I stopped walking and looked up at the aging sign. The faded orange letters spelled out the name of the now-defunct Kosmos Burger. I read it aloud and a small sigh escaped my lips. This was it. Cars rushed along the boulevard behind me, unseen but still felt, whipping up a momentary burst of wind that tugged at my skirt like an impatient child as they went.

My mind began to wander as I smoothed the wayward fabric against my thigh with one hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear with the other. The air carried with it the complex scents of melting snow, spring-touched autumn leaves, long-brown and now-greening grass, and the greasy exhaust of a pickup truck that just rolled coal, seemingly for my benefit.

As much as I’d tried to steel my nerves in preparation for this exact moment, I hadn’t prepared myself quite as well as I’d thought. My hands trembled. The slight chill that clung to the soft breeze would have been an understandable excuse, but that wasn’t it. I silently wished we could go back to the simple days… the days when the building standing before me was exactly what it claimed to be.

There had been a time when people sat at the mint-green picnic tables and ate their burgers while juggling paper platters filled with fries and deep-fried mushrooms. I could almost feel them sitting there, staring up at me, but the phantom memories weren’t there. It was all in my head. Scenes like that were from an era that was before my time, back when customers fought over who would sit where, and who would get the last sips of soda at the bottoms of their Styrofoam cups. Those days were gone.

There were no more patrons. At least, none like the innocents who had come before. The folks looking for fast food on their cruise down the popular boulevard had other destinations these days. None of the everyday people who drove by the shuttered blue and green building had the faintest clue about what this place had become. To them, Kosmos Burger was just another artifact of a bygone era, filled with a never-ending collection of ‘I wonder what that place was like?’, ‘When I was a kid…’, and maybe even an occasional ‘Hey, do you remember when…?’.

While those passersby might then find themselves wondering when the place would get torn down or when a new owner would come in and renovate, I knew better. So few of us did, and maybe it was better this way.

As far as Kosmos Burger was concerned, things changed forever sometime after the family-owned business closed for good. It wasn't as vacant as it appeared, but it wasn't a burger joint, either. Not really. It was now one of Bob’s diners. He would do his best, if you asked nicely, but that wasn't how things worked here. For most of us, it wasn’t about food. Those days were dead and gone and there was no going back. Not for the rest of the world, and certainly not for us.

I couldn't tell you how long it had been this way, but the day Bob showed up and the secret entrance appeared… Well, that was the day that everything changed. I didn't know it at the time, but it was also the very same day that my life took a turn for the worse. It took some time, of course, but it happened all the same.

If you knew, you knew. There was no going back after that. No matter how badly you wished you could. I had learned that lesson the hard way, but some decisions are made for you. Mine certainly was. It’s important to note that we all got here in different ways and for different reasons. Some of these crazy bastards actually chose this life. Whatever the reason, we all had a job to do.

Today it was my turn.

Like I said, there was no going back. Not for burgers or deep-fried mushrooms, and certainly not for innocence or the countless lives the place had claimed. It wasn't Bob's fault. Not as far as I could tell. It was just the way of the world. It was the damned secret way of things that I wished I never knew. Once I did, I had no choice but to shoulder the burden. And so, I did.

That was why I was here, standing on the sidewalk of Washington Boulevard, and staring at a sign for a burger joint that was no more.

I stepped into the small alleyway between the building and the brown-brick house that was planted firmly just a few feet behind it. Someone had scratched the word 'Divebar' into the wood paneling. Whoever had done it was a damn fool.

The wood section slid to the side with little effort, revealing the entrance to Bob's Divebar. I took a breath, planted a smile firmly on my lips, and stepped inside.

****

Bob looked up from his normal spot behind the counter. He held an empty glass in one hand and a raggedy old drying towel in the other. As usual, neither of the two objects looked the least bit wet.

“Hey Bob.”

I stopped to pet Cat. The feline arched his back, leaning his head into my hand as he purred from his place atop the bar.

“How is Carmichael today?”

“His name isn't Carmichael. It's Cat,” Earl's gruff voice chided from a booth several feet away.

In typical fashion, the man didn't even bother to turn and look at me as he hurled the two-part correction and insult my way. Pete, a guy about twenty-four or twenty-five, sat across from the older Diver.

Our eyes met. He quickly averted his gaze.

“Carmichael doesn't seem to mind, does he?” I asked, scratching the tom behind his ears. It was more for Earl's benefit than the cat’s. “No, he doesn't. He thinks Carmichael is just fine. Oh, yes. He does. What a good kitty.”

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

“He puts up with it, more like it,” Earl snorted. He still refused to so much as glance in my direction.

Bob placed the glass he was holding on the bar and flipped the towel over his shoulder, then he reached behind the counter. His eyes glinted in the dull yellow-orange light of the otherwise empty diner. His intense, dark irises held mine in silent contemplation, slowly burning through to the core of me.

Despite the depths to which those eyes bore, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. It felt as if he knew. It felt like he understood. The weight, the constant conflict that waged inside me, the sorrow I carried, the compulsion to continue diving despite all the reasons I knew I shouldn't… Everything.

I nodded.

He winked and produced the familiar copper mug. It was already filled with the ice-cold beverage. The shiny, orange-tinted metal was covered with tiny beads of condensation. A neat slice of lime and a few freshly bruised mint leaves danced atop the ice. Just the way I liked it. He set a coaster in front of me and then placed the mug down.

Like I said, I didn't know how all of this worked, but Bob knew. He knew I would be here. He knew my drink, a traditional Moscow Mule. He knew what I wanted even when I didn’t. He probably knew why, too. Although that was something I still struggled to understand.

Then came the quarter-sized token.

I picked up the coin and twirled it in my fingers. The weight felt right. Bob and this damned diner were my family now. As much as I hated to admit it, this place, these people, all of this felt like home.

“You should turn around now while you've got the chance,” Earl called out.

I could feel the weight of his gaze on me now. It was heavy, stifling. It somehow made the air a little harder to breathe. Pete was staring, too. The coward. He'd never stand up to Earl. Not outright. Certainly not here.

I turned to face the men, sipping my Moscow Mule as I looked from Pete and locked eyes with the fat, older Diver.

A damn near permanent sneer twisted Earl's lips. Weathered lines of discontent made him seem even older than he was. His glare taunted me, daring me to respond.

I flipped the chip into the air and caught it. Then I took another sip and returned the mug to its coaster.

“Stuff it, Earl.”

“Yeah? You can tell me that when you've got one of those with your name on it,” he shot back, pointing to one of the golden records that hung on the wall above the rustic jukebox.

I grit my teeth to hold my tongue. Fighting like this did nothing and, as much as I hated to admit it, the man had paid his dues. Even so, that didn’t give him the right to treat me like trash. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew what was at stake. For better or worse, I’d already chosen this path. Everything else was static. Salt and pepper. White noise.

“What’s your deal?” I asked. “You've been giving me hell since day one. I didn't ask for this, but I show up. I do my duty. I keep coming back and, every single time without fail, you're here to tell me I'm not good enough. Those songs aren't going to clear themselves. Are they? We both know you stopped diving ages ago. So, what do you want from me?”

Cat stopped purring and moved to the edge of the bar. He focused his slitted eyes on Earl and licked a front paw.

“What do I want?” Earl spat the question with more gusto than I'd come to expect. “What do I want? I want a pretty little girl like you to get as far away from this place as she can. Go back to that college you dropped out of, go back to your friends and the parties. Forget about the songs. Forget about me, about Pete, and Cat, and Bob… and… all the rest. Forget about all of this while you still can.”

The brutal honesty was unexpected.

I felt my words catch in my throat. My mind went back to Ellis. Again, some decisions are made for you. I didn't have a choice.

“You know I can't do that,” I said through still-gritted teeth.

“We all have a choice. You can. You should.”

“Is that why you stopped diving?” I shot back, surprising even myself. “Why do you keep coming back when you choose not to fight?”

A heavy silence filled the diner.

When Earl finally spoke, his voice quaked with barely controlled rage.

“Because someone has to clean up when young snots like you fail. The last time I dove was when your brother… when Ellis–”

“Say another word,” I hissed, cutting him off. “I dare you. I'll tear it all down. Do you hear me, Earl? I swear it.”

Earl looked as if he might take me up on my threat, but then he stopped short.

“Well, get on with it,” he said.

His glare was unwavering. His smirk deepened.

I held his gaze as I walked toward the jukebox with token in hand. It clunked into the coin receptacle and rolled down the chute.

The jukebox whirred to life, humming as it awaited my selection. Twenty songs filled the list. Some of them were new. Some had leveled up since the last time I was here.

I didn't bother looking at the names. I was tired of being told where I should go or what I should do. I was tired of people like Earl thinking I couldn't hack it.

It might have been a mistake, but my finger acted with a mind of its own, and it wasn't until he’d seen what I'd done that Earl's sneer finally faded. The lights flickered and danced down the rows and across the columns of songs.

His eyes grew wider. He coughed.

Pete stood.

“Random?” they both asked in shocked unison.

I could scarcely believe it myself. But what was done was done. There was no taking it back. Upbeat disco music filled the diner.

Bob winced.

Staying Alive by the Bee Gees.

It was a level 6 song.

I was only level 3.

Countdown started.

Proceed to Dungeon immediately.

A timer began counting down at the top of my field of vision. I felt my limbs quake with fear, but I refused to let them see me scared. Instead, I walked back to the bar and downed the rest of my Moscow Mule before heading toward the unisex bathroom where the dungeon awaited.

This wasn't how I wanted things to end. The look on Earl's face said the same, but he was still too shocked to say anything. It was probably for the best.

“So long, Pete,” I said. “Earl. It's been real. It's been fun. But it hasn't been real fun, has it?”

“Claudia, wait,” Pete called out after me.

I glanced at the countdown.

I didn't have time for this.

“Save it,” I said. “I've got work to do.”