"Wait, it's just a bar now?" I ask, glancing at the bright yellow sign above.

It’s barely alive, with a flicker that could die any moment now.

"SPARKY'S

BA R

AN-D GRI...LL"

Stevie looks up, and nods his head, "Oh yeah, she had to downgrade, I think. That, or the '-and grill' part is silent."

"Bummer," I mutter, grabbing the door handle, "Was really feeling a cheeseburger if I'm being honest."

Walking inside the bar, the doorbell lets out a cluttered jingle. I feel my heart warm a little bit as after a whole day of confusion, familiarity washes over me. It’s such an odd, rackety sound of bells clanking together, but it makes me happy. I haven’t heard it in so long, and I’m glad something finally reminds me of home.

Sparky’s always consisted of a large rectangle, with the bar taking up the back quarter of the room. Bright warm lighting bounces off of the wood paneled walls covered in memorabilia.

There’s multiple photos of Tia and her parents, as well as an award for East Tennessee’s Bar of the Year Award dated for 2014. There’s rusted metal signs of old stores and hunting equipment strewn above.

Tia’s Dad once explained to me how he based Sparky’s design off of Pigeonburg’s roots as a small hunting camp.

He said he wanted the place to feel like an old outpost for hunters to relax and unwind in. Needless to say, the decorations all work together to create the lived-in aesthetic Sparky’s is known for. The old wooden floor still creaks as I take a step, like a saloon in an old western flick. Compared to everything else I’ve seen today; Sparky’s appears to be a standing monument of the past. Everything looks and feels exactly like it did before I left years ago.

The only thing that's different though, is the lack of customers. Much like Pigeonburg, the place is a ghost town. There’s no one here. In fact, looking again I notice there’s a good number of tables missing, leaving just a few low top tables, and chairs.

It’s a… cold feeling.

Walking up to the mahogany-stained bar, I run my hand across it. The shiny clear coat is still buttery smooth. You could probably ice-skate on it if you tried hard enough. My eyes drift up to the huge rack of bottles along the wall behind the bar.

Each bottle is filled with various alcoholic liquids, and syrups. Just under the shiny wall, rests a dull, out of place espresso machine, and a small countertop jukebox. I don’t recognize either.

I glance around, maybe hoping to find Tia but I don’t see her. Just a bar with no bartender. There’s a small plastic door to the left of the bar space, leading to the kitchen where she probably resides. Part of me is thankful that Tia is nowhere to be found, and part of me isn’t. Me and Stevie take two of the empty bar stools in the middle. The wooden stool under me creaks as my butt presses down into the cushion. It honestly feels like it’s gonna collapse at any moment.

Hearing Stevie yawn, I glance over at him.

“Geez man, did work tire you out that much?” I ask, chuckling.

Stevie gives me a sarcastic look, “Man you don’t have a darn clue what my job is like. Standin’ around for hours and hours on end, occasionally ringing up garbage. It gets so boring there sometimes, I just wanna jump off the building, make sure I’m still alive y'know? Any who, I'm gonna take a nap, I'll talk to ya in a bit.”

He then passes out, right there and then. His face slumping down onto the bar, and drool already oozing out of his mouth. I smile, as Stevie’s oddball antics tend to amaze me.

“What do you want Blake?"

Fear paralyzes me for a second, but I manage to not scream as I jerk my head to see Tia now standing behind the bar. Her eyes pierce through my spine, sending chills through me. I look back at Stevie hoping he could help me, but he remains asleep.

"You gonna order? Or are you just going to sit there ogling?" Her snide attitude destroys any remaining confidence I never had to begin with.

I look away in defeat, "I'll just have a water or something, I don't know."

She playfully scoffs, “Don’t sound so glum about it." before grabbing a glass. Tia reaches down, grabbing a sprayer from a sink before rinsing out the glass cup. As she looks back up, her eyes widen.

"God Blake, you are looking rough dude. You obviously aren’t cut out to be a wrestler, are you?" She inquires, looking around the front of my face as she eyes the bruises and black eye.

Cross my arms, I tilt my head as I try to look cool. "I mean, for what it's worth I am an undefeated fighter at the moment."

"Alrighty Rocky, calm down." Tia remarks before handing me my glass. It's full of ice-cold water, with perspiration already dripping down the outside. I take a sip. It’s cold,

"You alright though?"

I look up from the glass. Tia's demeanor has changed to a more concerned look.

“I mean like-” Tia almost seems to stammer her words, “On account of the bruises I mean.”

I nod, massaging my shoulder, "Eh… Yeah I’m fine. I took some medicine earlier. It’s been a strange few days."

“Strange? That’s a funny way to put it, what with you in cahoots with a cult and all right?”

We both laugh, though mine is more of a nervous "heh..." Tia had a bit of wariness in her phrasing. It was a bit unsettling.

I don't reply as we fall into silence. I take an occasional sip of my drink, and she leans over, rubbing her finger across the glass of her own beverage. Now that we are under a brighter light, I get a better look at Tia.

Her pointed, V-shaped head was always striking to me. It rests on her slumped shoulders with a tired expression. Tia’s once bright, bold, baby blue eyes now look exhausted and reddened. Her dimples look barely visible, faded away. Tia’s once long, black hair now looks frayed, and cut shorter than I remember. Though she still has the big bright blue bow tied to the right side of her head, that matches her eyes. She’s always had a mature elegance to her, and it’s somewhat accentuated with her outfit- a white button up, with dark blue jeans. The classic ‘Sparky’s’ bartender outfit. Still, the person wearing the outfit just looks pained with the same mute, pale face. I look around at the bar. Her parents' life's work, now in the hands of their only child.

"You've been busy huh?" I ask, trying to break the tension that has begun creeping up.

Tia looks up at me, before letting out that half-smile of hers.

It strikes a nerve.

Tia has had that certain smile for as long as I remember, where one of her dimples will show. I always thought it was adorable.

"Thanks, I try. It's been a long few years." she pauses. I can't help but sigh. Seeing Tia sad makes me sad. I can’t comprehend what Tia is going through. My brain becomes muddled the more I think about it.

"I'm sorry about your parents Tia."

Tia glances at me, before looking back down. Her face is devoid of emotion.

“It’s fine.”

I give her a reassuring look.

"I know I've got a lot going on, but I'm here if you need anything."

Tia nearly chokes as she takes a drink, letting out a sarcastic snicker.

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it?"

My eyebrows furrow, as her off-putting demeanor hits me like a punch from last night.

Tia rolls her eyes, continuing,

“You of all people should not be saying that you’re here for me.”

Confusion floods my brain, “What do you mean Tia? I’ve always been here for you, you know that.”

Tia’s face turns sour as we lock eyes, both of us giving each other a mean stare. It feels like a scene in the aforementioned western, where two gunslingers are at a standoff just waiting for the showdown to happen at any moment.

Before either of us can say or do anything else, the loud roaring of an engine screams throughout the small room. Stevie jumps out of his bar stool, falling on his butt. I turn around to see what is going on. The room around us begins to rattle and shake. Tia struggles to grab all the bottles hung up behind her. Suddenly, the blast of an extremely bright light from outside blinds us. My eyes strain to stay open.

The roar of the engine cuts off abruptly, as well as the bright lights. I rub my sore eyes, readjusting to the normal lighting.

I look back at Tia who’s adjusting her eyes. She glances at me but shoots me a snide look. I barely notice the jingling bells of the front door.

"Well, well! If it ain't Blake Autumn!"

I turn to see Mitch standing at the other end of the bar, decked out in his usual Cloak outfit.

Crap.

"Stay back Blake, I got this!" Stevie shouts, as he gets in front of me, posing a defensive position.

Mitch lets out a quiet “Mnph.” before lifting up his hand.

“What n’ the-...” Stevie utters. His feet have begun to lift off the ground, until his body begins floating like there’s no gravity.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I watch on in horror as Stevie screams, trying to swim his way back to the ground, but it's no use. Mitch lets out an amused chuckle, before sending Stevie flying towards the bar door.

Tables and chairs move out of the way as Stevie rag dolls past them, slamming through the wooden doors, out into the chilly alleyway. I hear Tia let out a partial scream, before silencing herself. I look back at her as she’s now backed up against the bottle wall. Her eyes widen as petrification fills her.

“Stevie!” I shout, nearly straining my throat. As I get up to go to my friend, Mitch holds his hand out towards me and freezes me in place.

It's a weird feeling- being frozen like this. I try to move my legs, but all I feel is the muscles in my calf tighten. My bones feel like they are being shaken violently. Almost like the zapping you feel from muscle shock therapy. I wince in pain as I try again.

"No use in fighting it, Blake." Mitch jeers, laughing as I struggle to move.

My heart sinks as Mitch lifts me up, practically throwing me back onto my bar stool, before spinning it around back towards the bar. The bar stool lets out a painful screeching sound as it scratches the wooden floor.

Still holding me here, Mitch takes a seat next to me. I gulp.

Mitch then snaps his fingers, pointing at Tia.

"Hey, you. Ms. Bartender, get me a jack and coke pronto."

Tia tilts her head, raising an eyebrow at the cult leader.

"Excuse me?” she asks in an offended tone.

Mitch shakes his head, letting out a quiet "tsk tsk." before raising his hand at Tia. He effortlessly pulls her away from the wall of bottles behind her, almost slamming her into the bar. He then gets in her face.

"I want a Jack and Coke, now."

Tia struggles to move, much like me. Luckily for her though, her upper body is free.

Tia sighs, before reluctantly grabbing ingredients, preparing to make Mitch's drink. Her face has gone mute. If she's still scared, I sure can't tell.

Mitch turns to me, and gives me a nonchalant shoulder pat.

"So, Blake! How are you feeling after last night?"

While I still can't move my arms or legs, my neck is loose enough to look over at him. Mitch is being careful with what body parts he allows to move.

"Piss off." I say bluntly.

“Aww C'mon Blake, you shouldn't treat me like that. I'm the reason you're alive, remember? I could have followed Cloak rules and killed you, but I’ve always loved a good competition! The thrill of the sport, not knowing what will happen next- People love spectacle Blake. The masses love to see their fellow man putting everything on the line for victory, you know? Especially when things are so... theatrical.”

The small, cubed glass lets out a solid clunk as it hits the bar.

The iced black and brown liquid spins around inside the cubed glass, and a little lemon wedge floats atop.

Tia goes to say something, but Mitch holds his finger up, silencing her. He makes it a point to keep us quiet as he takes a long drink. Setting the glass down, he nods.

“Y’know, I wanna be rude and tell you this drink is awful, but I actually really like it. Anywho, what were you going to say dear?”

Mitch’s blatant disrespect makes my blood boil. I feel myself growing more frustrated by the second. Tia gives off a sourly offended look as she asks her question, anger seems to replace her formerly fearful demeanor.

“When are you going to shut up and get the hell out of my bar?”

“Now why would I wanna do that?” he asks, propping his elbows onto the bar.

“That good drink of yours is on the house if you leave right now.” Tia then stops in her tracks, her face going sour as she covers her nose.

"And take that awful smell with you."

Mitch’s eyes widen.

“You know, this drink is on the house whether you like it or not. You should be lucky I even chose to step foot in this dump." Mitch lets out a dry chuckle, filling me with discomfort. He then ignites something in his hand, a small ball of fire.

"And that beautiful smell you're sniffing is the scent of magic my friend. You should learn to appreciate it."

Mitch's eyes then light up as soon as he's finished his statement.

“Y’know, I actually haven’t gotten to use a lot of magic today. Why don't I give you guys a demonstration? This bar would make an excellent practice area!”

Tia leans onto her bar, getting into Mitch’s face. She looks furious, her eyes now livid.

“Try me.” she says coldly.

“Alright.” Mitch remarks snidely, before downing the rest of his cocktail.

I feel my heart pounding out of my chest as Mitch stands up, backing up to the center of the bar. He holds his hands out and begins moving his fingers around oh so subtly. Small sparks begin igniting in the palms of his hands. Pretty soon Mitch’s fingers ignite into five small little flames. They look like five little blow torches shooting out of his hands. The fires keep growing and growing, until they turn into the size of tiki torches. I can feel the heat from my barstool.

Mitch closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath. The action almost seems to energize him, as he opens his now glowing red-orange eyes.

“Woah! This feels good.”

I turn to see Tia’s eyes widening again, as she's frozen in shock. She’s crouched down behind the bar unable to do anything. The bottles behind her rattle from all the commotion. This is bad. Real bad. I try to stand up again, and quickly realize that Mitch isn't holding me anymore. I hold my hands out to Mitch, trying to calm him.

“Hey! Woah woah, Mitch this is between you and me, leave her out of this!” I plead, trying to defuse him.

"You’re so funny Blake, thinking you can defend your little friend and her bar, now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got magic to use.” Mitch looks past me, glaring at Tia.

“Hey Ms. Bar lady, how do you like your old, run-down bar cooked? Personally, I like mine… extra crispy!”

“Ugh, Shut up!” I charge Mitch, fed up with his quips. I slam my left hand hard across his face, and immediately retract it in pain. It felt like I'd punched a wall. Mitch doesn’t seem affected at all by the punch. He smiles menacingly. Mitch knows that he has the upper-hand, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I try punching him again, but it does nothing. I back away, as he starts levitating. His feet now inching off the ground, Mitch laughs.

“Now this is a power trip!”

I panic even more. The walls around us are starting to turn dark. At any moment, this place is going to ignite. I look back at the bar, where Tia stands in the middle. My glass of water rests right in front of he-... Wait, water! Grabbing it, I splash it onto Mitch. The flames die down a bit as he lets out an annoyed, “Ow!”

I turn back and shout at Tia.

“Use the sink!”

She looks down, and immediately grabs the sprayer nozzle, hosing Mitch with water.

Mitch drops back to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. His flames quickly begin dying down, as he holds his hands out.

“Alright! Alright! Fine, I’ll stop.”

I sigh in relief as the flames die back down to nothing. Tia stops the sprayer, putting it back next to the sink. She points at the exit, her face still soaked in a bit of anger and fear.

“Leave!” she shouts, her voice soaked in anger and fear.

Mitch looks winded but composes himself as he gets up. His arms are toasted.

“I was getting bored anyways.”

As Mitch goes to leave, he’s stopped by Stevie who is now standing at the front entrance. He’s a bit scratched up on the face, but otherwise okay.

“Now hold on there you knock-off Draco Malfoy lookin' fella, I’m not done with you.”

Stevie then points outside at the ride in the alleyway, “Is that your ride out there?”

“You mean my Lambo? Of course it’s mine.” he retorts.

Mitch looks around at us, still using his cocky manner, “I don’t think anyone in this little town could afford anything over a hundred horsepower.”

Stevie crosses his arms, “Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

“What are you getting at redneck?” Mitch questions with impatience.

“Well, I happen to have something I think could match it, if you’re up for a little dirt race? Let it be the last round in your little competition. Blake wins, you guys leave 'em alone, and if you win you get 'em.”

"Huh?!" I ask confused about what's going on.

Mitch looks away, his wide. For once, a genuine look of surprise has crossed the cult leader.

“You know, for a hot-headed country bumpkin, that’s actually not a bad idea." Mitch's hands cross, a ponder across his face. Mitch walks up to the open door, glancing outside. "Where?"

“Hey, wait, can we talk abo-...”

“Just down that-a-ways is the gravesite of one Pigeonburg Speedway,” Stevie cuts me off, pointing towards the southwest end of town. I feel invisible standing here as he continues, “Since me and Blake here have to fix his ride, we'll let you guys handle the track repairs. We race in a few weeks. Halloween night.”

Stevie extends his hand, awaiting Mitch.

Mitch looks at Stevie's hand with a disdain. He rolls his eyes, his hand raising towards Stevie. The cult leader almost wants to recoil but decides to shake it. "Your tenacity is admirable. I'll keep your race idea in mind."

Mitch then turns to me, smirking. "I've got plenty of ideas of how to toy with your friend here."

"Deal." Stevie lowers his hand.

Tia calls out from behind the bar, "I don’t want to see any of you and your crew at my bar again, you got that?"

Mitch smirks, "Hm."

“Well then, that settles it,” Stevie says nods, as Mitch leaves.

I look back at Tia, “Look, I’m really sorry Tia I-"

“Blake, I'd really appreciate it if you left. I really don’t want to deal with you anymore tonight." She cuts me off.

Again, I feel my heart punctured with pain. This night didn’t go the way I wanted at all. I nod my head though and begin making my way out. The bar is a mess. Chairs have fallen over, and cups lay scattered everywhere.

As I go to leave, Stevie stops me.

"I promise Blake, we'll win this, and after that your mom can make some of those delicious peanut butter cookies!" he says encouragingly, patting me on the back.

“Yeah, I’ll ask Mo-…”, I freeze right in my tracks. My eyes go wide as I remember I had to be home for dinner at 8. I scramble, pulling my phone out to see the time.

11:13PM

I hadn’t checked my phone at all today, other than to call Stevie. Even then I never paid attention to the time. Now I had a flurry of texts and calls from Mom and Dad. I freak out. I didn’t mean to ditch them, I just wanted to (hopefully) deal with some things, and even then, that didn’t work out.

My mind is buzzing so much right now, I rush out the door heading home as fast as I can.

* * *

When I get home, I see the porch light is off. I know Mom always turns it off before bed, which means they are most likely already asleep.

Well… shit.

I take a deep sigh, before turning the car off and quietly walking inside. I sneak my way up the stairs, and into my room. I don’t even bother changing into pajamas, as I throw myself onto my bed.

I’m struggling to wrap my head around tonight. I don’t have the best ability to process stuff sometimes, especially when a lot is thrown at me. That’s probably why I started hating college, because it was all too much.

The main thing I’m stressing about though, is this horrible gut feeling.

My stomach starts cramping. I haven’t properly spoken to Tia in the longest time, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe it’s because of what happened with us many moons ago. I’m starting to question if I’m even a good friend to her because of it. I’m reminded of the moments I felt on that whirlwind of a night. I have the hardest time getting to sleep. My mind bounces off the walls in contemplation. I think of that night.

The night things changed for me. For us. The last night I was in Pigeonburg before leaving for college.

The night I almost confessed to her.