneath her feet. Shellie gave a startled yelp and disappeared through the floor. The circle vanished. She was gone. I was alone.

A deep and profound terror wrenched at my insides, my chest tightened, and my head felt like it would float away. On my hands and knees, I pawed frantically at the floor where she stood just seconds before.

“Shellie!” I repeated, weeping. I ran around the apartment and checked every room. “Shellie!”

I whipped open the door and took the staircase down to the third floor. I knocked on the door of 3A — the apartment directly below us. No one answered. I knocked louder, and when no one answered I beat on the door with my fist and yelled, “Gil!”

“Okay, okay, what the hell,” came the man’s voice inside and sounds of movement. The door opened as far as the security chain allowed. Gil’s round, bearded face peeked through. “Kate? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Shellie,” I said. “Is she here? Open up, please open up —”

“Shellie? No, I haven’t seen her in a couple days. Why would she—”

“Have you looked?” I interrupted. “She fell through the floor.”

He closed the door, unhooked the chain, and opened the door. “What do you mean fell through the floor?”

“There was a hole in the floor and she fell through,” I explained, pushing through the doorway past him. “She has to be here.”

“Whoa, Kate — hold on.”

I ran into his apartment and began looking in each room. “Where are you? Shellie!”

“Kate, seriously, what the hell?”

“Shellie,” I screamed as hard as I could. “Where are you?” I collapsed to the floor, sobbing and broken.

...

“Kate,” the nurse’s sickly-sweet voice came from behind me. “Miss Harris, it’s time for your medication.”

“It’s Mrs. Harris,” I replied, not taking my focus off the sketch pad on my lap — where I’d drawn a large circle that I was shading with a pencil. “Shel will be back soon.”