When Alex Drayton was six, he believed in heroes.
It was a sweltering summer afternoon when his parents took him to the park near their home, seeking refuge from the heat.
In the center of the park stood a large stone fountain, though to his young mind, it was something more—a wishing well.
His mother dug into her pocket, fishing out a small coin.
" Okay, Alex. Take this and make a wish."
His face lit up immediately. "I want to be a hero like The Crimson Antler!"
His mother smiled knowingly. Of course, he did.
"Why don't you just wish for his action figure instead?" she asked. "I think you have a better chance at that than wishing for superpowers."
Alex grinned, his confidence unshaken. "Because, Mom, then I could be his sidekick and fight alongside him!"
His mother laughed softly, trying to stifle her amusement, but Alex stood there, beaming with pride in his reasoning.
"Alright, sweetie. Now that you've made your wish, flip the coin into the well. And hurry before your dad eats our lunch and drinks your juice."
The horrifying thought of losing his juice immediately pushed all else from Alex's mind. He tossed the coin into the water without even waiting to hear the splash, then dashed off toward the picnic table, leaving his wish behind without a second thought.
And that was the last time Alex ever really thought about the wishing well.
The Present:The fluorescent lights buzzed softly. The air smelled of stale coffee and artificial sweetness.
Alex stood frozen in front of the refrigerators at the neighborhood mini-mart, staring at his reflection in the glass.
That kid—so full of dreams, so certain he would one day fight alongside heroes—was gone.
Had he ever really existed?
Alex exhaled sharply, breaking his gaze. His eyes flicked to the rows of beer and liquor neatly stacked behind the fridge door.
What am I even doing?
He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the store. No one was watching. No one ever was.
His fingers hovered over the handle, still undecided.
People had their own ways of dealing with loss. Tonight, Alex chose drinking.
It had been three weeks since he got the call. Three weeks since his world collapsed.
His parents were gone.
A car accident. His father had died on impact. His mother held on long enough to say her final words in the hospital.
And in those final moments, Alex made a promise—to watch over his little sister.
But how was he supposed to do that when he couldn't even take care of himself?
His fingers finally curled around the fridge handle when—
CRASH.
Something dropped. A bottle hitting the floor.
Alex flinched, snapping out of his daze. His head turned toward the register.
The shop clerk stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at the small TV mounted behind the counter.
Breaking news. The headlines read.
"Authorities have confirmed another disappearance linked to the serial killer terrorizing the city. The latest victim, Judy Kim, was found earlier this evening—"
Alex's hand slipped from the fridge handle.
He should care. A girl, someone from his own neighborhood, was dead.
But all he could feel was numb.
He grabbed the first can of beer his fingers touched and walked to the counter.
The shop clerk barely noticed him, her hands trembling as she wiped the counter with a rag.
Alex paid and left.
He didn't have time to worry about a killer.
He had enough problems of his own
Alex stepped out of the mini-mart, the dull chime of the door fading behind him like a forgotten bell. The cold night greeted him with open arms, slipping under his collar and into his skin, but he hardly noticed. He gripped the cold can in his hand, the condensation kissing his knuckles as he walked aimlessly, his feet dragging against the cracked sidewalk.
He couldn't go home like this.
His sister didn't deserve to see him this way—tired, numb, falling apart in slow motion. He had worn the strong face for weeks now, like a mask held up by trembling hands. But it was starting to slip, and he could feel the weight of everything catching up to him.
I just need... a moment.
As he rounded the corner near Maple and 3rd, his steps slowed. There it was.
The park.
His chest tightened at the sight. He hadn't been here in years—not since things were different. Not since they were whole.
A gust of wind swept through the street, rustling the bare branches above and carrying with it the earthy scent of dry leaves and damp concrete. He stared down the path toward the park entrance, exhaling slowly as his breath hung in the air like mist.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, the words barely louder than the wind.
He turned and began walking toward the park.
The streetlights grew scarcer as he passed the rows of houses, most windows dim or completely dark. Everyone had called it a night. The stillness of it all made the world feel abandoned—no engines humming, no voices, no distant laughter. Just Alex and the soft crunch of his shoes against gravel.
It was the kind of quiet that felt too loud—the kind that dragged your thoughts to the surface and forced you to look at them.
But maybe that's what he needed.
The gates of the park stood open like a memory waiting to be revisited. He stepped inside.
Immediately, the past rushed in.
He remembered the worn benches his dad used to nap on during lazy afternoons. The jungle gym his sister once declared her "castle." The way his mom would call them back with a gentle clap and a smile.
He noticed the silhouette of someone sleeping on a bench, their back turned toward him. Alex walked past without a second glance—he wasn't one to judge.
He'd been walking on autopilot. When he finally looked up, there it was.
The wishing well.
It sat quietly at the edge of the hill, surrounded by overgrown grass and wrapped in faint moonlight. The old stones were cracked and mossy, weathered by years of forgotten wishes.
His pace slowed as he approached. He didn't need to think about where it was—his body just knew.
Standing in front of it now felt surreal. Like he was staring through a window into a time when things made sense.
He stepped closer, running his hand along the rim of the well. The stone was cold, rough beneath his fingertips, like the world reminding him that he was still here. Still breathing. Still broken.
Alex took a seat on the edge, setting the beer can down beside him.
For a long moment, he just sat there, staring into the darkness within the well. He couldn't see the bottom—not even a shimmer of water. Just an empty hole, swallowing light.
Kind of like how I feel.
Like it was waiting—for someone desperate enough to believe again.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands dangling. The silence wrapped around him, gentle and suffocating all at once.
Memories flickered behind his eyes—
His mom's laugh.
His dad's stupid dad jokes.
Sunday lunches.
The way they used to argue about nothing and still love each other anyway.
Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn't fight them. Not here. Not now.
This was the one place where he didn't need to pretend.
"I miss you," he whispered, voice breaking.
For the first time in a long time, he let himself cry.
Alex let his sobs travel in the quietness of the night. The strong face act that Alex had put on was nowhere to be seen; it had faded to nothingness. Here, under the moonlight and beside the relic of his childhood, the grief came in waves. The longer he cried, the lighter his chest began to feel—as if each tear carried away a piece of the sorrow that had wrapped around his heart.
These, for Alex, were the first steps toward healing.
Eventually, the sobs quieted. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and reached for the now-warm can of beer. He took a long sip, then another, finishing it with a sigh. The metallic taste clung to his tongue.
He checked his watch.
Nearly midnight.
Time to go.
Tomorrow, he needed to job hunt. That much hadn't changed. He couldn't afford to wallow, no matter how much his soul ached. He reminded himself again—the dream of becoming a hero was over. He had responsibilities now. He had a sister to care for.
As he stood, he turned one last time to the wishing well.
The memories hit him harder than expected—his mom kneeling beside him, holding a coin out with a playful smile. His excited declaration of wanting to fight beside The Crimson Antler. Her teasing him about wishing for an action figure instead.
He could almost hear her laughter.
He smiled faintly through the lingering pain.
"Haaa… okay," he exhaled. "One last wish, then I'll go home and job hunt in the morning."
Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the remaining change from the mini-mart. The coins jingled softly in his palm. He picked out a small one—a nickel this time—and held it up to the sky, watching how it caught the moonlight.
He didn't see a problem with saying the wish out loud. No one was around. No one to laugh.
"Okay, wishing well. This is a two-for-one deal. I wish for my parents back... and I wish to be a hero."
With that, he flipped the coin high into the air. It spun, glinting silver under the moon, and disappeared into the well with a faint splash.
He waited for a moment. Nothing happened. But he wasn't expecting anything to.
The act itself—that was the closure.
He took one last look at the well, nodded to himself, and turned to leave. As he walked back through the quiet paths of the park, he passed the bench where someone had been earlier.
Empty.
The silhouette was gone.
Must've moved on to a different spot, he thought.
He didn't dwell on it. He had his own path to walk.
At the park's edge, he checked his watch again.
12:00 AM.
"Crap… I better get home fast. I don't want to make Sarah cry again," he muttered, breaking into a run.
The following morning, Alex's alarm tore through the silence at exactly 8:00 AM, a blaring reminder that the world had no patience for grief. The shrill sound sliced into his dreams, dragging him back to reality.
Alex groaned, his face buried in the pillow. Why do I even have the volume so high? he thought, annoyed more with himself than the noise. He blindly slapped the top of the clock until it silenced, his hand flopping back down beside him like dead weight.
He sat up slowly, stretching his arms overhead as his spine cracked in protest. A long, satisfying grunt escaped his throat. Muscles ached. Eyes heavy. He was still riding the weight of the night before.
But nature was calling.
Half-awake, Alex stumbled out of bed, dragging his feet across the hardwood floor. He rubbed his eyes, shuffled past the narrow hallway, and pushed open the bathroom door.
Lights flicked on, harsh and bright.
Still in autopilot, he stepped in front of the toilet and reached down out of habit—
—but found nothing.
His hand hovered.
Frowned.
He looked down again, now fully alert.
Nothing.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
What the hell...?
He tried again, this time slower, focused. His fingers met only smooth skin where something very important used to be.
And that's when the scream came.
A sharp, startled yell that bounced off the bathroom tiles and echoed down the hall.
Alex stumbled backward, nearly slipping on the rug. He clutched the sink for support, heart racing.
And then he looked up.
His breath caught in his throat.
A stranger stared back at him from the mirror.
Gone was the scruffy young man with the strong jawline and messy dark hair, the broad chest sculpted from years of stubborn workouts.
In his place stood someone else—someone impossibly beautiful.
Blonde hair, now longer and tousled, framed her face in soft waves, spilling just past her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and fair, still glowing under the cheap bathroom lights. Wide emerald eyes stared back in disbelief, shimmering with confusion and panic. Her lips were slightly fuller, parted in a silent gasp. Her frame was still lean, athletic even, but now refined into a softer silhouette—slim at the waist, curved at the hips, and unfamiliar in every way.
The towel slipped off its rack and hit the floor.
Alex didn't move.
The reflection didn't either.
They were the same.
He was her.
And he had no idea how.