by Taki Drake
Locked into the channel of Alastair’s gaze, Vincent had seen no condemnation, no judgment. The big man quietly stood there and listened. This atypical response and the strange warmth that Vincent could feel around him added to his disorientation. Wrapped up in trying to reconcile his expectations and what he was seeing and feeling, the vet was dealt an additional shock when a small woman seemed to materialize next to him.
She said, “Come on, sugar. Let’s get you settled and put something in your stomach and in your throat. You need some good, old-fashioned TLC and it is about time you got some.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I may be going crazy! And I’m a Vietnam vet which means that I’m a baby killer and I’m dangerous.”
The woman, that he now knew as Wynn, hadn’t been frightened. She hadn’t recoiled or looked dismissive, and she hadn’t fled. Instead, she patted him on the arm with one small hand and said, “Don’t be silly. Everybody here has their quirks. Yours sound pretty minor compared to some.”
The shock to Vincent’s system had been too great. Dropping ungracefully onto a chair with a teeth-jarring impact, Vincent had been dumbfounded. He stared at Alastair and Madrik, looking for signs of dismay or repudiation. None of that was there. He looked at Wynn’s sympathetic face and found only care and acceptance.
Skimming over the wave of feelings that he could sense in all of the people in the bar, he saw sympathy, yes. But there was also understanding and acceptance. Nowhere did he feel anything that told him to “go away.” No one there even thought that he might be crazy.
It was just too much.
A short time ago, Vincent had been running through dark streets unsure whether he should kill himself or allow someone else to kill him. His misery was too overwhelming for him to continue, and his fear of losing the last vestige of his soul had driven him to extreme measures.
To go from that desperate place to this haven of warmth was more than he could process. He felt his hand tremble as he lifted it to cover his eyes. From deep in his body he could feel something that reminded him of a geyser of hot, scalding fluid. Rising up through the center of his body and washing over his stomach in a bath of acid, the wave of emotion would not be stopped. It pushed fire up through his chest to erupt from his mouth, and Vincent finally cried.
His sobs had been elemental, powerful and deep. The kind of weeping that makes your throat and lungs feel like you have flayed them with small whips, shredding tender flesh. He hadn’t been able to stop, but the people surrounding him had been patient.
They had stood there ready to support him but also willing to let him finally feel the pain of decades of rejection and alienation from the people that he had thought to protect. Every lash of condemnation from those that had never fought had finally found its way into an eruption of stored grief and swallowed anger. Every betrayal by the politicians that had sent the flower of their young men into battle, only to abandon them when they returned, spewed forth, transmuted from rage and disbelief into a foundation for a new life.
It had seemed to take forever, but Vincent knew it had been only a few minutes. With no attempt by the bystanders to make him stop, or tell him that he should not feel that way, he was finally able to release the pent-up, toxic emotions that had been carried with him for so long.
As the ripping cries had slowed, unobtrusive movements around him had let Vincent know that the people were returning to their regular activities. They were wordlessly telling him that he was not a show, not a statement. He was merely someone who hurt and who had been allowed to express that legitimate reaction.
Finally, his crying had ceased. Pulling his salt-kissed hand from over his eyes, Vincent looked up at the two people across the table. One was Alastair, and the other was Madrik. Positioned in front of each of both them and him was a multi-layered drink in a small narrow glass with a handle. The woman’s voice sounded from over his left shoulder saying, “It’s called a Culture Shock. We serve them to everyone that comes through like you did. In fact, it wasn’t that long ago when I was drinking one myself.”
The owner of the voice sat down next to Vincent, putting her own drink in front of her and placing one more in front of the seat to her right. An instant later, one of the ugliest looking men that Vincent had ever seen joined them. My God! He must be over 7 feet tall! The vet had thought to himself.
The big man had nodded at Vincent, opening his mouth to say tersely, “Brechal, bartender.”
Madrik raised his glass up in the air and nodded toward Vincent, saying in a voice that had a strange echo that pushed Vincent’s senses into alertness, “Welcome to the Badger Hole Bar. If you like, I think we have a job for you.”
Chapter 14 – Crowd Control Central
Madrik saw Vincent shake himself and leave the doorway of the kitchen to reenter the taproom. Moving immediately over to help Wynn, the former soldier smoothly joined his efforts to hers in her most recent attempt to redecorate the back corner.
Smiling briefly, Madrik did a quick check of the room to make sure everyone else was proceeding smoothly with the large number of tasks that had to be finished before they could open tomorrow. His gaze intersected with Alastair, as he also watched Vincent. The two men, bar manager and head bouncer, exchanged smiles before each went back to their supervisory responsibilities and their individual worries.
Responsible for the overall security of the bar, Alastair had been doing a lot of investigation into the storerooms that had opened up underneath the bar in the last evolution. Madrik knew that he had various items stashed for convenience all over.
Sometimes he could feel the BHB and Alastair working something out. Recognizing that he was not a soldier and had no real idea of how to fight anything, Madrik had left all the arrangements for the defense and riot control up to Alastair and the BHB.
I am so thankful that I don’t have to cope with that also! It was another blessing when Alastair walked in through the right-hand door looking like he was about to carry out an inspection, even though I could tell that he was actually feeling desperate and exhausted.
Madrik thought back to Alastair’s appearance in the bar. It wasn’t exactly the same as anybody else’s, and in some ways, the bar manager felt that he should have been better prepared to respond when new people arrived. Also, he should have known more in advance when someone was coming in.
In the case of Alastair, the BHB Anchor had no warning, just a massive wave of anticipation from his companion, and a slow and controlled opening of the right-hand door.
Madrik had not expected the large man that had walked through with the posture of a military man and the control of someone trained in martial arts. The bar manager had known that the man was trying to appear at ease. However, it had been evident to his experienced eye that the man had been running from something and that he had been out in the cold. The rapid pulse that vibrated the large arteries in his neck and the small shivers that ran over his skin were dead giveaways. Even if he hadn’t been close enough to see those signs on Alastair, Madrik would’ve known from the slight blue undertone of the man’s skin.
Madrik had seated the visitor down and talked to Alastair while Brechal had delivered their welcoming “ritual” of a drink. Wynn had insisted on dealing with Alastair’s injuries while he had explained to Madrik that he had been escaping from a dangerous situation and happened upon the door to the bar. Taking a chance, he had come through the door and found himself in the BHB.
Madrik smiled in remembrance and looked over at Alastair, only to see that the head bouncer was already joining him. Sliding silently into the chair next to Madrik, Alastair allowed a grin to surface on his face and asked the bar manager, “It seems like today is the day to revisit our entry into the bar. I’ve seen you look at each person and replay the emotions from when they came. Considering how you’re going around the room, I guess it’s my turn. Right?”
“Correct! I was just remembering the events around your entry and thinking how little time it has been and
how much I’ve grown to depend on you.”
“Thanks. I feel like I’m in the right place for the first time in my life.”
Both men ceased to talk and appeared to be awash in a joint reverie. The thoughts behind each of their similar expressions, however, were very different.
Madrik was thinking about how well his team had come together and what a good job everyone was doing to get the bar ready for the opening. He was busy and loving it.
Alastair’s mind was running on a different track. Instead of thinking about the opening or what was going to happen tomorrow, Alastair was once again back in time, immersed in the life that he had led, one that now seemed like a story that happened to somebody else.
His mind slid back into that moment, living it again. Immersed in the sensations and situation, he was unaware of the BHB around him.
Chapter 15 – Entrapment
By Taki Drake and Nathan Howe
It was a crisp morning, perfect for a long walk, which is just what Alastair was doing. Moving at a brisk pace, the towering man made his way through the streets of the nation’s capital. His thick and muscular body showed that Alastair used to live in the gym, back in his military days. Those days had long since passed, but the muscles remained.
The people parted around him as he strode down the sidewalk. Each person slowed and moved with caution around him, glancing sideways as he walked past them. That fearful attitude sent chills down his spine every time he saw it.
Alastair didn’t like people being afraid of him or worrying that he would harm them. He only resorted to violence if he was forced. Grimacing, he could not help thinking about his days in the military and using force to get what he needed.
As he continued down the street, his mind drifted deeper into his own past. To the days as a child when he wasn’t the behemoth that he had become. In his youth, he was the runt of the litter. Always picked on for being smaller than others and unable to defend himself. It pained him to think how the bigger kids had pushed him around like a rag doll. Kicking him when he was on the ground at the playground and taunting was only part of it. The worse part had been how the adults would turn their heads and ignore it. To them, he had not been worth protecting.
Alastair vowed when he got older that he wouldn’t harm others. He had kept that promise, for the most part, only resorting to violence when absolutely required.
It wasn’t the defenseless little boy crying on the ground in pain that haunted him. It was that he was uncomfortable with who he was then. That part still remained, as he did not feel secure in his own skin. When people stared at him as he entered rooms or new places, it made his skin tingle. Alastair loathed himself and the way he was then. If he could forget it his childhood, he would have done it in an instant.
The bright sun heated the skin on Alastair’s arms as he walked. He rounded the corner of the block and bumped into a tall man. “Oh. I’m sorry,” Alastair exclaimed.
The man staggered back a few paces. “Just the man I was looking for.”
Alastair immediately recognized the man. It was his former captain from the army. He still had the same appearance he had all those years ago, the same old high-fade haircut, that screamed military. It wasn’t like Alastair let himself go, but he refused to keep his grooming the way that it had been. Alastair ran his hand through his hair, attempting to force down the cowlick that this captain had always screamed about.
“Sir,” Alastair said. This was the last person he wanted to see. “What can I do for you?”
Captain Jordan closed the gap between them. He wore a sleek black suit and still held himself the way a soldier would. He was the squared away soldier, even without the uniform. “You see the news the other night?”
Alastair’s nose crinkled at the thought of the news. Every person on the planet had heard it. It was all the internet, and news channels talked about. As much as Alastair tried to avoid it, he heard enough to know what was on.
The current excitement was the announcement that the paranormal creatures were real, werewolves, vampires, and wizards. Maybe even more varieties, but those had been confirmed.
“I heard,” Alastair said.
Jordan leaned toward Alastair and said intensely. “The world is a dangerous place. One that is worse than we expected.”
Alastair waved him off and backed up a step to create some space between them. This wasn’t anything new. It didn’t matter if vampires or worse were real. Regular humans were scary enough. The horrors Alastair had seen in the military and experienced as a child had been bad enough to still wake him in the midst of nightmares that would leave him shaking, whimpering in the voice of a child. This wouldn’t be any worse.
“I understand,” Alastair said. This whole conversation was getting suspicious by the minute. “What is it you want with me?”
Moving back toward Alastair, entirely too close for his peace of mind, Jordan murmured, “We are taking action. The news has told the public about our main organization. The Department of Non-Humans is the face of the movement that will ensure that the United States will not stand for these creatures.”
“I heard about the new department.” It sounded like an organization that was trying to isolate and separate the Supernaturals. Alastair worried that this action would just make things worse.
“Join us. We are recruiting, good men. Solid men. Loyal men.”
The world closed in on Alastair as if he was being forced into a locked cage. His heart began to race as his former captain spoke. Alastair had been a loyal soldier, faithful to his oath and obedient to his chain of command.
However, he had put that in his past. He wasn’t that man anymore, the one that had blindly obeyed orders and done horrible things. Just the thought of being in the military, or working for the government again, made him uneasy. A department that seemingly formed in a matter of hours made him even more anxious.
“It is tempting,” Alastair said. He knew enough to not refuse immediately. No matter how detestable he found Jordan, his knowledge of the man told him that Alastair had to make his former captain feel in control. “I need to think about it.”
Jordan stepped back, letting the feeling of the cage that was trying to close on Alastair loosen if only a little. Alastair’s hairs still stood in a danger response, thrumming in time with his tingling nerves.
“Very well,” Jordan said. He reached into a pocket on his suit and pulled out a card. “For when you reach a decision.”
Alastair took the card and placed it in his pocket. “Roger. I’ll let you know.”
Captain Jordan slithered away, leaving Alastair alone to think about what had just happened. Shaking his head, Alastair started to walk again. He had traveled about half a block before he realized that unconsciously he had turned and gone in the opposite direction from Jordan. Smiling slightly to himself, Alastair kept walking, knowing that he had already made his decision.
Realizing that he could alter his route to get to his original destination, Alastair kept going. By focusing on the scenery and thinking about where he was going, the former soldier was able to get the conversation with Jordan out of his mind. Of course, it helped that he was so insanely busy.
Alastair was working several part-time jobs. He hadn’t been able to settle down at a single occupation since leaving the army. Jumping from one position to another, the former soldier could never stay very long and was unable to commit his whole focus to one full-time job.
Currently, he worked as a bouncer at a local pub. Flexible enough that his boss loved having him, Alastair was on his way to work, even though it was still morning. Between the lunch crowd and all of the preparation that happened before the bar opened, having a bouncer on duty this early was smart.
Luckily, Alastair typically arrived early. That meant the delay Jordan caused didn’t make him late. Right at his scheduled start time, Alastair walked through the doors of Nick’s Pub and Grill. It wasn’t a large place, but it did draw a large crowd, continually changi
ng group for lunch. It might have something to do with serving the best burgers this side of the Potomac.
“Yo, Alastair,” Bill said. He was the owner of the place. The founder, Nick, had passed away years ago. “Was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. You’re never this late. Afraid you can’t handle Supernaturals?”
“Not scared at all. Ran into an old army buddy who wanted to talk.”
Bill nodded. “You tell him about us? We could always use a little more business,”
“Trust me. You don’t want him in here. He’s not a great guy.”
“If you say so.” Bill went into the rear of the building to handle one of his many tasks, while Alastair took his customary place near the front door. His size made him visible to anyone walking into the pub. That saved a lot of trouble, since knowing that there was such a large bouncer kept some of the more belligerent drunks in check.
As usual, it wasn’t long before the early lunch patrons arrived. As each one entered, Alastair had felt the tension in his spine increasing. Every single person that came into that bar over the lunch hour had glanced furtively at him with unease written plainly on their faces. It was worse than it had ever been before probably because they were now wondering if he might be a Supernatural.
Whether they thought he was human or not, the wary glances and the frightened posture were hard on Alastair. At times he loathed his job. The frightened looks, suspicious glances, and averted faces all made him uncomfortable. Even though he had reached his full size in his late teens, he still wasn’t used to people staring at him. Today, after the upsetting encounter with his old captain the customers’ cringing reactions to the sight of him only intensified his uncomfortable feelings.
It wore Alastair down as the day went on. His heart was pounding as if he were trying to escape. To make matters worse, he was sweaty and unable to stay still. Alastair’s body reaction displayed the ratcheting up of the adrenaline that usually accompanied a combat action, something he didn’t expect to experience in civilian life. He had hoped to never feel it again and the weight of the memories that were triggered added to his stress.
