At a small pub near his house, Alex was having a drink - essentially by himself. It was only 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and he had left work early - feeling something like an anxiety attack overcoming him. He had to get out of the office, and needed something to calm his nerves.

He stormed into the Funk & Freckle pub, looking disheveled. The place was mostly empty, save for a couple of older locals who came in daily to gaze longingly at the red-haired Irish bartender. They were drinking their favorite cheap scotch, as Alex took a seat a few down from them.

"Aye, son. Come to join us for a round?"

Alex just stared at them blankly and nodded. He was feeling uncomfortable. His first thought was that these were government agents who beat him to the pub, and were merely acting like regulars in order to blend in, and to keep an eye on him.

Wendy came around the bar... "What'll ya like, eh?"

Alex stammered for a moment, something about whiskey.

"We got Tullymore, Johnny Walker, Jameson, and Dewar's."

Alex looked disappointed. "Have you any bourbon?"

"Lemme check. We used to keep a bottle of Jim Beam."

She disappeared behind the bar, and into the back area, or maybe it was the kitchen? Alex wasn't sure. He could hear a door creak. A few moments later, Wendy came back around the bar, with a big smile and a bottle of Jim Beam in her hand.

"Boss had it in 'is office. He likes a dram when he's doing the paperwork, you know?"

Alex smiled at her.

"Rocks?"

"Uhm. No. I mean. Yeah, no. Neat please?"

"Gotcha"

She opened the bottle and poured a healthy amount into a glass for him. She slid the glass toward him.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Here we are."

"Cheers."

Alex grabbed the glass, and looked at it for a moment, before raising it to his mouth and taking in a small sip. The older gentlemen down the bar were looking his way. They raised their glasses toward him, and he did the same toward them.

"To your health, son. To your health."

Alex nodded approvingly, and they all took a sip. The gentlemen went back to their conversation.

A small television was on behind the bar. There was a news show on, and they were talking about some political issue in some small unheard-of part of the UK. Alex was only partially paying any attention to it.

"... caused by a tumor that had not been detected. A similar case happened in the 1960's in Texas in America."

This immediately caught Alex's attention. The words "Texas", and "1960's", and "America" immediately conjured the JFK assassination in his mind.

"Charles Whitman, also known as the Texas Tower Sniper, shot and killed 16 persons as he fired repeatedly from a tower at the University of Texas in 1966. This was after he murdered both his mother and his wife. An autopsy later revealed a tumor in Whitman's brain, which neurologists believe was a primary factor in his unusual behavior."

The story continued on the television. But Alex had stopped watching. It wasn't about JFK. He was, however, curious. He had his phone out, and began searching the Internet for keywords like "texas shooter". The first several articles were about Charles Whitman. Another popped up about JFK, but it was the Wikipedia article, which Alex had read several times before.

He clicked to the next page of results, and the first link was titled "JFK Shooter Dies in Prison". This title struck Alex in a strange way. His insides felt contorted and his head felt like it was floating. He rubbed his eyes and read the title again, thinking he must have misread it. It must have said something else.

But there was the link. Alex's head was still feeling unattached to gravity. He glanced up from his phone. The gentlemen down the bar were still talking amongst themselves, though one of them appeared to be staring at him. Wendy was leaning against the back area of the bar, and she also appeared to be staring at him.

The television was still on. He caught the last bit of a line from the reporter...

"... aliens in the US."

His mind stumbled again, his head still lighter and floating. His insides bloated and twisted, and his overall body feeling paralyzed. He couldn't move or speak. His breathing felt weird, like he had to will his lungs to operate.

"The ongoing political battle of immigration has ..." continued the story. This seemed to help Alex ground himself. In his head he thought "Ah, of course. Illegal aliens. Not extra-terrestrial aliens."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened them, there was his phone with the curiously worded link right in front of him. He clicked it.