"Can we live with ourselves if we do, and someone else dies?" Cove answered, then added, "My Father didn't realize something was wrong until it was too late."
The words echoed in my mind. '…and someone else dies?'
Images of fallen bodies with Sera's red hair flickered, followed by the sounds of battle and a heavy weight in my hand. I shook my head and shut my eyes, attempting to bounce the bloody red images back to the dark recesses from which they came.
Suddenly dizzy, I reached to steady myself, my hand bruising against the trunk of the car. The cool metal was solid under my palm, and it shifted down and up as Cove shoved himself off the trunk, pacing forward. I grasped the distraction with everything I had, letting go of the cool metal and following him silently back to the park. If he said something, I didn't register it.
Mattie and Jack found us loitering in the parking lot, greeting us with startlingly bright and cheerful voices. My chest loosened at their beaming smiles, and I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.
I raised a hand in greeting back, and Mattie's face flashed with something akin to concern. I cut her off before she could ask with a deceptively steady voice, "I didn't realize how tired I was until we reached the car."
Only after I said it did I realize it wasn't the lie I'd thought it was. I was dead tired. A great weight hung from my shoulders, sending pains up my neck, and I resisted the urge to rub the pains out. A yawn escaped my lips and was echoed by the others.
Not trusting myself to toss them, I held the keys out for Jack to take from my hands. He plucked them up, and we turned back around. My feet were heavy, and walking felt like trudging through mud. Jack started the car, glanced at the clock, then used the rearview mirror to meet our eyes. "Do you want to go to the bar? Or are you all too tired?"
It was like lightning recharged Mattie's batteries. Energy flowed back through her lifeless body, and she eagerly leaned forward. "Bar!" she cheered.
I turned away, closing my eyes and pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the car, lest the intrusive thoughts return.
"Hayden?"
My eyes flickered open, and I caught their confused and concerned gazes in the reflection on my window. I saw and felt my face flush. I'd lost track of the conversation.
Wasn't alcohol known for helping with things like this? "I could use a drink or two."
Jack picked a seedy-looking bar whose exterior was practically falling apart. We shuffled in through the rickety door, crossing the creaking old wooden porch that led to the entrance. He swung the door open, giving us a view of the inside.
The bar's interior was far cleaner than expected, with freshly polished wood floors and bright lights hanging down from the ceiling. What had been seedy on the outside appeared perfectly clean and more respectable than any bar I'd been to on the inside. The clientele ranged from 'just old enough to drink' to 'this might be my last drink.'
Mattie spotted an empty table in the far corner, and we wove through the crowded seats to plant ourselves in the wooden chairs at the barrel-supported round wooden table, spacing ourselves around the table like the four cardinal directions. A waitress quickly approached us, using her elbows to bolster her tube-tob assets in what she thought was flattering as she dropped drink menus on the table and took out a notepad to write down our orders. It looked forced but worked more often than not as gazes from outside tables lingered on her chest.
"What can I getcha?"
Jack and Cove ordered a whisky on the rocks while Mattie and I poured over the menu.
I typically went for simple red wine, a taste I'd been accustomed to in college when searching for the best drinks to pair with my food as I cooked. As a matter of principle, I typically didn't drink–my father was a recovering alcoholic–but I hadn't wanted to limit my meals. There had been a time when I'd bought expensive bottles for specific meals, using some of the hard-earned money I'd gotten from my programming internships with some of the firms in California over the summers. My mother had appreciated the gesture, and I hadn't offered any to my father. My sister had proclaimed the wine too dry ("It tastes like paint thinner!") and had raided my house for mixed drinks instead.
I hadn't ever admitted that she'd been right at the beginning. Still, after a few months of wowing work acquaintances and my family with the 'proper' setup for food, I'd gotten used to and started to enjoy the drier wines. Now, even a simple moscato was sweet enough to make my lips curl in disgust.
I scoped out the driest wine on the menu and placed an order, thinking the sheer variety should have been surprising. It should have, but it wasn't. I'd seen the degenerates on the streets of Chicago who'd do anything for a drink. I was sure hard drugs wouldn't have been challenging to find either if I'd been so inclined.
The bartender paused as she took our orders, eying us for a few seconds. "You all older than 21?" Her eyes lingered on me and Mattie, for some reason.
"I'm 28," I answered.
"23," Mattie said.
Jack slid over his ID, proving that he, at least, was over 21. She picked up the ID, squinting under the bright lights to read it, pursed her lips, then shrugged and passed it back to him. "Good 'nough for me."
She sauntered back behind the bar, swinging her hips to an obnoxious degree.
Jack leaned forward to whisper, "It's pretty rare now, but we still sometimes get out of towners like you who don't have licenses or IDs, so they take our word for it. Even if someone lies, it falls on them, not the bar."
She was back with our drinks almost instantaneously. Cove and Jack dumped theirs back, much like my father used to before he quit. Mattie took a careful sniff before taking a little sip. Pleased, she started drinking in earnest.
I swirled the thick red drink around in my glass, catching sight of silt floating at the top. It reminded me of the things I wanted to forget, and I tipped it back with a grimace as Mattie begged Jack for a sip of his drink to taste.
Jack collapsed under her gaze, letting her take a small sip of his almost wholly gone drink. She scowled at the taste, shoving the whisky back in his hand with a cough.
Mattie took another sip of her drink, chasing the whisky away with a pleased hum.
My wine disappeared in a blink of an eye, leaving the disappointingly clear glass behind.