The pub’s rear exit was rattling. The front door slammed shut and made them yell.
“That don’t feel good,” said Simon, getting up from his stool and looking back and forth.
Vetta moaned. “Please, I just want to go home. I want to speak to my mama.”
Lucas reached out and took her hand. He squeezed it tightly, as much for his own sake as hers. “I’ll get you there, lass. I promise.”
The door shook again as a massive blow struck against it. Something was coming in. The three of them backed up against one another and prepared for a fight—a fight they had been praying would not come. The nightmare was not yet over.
The door flung open. Something stepped inside. Two figures.
Large, imposing.
Smiling.
Vetta saw her friends and raced over to them, throwing her arms around them and squealing. Lucas recognised the two men immediately as part of the friendly group he had drunk with last night. The one not hugging Vetta seemed embarrassed, and he blushed as he spoke. “I hear talking inside, but door is stuck. I kick. I do not mean to break.”
Simon was beaming. “Nothing wrong with a bit of force, mate. We’ve been trapped inside here a while. It’s been the lock-in from hell.”
Lucas realised he was smiling too. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to his body doing things on its own without his conscious directives, but right now, it felt good. Unfamiliar emotions rushed through him, but for once, he didn’t want them to go away.
He went and shook the hands of the two Polish fellas and told them how glad he was to see them again. “Can I get you fellas a drink?” he said, looking past them to see the busy chip shop outside. Its queue went right out the door.
They were home again.
And Lucas was going to do whatever he had to do to protect it.
It was a week later when Lucas saw Vetta again. She came into the pub—recently renamed the Black Spear—and spotted him standing behind the bar. The shock on her face took several seconds to wear off before she approached. “L-Lucas, I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
He was polishing a glass, but he placed it down on the bar to speak to her. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets. “Aye, it’s a little harder for me to get around these days, so thought I would stay put. Heard there was a pub without an owner, so decided to try my hand this side of the bar for a change.”
She frowned. “You buy bar?”
He shrugged. “Place is still registered to a one Julian Elms, but as long as I keep the paperwork up to date, and the taxes on this place paid, I’m sure no one is going to have much reason to fuss. Tell you the truth, I didn’t know where else to go. Can I get you a drink?”
Vetta sat on a stool and nodded. “Vodka, please. So, you are just barman now?”
“As noble a calling as any, lass.”
“But you are special. You are supposed to be fighting bad things, yes? When we finally break Julian’s spell, you say you have work to do. I thought I would never… You stayed here!”
Lucas saw the hurt in her eyes. He should have reached out to her already. “I’ve been planning to get in touch, lass, I promise you. Just needed to get my house in order first—or my bar, such as it is. Every day I have wanted to knock on your door and tell you I’m here, but…” He sighed. “Vetta, lass, I don’t want you involved in the shit-storm coming my way. I’ve hurt you enough already.”
While he’d been talking, he had poured her vodka. She took it from him and clutched it tightly. Her hand was shaking slightly, and she glared at him. “World is ending, yes? Big war with Heaven, angels, monsters, God, lots of craziness, yes?”
“Aye, lass, you could say that.”
“Then I am involved whether I like or not! Everyone is involved. If war is coming, then how can you fight it alone?”
“Because it’s my job, lass. I don’t have a choice. You do.”
She shook her head, then swept an arm over the busy room. Business was good, but that’s not what she was indicating. “These people don’t know what is coming. I do. I know. You took away my blindness when you dragged me into your fight with Judas. I cannot go back to being blind.”
Lucas studied her face and realised it wasn’t as delicate or as pretty as before. She was harder. Tougher. In fact, she was stronger than he gave her credit for. She had peered into Hell and had not closed her eyes. It was wrong to shut her out. He chewed at his lip for a second, then sighed. “Want a job?”
Vetta flinched. “What?”
“Lucas needs himself a wench behind the bar. He can’t bring the fellas in on his own.”
“That’s… sexist.”
“Aye, but I’m from an older generation where that kind of thing is alright. You in?”
“I… yes, I would like job. I start now?”
“No time like the present. Get yourself behind the taps, lass, and old Lucas will show you the ropes.”
Vetta got up from her stool and headed for the hatch. Before she made it behind the bar, she was knocked aside by a figure in a hoodie. The stranger moved quickly and made it over to Lucas before anyone could stop him. Beneath the hoodie, two burning-red eyes glared. Gnarled fingertips reached for Lucas, silver-tipped and razor-sharp. One slash at his throat would be the end.
“Ah shite!” Lucas said, readying himself to feel the pain.
Before the stranger could swipe at Lucas, his attacker flew sideways into the bar. A large man appeared from the staff door behind the bar and grabbed the hooded figure by the neck, slamming his head into the bar several times before letting his motionless body slump to the ground.
Then Simon turned to the pub’s drinkers and put a large hand up in the air. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just some idiot we barred last night. Looks like he took it personally.”
The drinkers were wide-eyed, but they gradually went back to their conversations. Simon and Lucas stood behind the bar, staring down at the unconscious stranger at their feet. Vetta hurried through the hatch to join them. “Simon!” she said, confused.
“Oh, yeah, right,” said Lucas. “Simon’s been helping me get set up here.”
The big man shrugged at Vetta. “Shaun’s gone. I needed something to do with my nights.”
“You saved my backside there,” said Lucas. “Don’t go thinking you’re due a raise though.”
Simon tapped the unconscious stranger with his boot. “Who is he?”
Lucas sighed. “Just the first of many. The war has already begun.”
“He doesn’t look human,” said Vetta, not looking afraid by Lucas’s comment.
Lucas noted the silver fingernails. “This here, is an agent of the Black Strand. A tad unprofessional by their standards, but they must have thought I’d be an easy target. I’d take offence, but they’ve done far worse in their time than underestimate me.”
“Who are the Black Strand?” asked Simon.
Lucas sniffed. “They’re first in line. You both ready for a fight?”
Simon was grinning. “I like to kick things. I’m with you, man.”
Vetta nodded reluctantly, but then more assuredly. “Gheorghie was my friend. A monster killed him. I want to stop the monsters.”
Lucas gave them a lopsided grin. “Then Team Lucas is complete.”
Simon patted him on the back, rocking him against the bar. “We’ll work on the name later, boss.”
“Aye,” said Lucas. “Names are important. We should get it right.”
They all stood there, thinking, until someone knocked a knuckle against the bar. “Hey! Can I get a drink here, please, mate? Where the hell is Julian anyway? This place is a fucking circus since he’s been gone.”
Lucas turned to the customer and gave the young man a grin. There was blood on the bar from the skull Simon had just cracked against it, so he grabbed a rag and began cleaning it. “Oh, Julian had to go on an unexpected trip. Don’t expect him back any time soon.”
The lad
scowled as if he didn’t like the answer. Lucas realised then that it was one of the two lads who had attacked him with Jake in the alleyway. “So, who the fuck are you?” he demanded of Lucas. “You look familiar, innit?”
“Lot of people say that.” Lucas offered his hand over the bar.
The lad frowned but took it eventually. As soon as their palms touched, Lucas saw it all—the lad’s entire history in the blink of an eye.
“The name’s Lucas,” he said. “This is my bar. And you, sonny boy, will behave yourself, or end up like your old man shanked in the prison showers.” He yanked the lad’s hand, pulling him awkwardly over the bar. “Of that, you can be sure, Conner Mullins of Tynsall Avenue.”
The lad snatched his hand back and hurried back to his friends, not even waiting for his drink. Lucas turned to face Vetta and Simon, who were staring at him in awe.
“What was that?” asked Simon.
Lucas shrugged. “Seems like Heaven wants me to run a clean bar. Now, how ‘bout we have ourselves a wee drink? And let’s hope that, at least for tonight, we won’t see any more blood on the bar.”
That was something they were all happy to drink to.
Same Again
The roadwork on the corner made the high street a death trap. Cars overtook one another on the narrow street and gave no warning of whether or not they were turning into one side street or the next. That the lights did not seem to be working made things even worse.
Ruth needed to get across to the post office, but every time she took a trembling step onto the road, a car seemed to steam right across her path and sent her retreating back onto the pavement. Seventy-six was not an age for mad dashes across the road.
She jabbed an arthritic finger at the silver button beneath the lights, but still they failed to work. At this rate, she would be stuck on this side of the road all day.
“Want a hand, my love?”
Ruth glanced aside to see a handsome young man offering an arm to her. He had a layer of dark black stubble that would have been untidy in her day, but in this age, it was probably what counted for fashionable. His clothes, also, seemed very much the product of today—jeans more like a young girl’s leggings than a grown man’s trousers, and his suit jacket seemed odd over his plain t-shirt. Yet, his smile was full of warmth, and his eyes sparkled with kindness. Five minutes she had been trying to cross the road, and this was the first person to come to her aid.
“Thank you, young man. Good to know there’s still some good souls about.”
The man smiled wider, making Ruth blush. Young men did not notice her in such a way anymore. It wasn’t a sexual look, but it was a focused stare, one that meant he was seeing her as a vibrant human being and not just an old lady. It was funny how much she missed being noticed by a stranger.
He linked his arm in hers and said, “There are plenty of good souls about, but the modern world keeps everybody’s eyes downward. If only something would finally get them looking up again.”
And wasn’t that the truth. As they took their first steps across the road, she gave a short chuckle. “You didn’t have mobile phones and computers in my day. We all sat together around the radio or sat outside our front doors with a cup of tea. This generation is going to end up with square eyes.”
The young man laughed, a soft, infectious sound. “You’re not wrong. The world changes so quickly, don’t you think?”
They carried on across the road, taking things slowly. The young man even put a hand up to keep a white van from running them down. “Hold your horses,” he barked protectively.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she told the man. “The older I get, the more I feel like an alien who landed on another planet. Kind of makes me ready for the grave.”
“Don’t be maudlin,” said the young man with a grin. “If things stayed the same, humanity would have no place to go. It’s part of the human spirit to want to move forward. Could any other animal have put itself on the moon?”
Ruth tittered, wishing the edge of the road wasn’t getting so near. She was enjoying this brief, yet unexpected conversation. “What animal would be stupid enough to try? There’s nothing on the moon but a whole lot of nothing.”
They reached the curb, and the man helped her up onto the pavement. He placed an arm on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re not wrong there. Still, you don’t know until you try, huh?”
“I suppose you’re right there, young man. Thank you for helping me across the road. My name’s Ruth. What’s yours?”
The young man’s attractive smile grew wider than ever, revealing a perfect set of teeth. His eyes twinkled almost mischievously. “Oh, you can just call me the Good Samaritan.”
Ruth frowned. Then the young man shoved her in the chest, so hard that she felt a rib crack. She tumbled backwards off the curb and back into the busy road. The side of her head struck the asphalt, and she was dazed.
She didn’t hear anyone cry out, or even notice the assault, but she heard the heavy rumbling of a large, angry engine. She turned her head just in time to see the bus’s thick tyres grinding towards her. The squeal of brakes was the last thing she heard.
The Good Samaritan strolled away from the bloody scene whistling a merry tune. He had no plans for the day, but he quite fancied himself a beer.
<<<<>>>>
Plea From the Author
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Iain Rob Wright is one of the UK's most successful horror and suspense writers, with novels including the critically acclaimed, THE FINAL WINTER; the disturbing bestseller, ASBO; and the wicked screamfest, THE HOUSEMATES.
His work is currently being adapted for graphic novels, audio books, and foreign audiences. He is an active member of the Horror Writer Association and a massive animal lover.
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Copyright © 2018 by Iain Rob Wright
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Blood on the Bar (Lucas the Atoner Book 1) Page 22
