Insanity is a misconception. No one knows if one is truly what they call insane. They just slap a label on something that doesn’t make sense in their tiny human brains and get on with their life, like checking off tasks on a list. But we get that unsettling feeling that we are certainly different from everyone else but in a twisted way, gnarled tree roots growing over our mind and our heart, consuming what we hold dear. Eventually our memories become ghosts haunting us...

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Feeling tired and frustrated with all that has been going on lately, I walk my way to a bar right across from the office. Moonshine-N’-Lite has been here for decades, an old family business. The inside looks much larger than the outside.

Everyone loves the old, russet decor, transporting you to a place of comfort with their records and vinyls playing in the back of the bar and wood like decorations as if we were in a cabin. Off to the side, there is a small stage where singers and poets can get their fifteen minutes of fame every night. On cold winter nights like tonight, there is a fireplace that sits beside the vinyls and gives off a glorious warmth throughout the entire bar.

The booths and tables are made of an old leather texture, the tables looking furnished yet roughed up. The bar itself is set in the middle of the place, rows and rows of lovely fermented wine and hidden whiskey and other drinks are stored in a cabinet behind the bar. Despite the old timely music and the old, earthy smell and wood like decor, this place feels like home. It just doesn’t help that it’s right across the street from the office, the majority of our late night calls are from these drunkards getting too lively in their night.

I walk in and head straight for the corner barstool, all the way to the left, away from any type of communication. It’s the main seat customers sit when they don’t want to be bothered. I take a seat and the bartender on duty, Tom, begins to make my order without even asking. I’m a regular here and Tom used to be best friends with Zayn and I.

As he’s making my drink, he glances at me and motions to a booth on the opposite side of the bar, also tucked into a corner, at a guy hunched over his phone. He begins to bounce his leg, glancing up every now and then, looking very nervous. I look back over at Tom and nudge my head in the direction of the nervous guy.

“What’s his deal?” I ask, propping my elbows on the counter, leaning inward as if Tom was going to kiss me. He laughed and played along, knowing how well I act during personal investigations. He leans in close to my ear and whispers:

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“He’s been asking for you,” He says, as he places my drink on the counter next to me.

I fake a giggle and lean back slowly, taking a quick glance at the guy in the corner only to find him looking right at me, his expression cold and his hand tightened around his phone. I quickly look away and casually grab my drink, taking a sip.

Good ol’ whiskey on the rocks.

I gently placed the glass down, looking around the bar to see how many people were in there. It’s about as dead as a western showdown, I think as I place my hands in my lap and lean back, finally relaxing.

Tom looks at me then, really eyeing me this time and his gaze leaves hot trails wherever it roams. I suddenly feel my cheeks grow a hazy warmth, as if I’m standing in front of a furnace, its heat just kissing my face. I clear my throat and hear soft footfalls heading toward me. I look up and find the nervous guy heading my way, his hands are tucked in his pockets but his arm is slightly shaking.

He can’t seem to keep his eyes on me. He stops right in front of me and, jarringly, sticks out his hand. “I- I- I’m-” He stammers, his face turning a deep shade of red from embarrassment. I bristle and offer a tiny smile, Who sent him to look for me when he looks like he can barely contain his bladder? He looks about damn near close to crying.

I laugh breezily and swivel myself around so I’m facing him, crossing one leg over the other. I lean forward and take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Hey there! You seem to be quite nervous. What’s got you so bunched up?” I ask, making my face mimic that of curiosity and understanding. He shakes his head, unable to trust himself with speaking as he’d already failed that. After a few ticks of silence, I nod encouragingly and offer an open seat beside me. “Here, take a seat and when you’re ready to talk, we can chat.”

His face screams relief after hearing that and he quickly takes the seat, worried I’d change my mind if he hesitated for even a second. As I continue to sip my drink, I simply listen to the backdrop of crowded voices in the now filled chairs behind me, each voice overlapping the next. I realize now how late it is based on the number of customers that now reside here. It’s always late at night when things begin to happen. And in about 5 minutes, someone is going to walk on that stage and-

“M-my name is Jacob.”

Surprised, clearly having forgotten he was there, I nod and look down at the counter. “That’s a lovely name you have there. You don’t meet too many Jacobs on the streets.” I replied half-heartedly. He dismisses my comet with the wave of a hand. “Yeah, no. Jacob is too common of a name.”

I look at him then but soon, as I said earlier, someone begins to walk on the stage and they carry a guitar with them, looking a little fazed at the crowd slowly turning to face them one by one. As he’s plugging the guitar in a nearby speaker, I realize it’s not a guy but a female.

A very familiar female…

When she lifts her head and steps up to the mic to say something, I realize it’s Percy.

And she's staring right at me...