Veering into the narrow station, I leave the engine running and run out to test the pumps. The first two are bone-dry, but the third valve spits out unleaded. As I fill the jeep, I wonder how much fuel is left in this town…how much of anything? The residents of Evendale had, up until recently, kept a routine, a choreographed pantomime of a sleepy but still functioning town. There seemed to be a rotation of sorts. A certain segment of the locals remained aboveground to man the fueling station, to switch on houselights on a rotating basis, to plow the main roads when the snow accumulated. But the concern over keeping up appearances to the outside world has waned now that everyone has gone Below.

My memories of this town, pale as they are, paint Evendale as little more than a tangle of poorly paved roads lined with dreary structures. But neither the years nor the miles that I set between myself and my home can account for its present condition. The houses and shops all have the air of heaped wreckage, of withered husks that no longer shelter living things. Most of the spaces advertise themselves as being for lease. A few of them are boarded up with slabs of cheap wood, like coffins bound for pauper’s row.

The street entrance to Venus Women’s Wear is sheathed in brown butcher paper. A sign in the display window advises potential customers that the boutique is closed for renovations. I make my way to the alley beside the shop and find the side door unlocked.

There is no light inside the shop, but I do not require any. My time Below has sharpened my ability to see in the dark.

It takes me several minutes to find the dress that Rita had described to me: purple silk with a dragonfly embroidered in glittering black thread over the left breast. This was the first time she had ever requested anything since going Below. How I had hoped that her desire could have lured her up and out, into the light. But Rita never comes above anymore.

I zipper the dress inside a plastic garment bag with the Venus logo and the store’s address printed on the back, then I carry it back to the jeep and drive on.

Loath as I am to admit it, I now find being above rather unsettling. The airiness, the brightness, after those first few heaves of revivifying oxygen, sours quickly. More and more I want to be Below. But I do not want to want that.

I turn onto Apple Road to complete my errand. In addition to the purple dress from Venus, Rita has also requested that our late mother’s silver-handled mirror and hairbrush set be collected from our home.