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“I told you I would come back as Marley. Well, I had to punch it up a little. Marley was British, and I am so not British.”

“And this isn’t the 1800s,” Zoe noted. “Ooh, but that would be really cool!”

“What would be really cool?” I snapped. “What the hell is going on? I want to see my wife!”

“Right, before we do that, let’s take a trip down memory lane,” Lock said, leading me over to the side of the room. We stared at the cement wall, and he waved his hand through the air as if he wanted me to see something.

“Imagine, it’s December 1989. It’s a cold day, and you’re sitting in your living room by your pitiful tree. The television is on, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of your parents fighting.”

“What? Why the hell do you want me to see something that happened in my childhood?”

He frowned at me. “I don’t know. I’m just doing what Zoe tells me. Now, take yourself there,” he said, tapping the side of my head.

Light swirled around me, and suddenly, I was transported into my living room when I was a kid. But there was something very unusual about the setup.

The ratty old brown couch was replaced with metal gray seats. And instead of a television, there was nothing more than a projection in the air that came through crystal clear. You couldn’t see through it, which was amazing without a screen.

I walked over and waved my hand through it, surprised when my hand didn’t even make a ripple effect in the picture. It was like I hadn’t touched the image at all.

“What is this?” I murmured.

“This is your life,” Lock answered, his hands in his pockets as he walked around the room, checking out my childhood home. “So, this is where you grew up.”

“Not exactly.”

“It’s not?” He pulled out his checklist and then looked back at me. “It’s the same address. Did I get it wrong?”

“This is my house, but this is most definitely not the way I grew up.”

“Right, well, artistic license. See, Zoe thought it would be cool if the past was the future and the future was the past.”

“What sense does that make?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Look, I’m just Marley. She’s the director.”

“Director of what? I don’t get what’s going on here.”

“This is your life!” he chuckled, spreading his arms wide as he spun in a circle. “How can you truly move past anything if you’re not willing to confront what used to be?”

“Trust me, I’ve confronted it. I’m well aware of what used to be,” I snapped.

“Right, but have you really?”

Frowning, I shook my head at him. “I just said I had.”

Gaping, he pulled out his checklist again and read through it. “Confront the past, walk through the doom and gloom…ah, here it is.”

“Here what is? What does that say?” I asked, marching over to tear the list out of his hands. But when I looked at the paper, it was blank. “This doesn’t say anything.”

“Really? I can see it. Are you sure?”

“I think I would know if there were words that were written on the paper.”

“Technically, it’s not written. It’s printed out and laminated.”

“If it’s laminated, how can you use a pencil?” I countered.

“Magic,” he grinned. “You know, there are some benefits to this world. I’m not sure about the underwear, though. It chafes.”