Prologue

         The night was like any other night for the month, maybe a little cooler than average, but still tolerable. Being that this was the only thing on the agenda that his bosses gave for the night, he was in no hurry to complete the task. He just wanted to ease into the surroundings and take in everything that he thought would be important to his employers. If anything, there would be a new place to visit when whoever was in at the moment. So, after parking his highly unremarkable car a coupe blocks away, Blake pulled his borrowed sports coat out of the back seat, locked the door, and slammed it shut. As he made his way to where the front door was supposed to be, seemingly off to the side of the building face, almost like it was an old-time speakeasy from the late 20s, even though this part of the town wasn’t built until about a decade after the fact. It could just be something to add to the mystique of the vibe the owners are trying to project, but it all seemed a little cliché to Blake. 

The moment he stood directly in front of the main entrance, Blake could feel that things may not be as simple as he had hoped it would be. There was a very subtle feeling that seemed to almost leak out of the doorframe that housed the large green metal door. The door looked old, but Blake could tell as he closed the distance between them, that the metal had a shimmer of fresh paint. Professionally done, Blake thought, as he placed his bare hand on the surface. It was smooth, barely any imperfections, except those marks that would be unable to be covered due to the abuse time. Blake moved his hand downward, and then pulled his hand back to knock on the surface. The moment the hand stopped to clench the fingers into a tight fist, a clang came from the interior of the door and creaked backwards, causing light to leak outward. Slowly, a man of surprisingly medium build and rather forgetful face comes into view, the light making his facial features obscured for just a few seconds, before the light from the alley took over for it. The man did not say anything. He just stood there, waiting. 

“Hello,” Blake said, “Am I in the right place?” Blake knew he was, but he posed the question anyway just to break the ice with the man. 

“Maybe,” the man answered, his voice higher than what Blake expected just on sight. “What are you looking for?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, somewhere to have a drink?” Blake answered. “Maybe take in some live music?” 

The man didn’t answer at first. He simply stepped back, left still lightly gripping the door. “Then this may be the right place, depending on your tastes in drink and music.”

“Well, I’m not that picky,” Blake replied, moving forward into the doorframe. “Maybe I’ll find something.”

“More than likely, sir.” The man motioned Blake towards a dark hallway just beyond the doorway opening. “We have something for everyone.” He shut the door in one fluid motion, as Blake moved past him. “Enjoy.”

Blake nodded to the man, and started towards the dark hallway. As his first step entered the space, a light switched on to laminate the path. “Huh,” Blake mumbled to himself, pausing his next step. “Motion lights. Interesting.” He then continued his stride, taking in the plain white hallway as he moved towards the opening at the end. No door that Blake could see, but as he got closer, a low sound of music gradually started to fill his ears. He couldn’t quite place the tune, but it had a jazzy flow to it. As he reached the entrance, the flow of the music made him think that it was being performed live. As he walked through, he came out onto a small perch that slightly raised him above the people clustered in the room among a variety of round tables and open spaces.

As he proceeded down the three steps, Blake noticed that the music came from the left side of the room. As both feet planed in the floor, he turned his head left towards the direction of the music. At the end of the room, a stage housed a three-piece band that consisted of a bass player and guitarist seated in front of a small drum set, the drummer keeping time with those in front of him. There were two clusters of people slowly moving to the music, while people sat listening and talking at the surrounding tables.

“Not bad,” Blake said, under his breath. He stood in place, taking in the room. It seemed to be relatively busy for a weeknight. It had been a while since Blake had been in town, but he was expecting more of a crowd. 

He made his way down across the floor, making his way to the bar that made up a majority of the far wall. As he got closer, he could tell that the bar was made out of a dark hardwood, a variety of bar mats at various places along the surface that complemented the dark finish of the surface. Behind the bar, a collection of bottles hung in their shelves, a large mirror spacing out the placement of the liquor, just so the customers can see just how themselves get more and more drunk. 

“What can I get you?” a voice to the right of Blake asked. 

He turned towards the voice. Seemingly sliding towards him, wiping their hands on a white rag before tossing it down under the bar’s surface. He couldn’t place the voice, but the almost music-like tone gave him a feeling that he really wanted a drink. Any drink. Although he shook it off after a couple seconds, he made a mental note of the sensation for future reference. 

“Water,” Blake answered. 

The bartender paused for a second, and then seemed to quickly rebound their composure. “Just water?” they asked.

“Just water,” he answered. “I’m driving.” He gave them a quick smile. 

They placed a large, plastic cup in front of him, grabbing the dispenser from underneath and pushing the button all in one fluid motion. “Gotcha,” was all they said, filling the cup and then placing it in front of him, returning the dispenser back under the bar. “On the house.”

“Really?” Blake asked.

“DDs drink for free,” the bartender responded.

“Oh, cool.” Blake took the cup and raised it to the bartender. “Thank you.” They returned his nod and moved down to the next person waiting at the other end of the bar. 

Blake turned to take in his settings, placing his back to the bar and slowly sipping his drink. At first glance, it was a nice place. The walls seemed to be painted what appeared to be an almost white color, probably to absorb what light there was being put off at the moment. A variety of ceiling fans littered the ceiling, some turning briskly, while others turned more slowly. He could feel the air circulation lightly touch his skin, but just barely. It had been years since smoking was allowed in places like this, but circulation was still important given the universal fact that people had a tendency to smell in a variety of ways. 

As he was mentally cataloging the surrounding space, Blake began to feel like there was someone taking notice of him. It was a subtle feeling that had, when he took notice, begun to slowly grow. He began to move just his eyes from side to side, taking in all of the details that he could before he had to move his neck to take in more. This is part of what he was hired to do, although he was hoping to have a little more time before he began to be noticed. Although he didn’t get the feeling that he was in trouble per se, he felt that he had lost whatever element of surprise he was hoping to have. While he could feel a spark of paranoia, it had not yet grown to strangle his brain. He was fine, and more importantly, he knew that he was fine. This was a fact-finding mission, nothing more. If need be, he could defend himself, although he really didn’t want it to come to that. 

“What do you think of our little place,” said a voice coming up to his right. “I hope you’re enjoying the space.”

Blake turned only his head, slowly, hoping he was able to beat down the sudden surprise of hearing a voice suddenly cutting through the background music. While he was certain he had heard the voice, he knew he couldn’t be completely sure it didn’t cut into his brain. 

“It’s nice,” Blake answered. “Good band.” 

The person that suddenly appeared next to him was a rather tall, rather slight, man with hair that appeared to be a combination of black and grey randomly mixed together. His left temple was a cluster of noticeable grey, where the next gray cluster was collected on the bangs on the right side. He wore an equally black suit, with a white undershirt topped off with a black tie. He seemed to be a very put together individual, more than likely the owner, but Blake felt that he was missing something with his outfit. 

“Glad you like them,” the man responded. “Our house band, although they are available for certain engagements.”

“Oh,” Blake responded. “Do they have a business card?”

The man smiled. “I’ll get one for you.”

Blake nodded to the man, and then took a drink of his water. He took his time with the drink, swallowing slowly as a way to collect himself quickly. With a clearing of his throat, he subconsciously signaled his readiness to continue.

The man offered his right hand to Blake. “Mr. Zachery,” 

Blake took his hand without hesitation, giving it one quick pump. His skin was warm, almost unremarkable, but he really wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe clammy hands, or at least cold, but his was neither. “Blake.”

“Real name?” The man released the hand. “Taking a risk.” He had an almost teasing tone to his voice. 

“How do you know it’s my real name?”

A smile stretched across his face. “I know.”

“Didn’t say it was my first or last name.” Blake responded.

“True.” Zachary’s smile faded, but didn’t go away. “But at least we now know how to address each other.”

Blake simply nodded in response, raising his cup and taking a quick sip. 

“So, what brings you out tonight?” Mr. Zachary asked, leaning his back against the bar. “Other than the band, that is?”

“Not much,” Blake answered. “I was going to be in town for a couple days and thought I would look around town.” 

“First time in our fair city?” 

“No, I’ve been here before,” Blake replied. “Although it’s been a few years.” 

“Let me guess,” Mr. Zachary raised his index finger in the air in front of Blake in an almost absent minded gesture. “Mid to late 90s?” He then paused for a brief second. “Early 2000s at best.”

“Close,” Blake replied. “Ninety-nine. Day before New Years.”

“Ah yes,” Mr. Zachary smiled. “Y2K, and all that.” 

 “I missed all of that.” Blake responded. “Turned out to be nothing.” 

“Funny how most things do. Still, it made for an interesting New Years.”

Blake finished off his water, one of the ice cubes tapping against one of his front teeth, and then placed the cup on the surface of the bar. As he turned back towards Mr. Zachary, he caught the motion of the bartender grabbing the cup and throwing it somewhere below the bar top. They were very efficient, Blake had to give the staff that much. 

“So,” Mr. Zachary’s voice rose slightly. “I must take my leave of you.” He bowed his head slightly towards Blake. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

“Thank you,” Blake returned the bow. 

“And please make sure to let whoever you are working for that they are more than welcome to check our little establishment as well.” 

Blake did not have a reply to that statement, but he now knew why he had been singled out by this man. If he was on anything else other than a fact-finding assignment, he might have been more concerned. Still, it was enough to get his heart rate to go up a couple beats. 

“I will relay the message,” Blake finally answered. “I’m just here to take in the sights.”

Mr. Zachery cocked his head slightly. “Of that, I have no doubt. If you had any other motive other than that, you wouldn’t have been so easy to spot. I must say that I appreciate you not insulting me by offering any kind of denial.”

Blake shrugged. “I really didn’t have a story that was believable. Maybe if I had more time, but I really wasn’t expecting any kind of confrontation.”

“Regardless of what your employers may think,” Mr. Zachary continued, “all are welcome here.” With a final nod, Mr. Zachary moved away from Blake. 

“All?” Blake responded after him.

Mr. Zachary paused and turned back towards Blake. “Yes, all.” His smile returned. “As long as everyone behaves themselves.” 

Blake could feel the left side of his mouth creep up into a smirk. While he wasn’t sure how his employers would react to that statement, he believed in the suggested threat underneath Mr. Zachary words. At the very least, that last statement would raise a few eyebrows. 

The background music seemed to fall silent, as Blake slowly came out of his train of thought. He looked towards the stage to see that the musicians had started to unplug their instruments and place them in their individual stands in front of the drummer’s drum set. The background chatter slowly began its steady rise, as the guitarist secured his instrument and then made his way over to the main microphone. “We’re going to take a short break. We’ll be back in a few.”

Blake wondered if by a few, the guitarist meant it would be fifteen, or thirty, minutes. While he was hoping for the shorter fifteen, he decided to take the time to further examine the surroundings of the club. It was mainly made up of one very large room, with the bar behind him taking up most of the wall. As he turned to look at the bar again, he noticed a door just beyond the left end of the bar. It was rather unremarkable, being a contrasting shade of wood grain with a rather basic collection of letters that spelled out STAFF in all capitals. Given that it was that close to the bar, Blake was sure that’s where all the alcohol is kept. 

“Another water?” the bartender asked, breaking Blake out of his train of thought. Blake moved his head in their direction and nodded. With a returning nod, they produced a cup, slightly larger than the previous one, producing the fountain gun in the opposite hand and started to fill the glass. It wasn’t until Blake clasped his hand around the cup that he noticed that there were a couple ice cubes floating to the top,

“Thanks,” He raised the cup to the bartender. “How long does the band usually take their break?”

“Usually, about twenty minutes,” they responded, wiping the bar top with the white rag that he produced from below the surface. With the fluid motion of the act, Blake almost thought that the bartender could have made a rather decent magician. “They say fifteen, but it always works out to be twenty for one reason or another.” 

“Musicians,” Blake smirked, pulling out the stool from under the lip of the bar and sat down, scooting it up a couple quick times.  

“Ain’t that the truth?” The bartender smiled. He then snapped the towel over his left shoulder. “You good for now?”

Blake smiled. Good bartender. He made a mental note to leave them a decent tip. “I’m good. Thanks.” 

As the bartender moved down to the other end of the bar, Blake caught movement out of his right eye. A small, dark haired woman took the seat next to him, placing her equally small handbag onto the bar. As she moved the stool closer, Blake could better make her out. She wore simple jeans, black shirt, and a deep black leather jacket. Her equally jet-black hair was pulled back into a singular ponytail. As she steadies herself, he noticed the subtle amount of makeup that made him think that she wanted to look good, but didn’t want to spend the time doing it. 

“Ten minutes,” The woman replied, taking Blake by surprise. 

“I’m sorry?” he responded.

“My makeup,” she turned his stool towards him. “That’s how long it took me to do my makeup,”

“Ok.” Blake adjusted on the stool. That couldn’t have been a lucky guess. If what he thought just happened actually happened, he could have to up his guard a little more. For the first time this evening, he thought he might need his lucky coin in his right pocket. At the very least, he was glad he had it. 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t bite.”

“You sure?”

A smirk creased her mouth. “You don’t make enough for that to be an option.”

Blake smiled. “Touché’.” 

“Hmm,” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not going to argue the point?”

Blake raised his cup to his lips, pausing slightly to respond. “Why? I have a feeling you would know if I’m lying.”

Her smirk turned into a full smile. “Possibly.”

The bartender appeared in front of the woman, leaning forward slightly. Blake couldn’t hear the exchange clearly, but what drink the woman ordered was not that interesting to him. The bartender took a step back, reaching down and then producing a small glass in one hand, with a bottle in the other. They proceeded to pour a small amount of a clear liquid into the glass about what Blake guessed was two fingers deep and then returned the bottle below the counter. They then placed a small, square napkin in front of the woman and placed the glass on top of it. They then moved to the next customer somewhere at the other end of the bar. 

“Regular, I’m guessing,” Blake said.

“Yep,” she took a small sip of her drink and then returned it to the napkin. “Obviously, the same can not be said for you.” 

“Obviously,” Blake responded. 

She took another drink, slightly longer this time, and then turned her head slightly towards him as she replaced the glass. taking Blake in. He continued drinking his water, feeling her gaze. As he set the cup back down, he thought he could almost feel her pushing inside his head. He couldn’t be sure if that is what was actually happening, but he wasn’t too concerned given that he didn’t have anything too important in his brain. It was one of the few moments knowing next to nothing worked in his favor. 

After a few silent moments between them, the woman shrugged and turned her attention back to her drink. “You’ve got a name, stranger?”

“Blake,” he answered. 

“First or last name?”

Blake smiled at the repeat question. “Yes,” was the only answer he gave. 

She returned his smile. “Ok, Mr. first and last name. Have it your way.”

“And your name?” Blake asked. 

“Bev.”

“Nice to meet you, Bev.” He raised his cup and took a drink. “Does that mean we now have power over each other?”

“Maybe,” she looked at him. “Names having power and all that.”

“So they say.” Blake finished his drink and placed it back onto the counter. “We’ll see how that works.”

She simply shrugged. “Well, anyway, nice to meet you, just Blake.”

“Likewise,” He turned his stool towards her.

Bev turned her stool in response to face him. “Let me guess, you’re here to see the band.”

“Sure,” He answered. “I heard they were pretty good, and since I was in town for the evening, I thought I would check them out.”

“They are pretty good.” She replied. “IF this place had a house band, they would be it.” She finished the liquid in the glass, setting it down just in time for the bartender to appear with the bottle and proceeded to fill the glass. “Mr. Zachary made a good decision putting them on the payroll.”

“You know Mr. Zachary,” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“Yes,” She answered. “Most of the regulars do.”

“Interesting. I suddenly feel important,”

“Maybe you are,” She responded. “You never know.”

Blake could feel the slight push into the back of his brain as before, but this time there seemed to have a little more of a purpose, as if looking for something. As before, he held up to the feeling until it worked its way out of his mind. 

“You know,” He finally said, “You could just ask the question.”

She took another sip. “I could, but would I get a true response?”

“Maybe,” Blake answered. “But then again, maybe not.”

“And then again, would it really matter in the end?” She gave him a quick up and down, “Probably not, but then again, someone might want to know.”

“Like Mr. Zachary?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.” She stopped, looking at him thoughtfully. “Then again, maybe not.” 

“So, what is your interest in all of this?” Blake asked. 

“Hard to say,” she answered. “While I do enjoy meeting a new person here and there, I don’t get the impression you’ll be sticking around much past tonight.” 

“Doubtful.” He shifted in his seat. “I didn’t pack enough anyway.” 

“Too bad,” She shrugged. 

“What is your connection to this place?” Blake asked. 

She shrugged. “Little to none. I just elevated the surroundings.” 

“Huh,” He looked around, spinning on his stool slowly. “Nice job, I guess.” 

“It doesn’t take much,” She replied. “Especially on a weeknight.”

“How long has this place been open?”

She took a drink. “Not really sure. Well before I showed up.”

“And when was that?”

“Eh, maybe three,” She paused, her eyes squinting in thought. “No four years ago. Wow, time does fly.” 

“Ok, why here?” Blake asked. 

“Everybody has to be somewhere,” She chuckled. “Seemed like the place to be at the time.”

“And now?”

“Hard to say,” she took another sip. “But, the future does look interesting.”

“Interesting?” 

“Interesting times and all that,” She smiled.

“Now you just jinxed yourself,” He returned her smile. 

“Maybe. You’ll just have to visit again to find out.”

“Maybe,” Blake shrugged. “Never know what’ll happen.”

Bev nodded, finishing off her drink and setting the glass back down. She then eased her stool out from under the lip of the bar. “Well, we’ll see how things turn out.” 

Blake pushed away from the bar, standing up as she gathered her purse and faced him. 

“Nice to meet you, Blake,” she offered her hand to him. “I must look to see if some of my people have arrived before the band takes the stage again.”

Blake took her hand and shook it. “Same here, Bev. Enjoy your night.”  Her handshake was solid, but did not fall into the forceful variety. Her skin also struck him as rather warm, but not to the point of being sweaty. As she released his hand, he noticed her eyes seemed to ripple suddenly from brown to a light shade of blue. As he blinked, the color turned back to the original brown. 

“Good night,” she said, then turning and making her way towards the cluster of tables at the opposite end of the large room. Blake noticed the slight nod she gave Mr. Zachary, who seemed to appear in her path as she walked by. He simply returned her nod, gave Blake a passing glance, and the swept the rest of the room. A hand reached inside his jacket, producing what seemed to be a small pocket watch and flipped it open. With a quick glance, he seemed satisfied, closing the watch and placing it back into his jacket. 

 

Blake turned his attention back to the door marked STAFF. While the door did not seem out of place, especially in bar setting, there was something about it that caused Blake’s brain to twitch slightly. He couldn’t put his fingers on why exactly, but when he brushed his pant leg, he could feel the slight vibration of the coin resting in the pocket. Not quite like a cellphone stuck on vibrate, but noticeable, more like a low grade current. He lightly traced the coin over the fabric of his pant leg, trying to get a better idea of what was behind the sudden activity of the metal surface. As he looked away from the door, taking in the room around him, the current decreased to almost nothing. As he slowly returned to the door, the current started again. Something inside the room was causing the reaction of the coin, that much was obvious. He would have to find a way into the room. How exactly he would get into the room, that was the first question. After that, he would worry about what was in the room itself. 

“Making it up as I go,” Blake sighed. He moved his stool back away from the bar, suddenly aware of the water that he had drunk up to that point. Luckily, just beyond the STAFF door, was a sign farther down between two dark finish doors marked RESTROOM. “First things first.”

He started in the direction of the doors, just as a woman dressed in black shirt and pants stopped in front of the door and proceeded to punch the keypad below the silver doorknob. As Blake approached the door, he could barely hear the beep and the click of the lock mechanism. As the door swung open, Blake could see inside the opposing wall. There were shelves on the wall, housing a series of cardboard boxes that had clear tubes running out of the small openings at the bottom of the surface running off to somewhere out of sight. 

“Syrup boxes.” He mumbled, passing past the door as it slowly closed. It had been years since he had seen one, much less actually dealt with one. Given that he had always seemed to dislocate his thumb every time he would try and punch through the almost nonexistent hole that was supposed to be there so you could get to the plastic bag inside. He randomly flexed his thumb as he reached the door with the graphic marked MEN on the surface. 

 

As he dried off his hands under the loud hand dryer, the hot air slowly decreasing as he moved back to the exit. As he pushed through the door, a young man almost walked through him, obviously in a hurry. Blake shifted against the door, holding it open with his body. The man streaked by, single minded in his task. Blake released the door, placing his hand on his pant leg and feeling the current starting to increase again, as he walked towards the STAFF door. He reached in and pulled the coin out, rubbing it between his index and thumb. He could feel the imprint of the lighthouse on the surface as the current started to border on annoying. His finger caught the edge of the YES stamped just above the lighthouse. His index finger in turn rested in the NO stamped on the opposite side. 

As he closed in on the door, his brain started to race as to how he was going to get in. Blake could see the keypad come into focus, and then felt a sharp current zap his thumb. An idea struck him, as the numbers on the keypad came into focus. He took the coin and touched the keypad surface. A tiny spark shot between the coin and the 5 button, shocking Blake in the process. He quickly shook it off, palming the coin and gripped the doorknob and turned. 

The knob turned, but nothing on the inside caught on the inside. The door remained shut. 

“Shit,” Blake swore under his breath.

The door suddenly shot open, coming quickly towards his face. Blake got his hand up and caught the door on the edge and held it in place, inches away from his nose. A woman’s face peaked out from around the door, a confused look giving way to a combination of shocked realization and embarrassment. 

“Oh,” Her voice cracked slightly. “I am so sorry. I didn’t hit you, did I? Please tell me I didn’t hit you?” She took a step away from the door, a plastic sleeve of cups gripped in her hand. 

Blake moved to the side of the door, but kept his hand on the door. “No worries,” he replied, offering the girl a smile. “I really should be watching where I’m walking.” 

“Oh, thank god,” the girl let out a sigh, the tension in her shoulders relaxing. She then gripped the sleeve in both hands. “Wouldn’t look good if I injured a customer on my first night.” 

Blake nodded to her. “Best wait for the second night.” 

The girl let out a quick giggle, starting high and then tapering down. It made Blake’s smile deepen slightly. He felt for the girl’s situation. First nights on the job were always a mixed bag of anxiety. 

She then snapped to attention, bringing the sleeve of cups up to her chest. “I gotta get these over to the side bar!” 

“Go, go!” Blake replied, motioning off to his right. The girl flashed a quick smile and then rushed off, the sleeve dangling at her side. Not waiting for her to disappear completely, sliding through the doorway, letting the door click shut against his back. 

“Well, that was lucky,” he said, his voice having a slight echo in the room he was now occupying. With a quick glance, he took in the room and its contents. Along with the shelf system that had contained the syrup system for the soft drinks, the rest of the room was a cluster of cardboard boxes of what Blake guessed were all the supplies that were needed to run a bar. Larger boxes were clustered along the far left side, while the right side had multiple smaller box clusters positioned in front of the shelf system. Boxes with a graphic that represented a stack of napkins were mixed in with those that had a graphic of a bundle of straws. 

“Seems normal,” He muttered, flipping the coin through his right hand. The coin traveled through the first two fingers of his hand, but then lost the momentum at his ring finger and slipped. Blake quickly snatched the coin as it began to fall, feeling the current running through the metal. It had increased slightly since entering the room, adding a pulse to the sensation. As he took a step in the room, stepping out from the doorframe, the pulse fluctuated. Holding his hand out in front of him, palm upward with the coin in the center. 

As he turned his body towards the cluster of boxes on the right, the pulse decreased to a dull current. “Ok,” He muttered. He then turned his body towards the left, pausing slightly at the center before moving to the left and the larger boxes. The pulsing increased, almost becoming uncomfortable as he stopped on a space just beyond the stack of boxes. He took a step forward, testing to see what the reaction would be. The pulse increased more steadily. He closed his hand around the coin for a couple seconds, taking in the sensation, then opened up his hand again. 

“Something,” he started, and then trailed off. He was the coin like it was a compass, or maybe an old Geiger counter, although he preferred the first comparison over the second given what the second use to be used for in the past. “Here’s hoping,” he felt the lower eyelid of his left eye twitch. Not a good sign. He put his left index finger to lid, rubbing it gently. It twitched again in response. “Great.” 

Blake then noticed that there was a space in between the wall of boxes and the corner that was completely bare. Not only bare, but also it seemed that the boxes were purposely arranged to be free of any kind of obstruction. As he made his way around the solitary box labeled LIGHTS on the upper right corner in marker. As he cleared it, the coin pulsed sharply, and then seemed to cease all at once. Blake glanced at his hand and then lowered his hand to his side, slowly moving forward towards the corner. As he got closer, he noticed the old brick of the wall. Several of the bricks seemed to be a slightly off color with the surrounding bricks, as if they had been replaced at some point. As he stopped in front of the bricks, he could make out that the darker bricks seemed to form into the shape of a door. He reached out with his left hand and touched the surface of the brick. At first, the surface felt cold as he expected the surface to feel. After a few seconds, he noticed that the cool surface began to pulse like his coin. 

“Huh,” Blake said, looking down at the coin while he remained in contact with the brick. It had ceased its pulsing, but as he glanced down, an almost shimmer washed over the surface like a wave, changing the color to the darker colored brink and then back to its usual bronze surface. With a raise of an eyebrow, he looked back up at the wall, noticing that the color of the brick began to deepen to a darker shade of gray. 

Without thinking, Blake dropped his left hand back to his side as he raised his right hand, coin still in the palm, and touched the surface. Almost immediately, there was a sharp pulse that seemed to come from both the coin and the wall. Blake pulled his hand back, taking a step back. The coin continued to pulse, where as the bricks on the wall began to pulse in time with the coin, but in surface color. Both the section of the wall and coin began to sync up in time briefly, then the bricks changed. 

The bricks at the center of the wall began to peel outward towards the edges, as if moving towards the darker bricks at the outside of the border. As the bricks moved, each absorbed the other, exposing what was underneath. As the motion came to the last of the darker colored bricks, it stopped its motion, seemingly creating an almost doorframe, fully exposing a series of gray clouds that seemed to swirl around the frame. 

“Well,” Blake replied. “That was unexpected.”  Slowly, he started forward, being cautious with each step. The clouds in the doorframe began to thin as he came closer exposing what was beyond. What appeared to be a hill in the countryside appeared through the openings of the clouds, the grass slightly rippling by an unfelt breeze. As the clouds continued to thin, he could see off in the horizon a stone structure that almost resembled a castle. 

“Very unexpected,” Blake responded. He could not recognize the setting, but he was familiar with the doorway in front of him. He had seen a couple like it in his time as a field agent, even gone through a couple, but in those cases he knew the destination. In this case, he had no idea. He would have to remember to give a description when he got back, kicking himself for no bringing his phone in with him. 

There was a flash from the doorway, the clouds starting to thicken again, blocking out the background, Blake could also hear muffled thunder coming from the other side, giving the sense that it was about to rain. Blake stepped forward, catching a faint smell of rain in the air around the doorway. He quickly raised the coin and touched the off-colored brick as before, not really sure if it would do anything. The brick frame visibly pulsed a couple times and then started to retreat towards the center, sealing the clouds back behind the bricks. 

As the last of the bricks fixed back into place, Blake turned back towards the exit door, sliding the coin back into his front pocket. As he reached for the doorknob, he paused for a breath, doing his best to center himself and began to slowly turn the knob. The click sounded in response and he slowly cracked open the door, peering through the opening to see if anyone was nearby. No one was nearby, thankfully all the earlier traffic was watching the band setting up for their next set, the sounds of instruments being tuned leaked into the room as Blake slipped through the doorway and let the door close behind him. He stood in place, slowly looking from one side to another, no one seemingly noticing his exit from the room. After a few seconds, he walked back towards the bar, noticing that his stool was still vacant, the cup still sitting on the bar in front of the stool. 

 

“Refill?” the bartender asked, as Blake took his seat again.

“Sure,” Blake answered, sliding the cup forward. “Looks like it’s starting to get busy.”

“Yep,” the bartender said, filling the cup again. 

“Is it usually this busy during the week?” Blake picked up his cup, but paused before taking a drink.

“Sometimes,” they said. “Some weeks are better than others. Really just depends on what’s going on.”

“Apparently, the band seems to be quite the draw for the evening,” Blake replied, setting his drink back down. “What are they called?”

“Obsidian’s Wake,” the bartender said. “I think it’s supposed to mean something. What, I have no idea.”

“Interesting,” Blake muttered. “It’s definitely catchy.”

The bartender simply nodded, working on something below the countertop. 

Blake noticed the band was beginning to make their way back towards the stage. The bassist quickly grabbed his instrument, slung it over his shoulder, and turned his amp on in one almost fluid movement. The drummer took his place behind his set, collecting his sticks that he laid on the snare earlier. Only the guitarist seemed to be taking his time getting back to his instrument, seemingly not wanting to part with the large drink in his hand. He gradually placed the drink on top of his amp, collecting his guitar and slinging it over his shoulder. He turned on his amp with a pop and took the seat that was set up in front of it. 

Blake turned back to the bar, catching a glance at the digital clock that he had missed earlier. It was almost 10:30. More than enough time to listen to a couple songs from the band, but he figured he would make his way back to his car and off to find a place to stay for the night. He probably should have taken care of that before he made his way out this evening, but he had gotten into town a little later than he would have liked, so he just went straight to the bar and would worry about the rest later. 

The first chord cut through his brain, as he took a drink. The beginning of the song sounded familiar, but maybe slightly off given aspects of being played live and the fact that the band may beginning to play a cover of a known classic. By the time the fourth and fifth chord played, Blake recognized the song. 

“Little Wing.” Blake said aloud. “Stevie Ray Vaughn.”

The Bartender stopped his movement and turned to Blake. “Nice catch.” They said. “How did you get that so fast?”

“I grew up with a brother who was a guitar player and a fan.” Blake responded. “I got to hear the entire catalogue of Vaughn every day after school. Sometimes, even early in the morning.”

“Was he any good?” the bartender wiped off a glass and placed it back underneath the bar top. “Your Brother, not Vaughn.”

Blake nodded. “Actually, he was.” He paused, slightly. “Is. Is a good player.”

“Still active?” The bartender leaned forward, placing both hands on the bar top, the white towel still in his hand. 

“He is now,” he put his hand around his cup, turning it slightly on the counter. “After selling his business, he moved the family to Texas and retired. Joined a local band and they apparently play at least once month.”

“Good for him,” the Bartender said. “Following suit?” They asked. 

“Maybe,” Blake said. “In a few years, I might. I do enjoy the traveling,” He took a drink. “Well, mostly.” He cleared his throat after he swallowed.

“Traveling salesmen?” 

Blake smiled at the question. “Not so much. The closest I would describe me as would maybe be a field agent? Maybe?” 

“Field agent?” The bartender repeated. “For what?”

“An organization that has an interest in places,” Blake said. 

“Like a critic?”

“Not quite,” Blake replied. “While I sometimes get to hear some good music, like tonight, I’m more interested in where I’m at. The place.”

“Ah,” the bartender raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re reviewing the bar?”

“Something like that,” Blake finished his drink.

“And what’s the final verdict?”

Blake shrugged, offering a small smile to the Bartender. “Seems rather cozy. Friendly staff.” 

“Thank you,” They replied. “Much appreciated.”

Blake finished the drink, then pushed away from the bar and stood up. He then replaced the stool back under the lip of the bar. “You are welcome.” He adjusted his borrowed sports coat, fixed the slightly upturned collar. “On that note, I must take my leave, as they use to say.” He nodded to the bartender. “Hope you have a good evening.” 

The bartender returned the nod, taking the empty cup and throwing it under the counter. He then turned and made his way down to the other end of the bar. The crowd was beginning to increase in a steady fashion, causing the addition of a few more people to take up their positions at various spots along the bar. The Bartender seemed to gradually fall into the demeanor of the one in charge of people, as Blake moved his way back towards the small staircase where he had entered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bev sitting at a round table several feet away, surrounded by a couple other patrons, no doubt the friends she had been waiting on. He turned his attention back to the staircase, as he caught the slight movement of her head towards him. He didn’t wait to meet her gaze. 

As he made his way up the small staircase, he turned to take one last look at the band, who were finishing up their take on the Stevie Ray Vaughn classic. The guitar player, who was handling the vocals, was almost channeling the late guitar player himself as he sang. When the endnote ceased, many of the crowd began to applaud in response, many taking the time to set down their drinks to do so. Blake also began to clap, slowly making his way back down the hallway back to the front door. 

The doorman that had greeted him originally had been replaced by another man, similarly dressed in black attire, but much larger. Blake wondered how long the man’s shirt would survive the night, as he waited for the people entering to make their way past him and down the hallway. The man wrapped the bills that people had given him and stepped towards the door, pushing it forward with his giant right hand. It swung open with a heavy creak, the cool air whipping across Blake’s face, as he moved past the man, muttering a thank you that seemed to get stuck in his throat as he passed. 

“Have a good night,” was the man’s reply, releasing the door. The door creaked its way shut with a clang. The temperature had seemed to have dropped noticeably since he had been inside, causing Blake to pull his jacket tighter as he made his way to his car. He couldn’t wait until he could find a place to stay for the night that had heat, and a possibly decent couple hours of sleep before heading back home. 

As he exited the alley, Blake noticed a shape standing next to his car, a puff of smoke rising upward. A single red point glowed intensely for a couple seconds, and then faded down to a dulled glow. As Blake got closer, he could make out the shades of white in the shape’s otherwise dark hair. Mr. Zachary seemed to be Immune to the temperature dropping around him, as he again, raised the cigarette to his mouth and took a drag. As Blake came closer, his eyes adapted to the darkness of the surroundings enough for Mr. Zachary to come into view in more detail. He wore the same outfit as he did inside, only adding a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Blake noticed how Mr. Zachary held his cigarette in an overhand grip, using the first three of his fingers, while the last two curled towards the inside palm.

“Mr. Zachary,” Blake said, as he reached the car. 

“Mr. Blake,” he responded.

“Just Blake.” He placed his hands in the coat’s pockets. “Can I do something for you?” 

“Did you enjoy what you found in the closet?” His tone was very matter of fact, smoke rolling out of his mouth as he asked. 

“You could say that,” Blake responded, placing his hand on the door of his car. “Not actually what you expect to find in a supply closet.”

“Funny,” Mr. Zachary took a drag off his cigarette. “It came with the building.”

“No kidding?” He tilted his head, slightly. “How old is the building?”

“At least a hundred years,” he said, a final wisp of smoke escaping his lips. “Maybe more. From what I understand, it used to be a speakeasy.” 

“Nice,” he shifted his stance. “What exactly was I looking at in there?”

“Hard to say,” He flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the road. “It tends to shift each time it opens.” 

“I’m familiar how it works,” he responded. “I’ve seen a couple here and there.”

“Obviously, but that’s a question for another time,” Mr. Zachary put his lighter back into his left coat pocket.

“So, what happens now,” Blake asked. “Are we going to have an issue?”

“Not at all.” Mr. Zachary took a small step back. “Depending on what you, or more importantly, your employers intend to go forward at this point.”

“That depends on you.” Blake let his hand drop from his car door. “I’m sure the existence of a portal is going to cause some concern for my employers, but in the end, it all comes down to you and yours.”

“We’re here to do just what you see.” Mr. Zachary shrugged. “Run a bar.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Blake replied. “The portal tells me it isn’t. Not even close. ”

“I see your point, but that’s really all that’s happening.” He adjusted his jacket.

As he did so, Blake noticed his hands shaking slightly. Mr. Zachary seemed to catch himself, balling his hands into fists briefly and then releasing them, letting them fall to his sides. Blake took a quick breath, steadying himself, and then absently reached into his pocket, bringing his coin out. Mr. Zachary’s expression did not change, although his eyes locked onto the coin now in his hand. 

“That’s the first crack in your composure,” Blake said, motioning to his hand. “Kind of goes against what you’re saying.”

Mr. Zachary looked down at his hand, squeezing his finger into a fist and then released them again. Suddenly, the coin flew out of Blake’s hand and was caught by Mr. Zachary. He slowly opened his hand and flipped the coin in the air, catching it again and slowly opened his hand back open, looking at the exposed surface. “Yes.” He replied. 

“How did you do that,” a noticeable crack cut through his words. 

“I’m familiar with this coin,” he let the flip through his fingers one after another, then back again. “Or at least one like it.”

“You’ve seen the twin?” Blake asked, feeling a quick sense of excitement flash through him. “I thought it was lost.”

“Oh, it still is, but that’s a story for another time.” He handed the coin back to Blake. “Right now, the questions for us right now is what do you intend to do with the information you have gathered?” 

Blake rubbed the surface of the coin, feeling the warmth of the one who last held it.

“Me personally? Nothing,” Blake returned the coin to his pocket. “As far as the organization that sent me, they may take action. Not sure what, but I’m sure that they’ll do something.” 

“What would your recommendation be?” He took a drag off his cigarette. 

“Honestly?” Blake replied. “I’m not sure. At the very least I’ll probably suggest a follow up. Given the lack of opposed threat, regardless of the portal, I don’t see one, outside of the usual drunk people on an off night.”

“I can get behind that.” Mr. Zachary said, “As long as all parties involved understand the rule of just be nice.”

“I’ll pass that along. I’m sure we can work something out.” Blake extended his hand.

Mr. Zachary took his hand and shook it. “Good to know.” 

His hand had a slight chill to it, but not to the point that Blake reacted. He simply shook along with Mr. Zachary and then they both let their hands fall to their waists. Blake then reached slightly behind him and gripped the handle of the door and gave it a pull. The dome light of the car immediately snapped on, shining its light on the concrete to the right of Blake. 

“Drive safe.” Mr. Zachary said. “And regardless of the outcome, you are always welcome back. Tuesdays are our usual blues night.”

Blake smiled, as he opened the door. “I’ll remember that. Thank you. Have a good night, sir.”

As Blake slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door as he pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket, he looked back out towards Mr. Zachary. The man was slowly making his way back to the alley, smoke rolling out from his head and rising upward, catching the two street lights that stood at either side of the alley’s entrance. Before he entered the alley, there was one final puff of smoke before his right hand motioned to the away from his body and flicked the remainder of the cigar into the air. There was a brief glow from the still burning tip before it disappeared into the darkness of the night. 

Blake slid the key into the ignition slot and turned causing the engine to interrupt its sleep. It turned over slightly longer than it had done when he started it earlier, but the engine rang to life just as he took notice. He gave the accelerator a couple quick pumps then let the engine fall into an easy idle. He was ready to get underway, back to the hotel room and maybe a shower. He knew he would have to sign in with his employers sometime before he went to bed, but he wanted to relax first. It was always a good idea to shower first, and then try to assign words to whatever had happened tonight. 

“That should be interesting,” he said to the empty interior. The part of the whole soon-to-be written report was doing the research on Mr. Zachary. He didn’t think that was his real name, or more accurately, his only name. Something in the back of his brain told him there was more, much more, to the story. There usually was when something like the thing in the supply closet was involved. 

“Very interesting,” Blake repeated. 

He shifted the car into drive going forward out of the parking spot, then turning left towards the hotel. As he ended the turn, straightening out on the road, he reached over and turned on the radio, hitting the seek button to find a station that wasn’t static. The radio stopped quickly on a weather report before the next song started to play.

Stevie Ray Vaughn started to play his guitar, as the chords played the first bars of “Little Wing”. 

“Interesting,” Blake said, and then caught himself. “I’ve really got to stop saying that.”

The guitar seemed to reply in response.