CHAPTER 0

THREE MONTHS AGO

Another one knocked back. The empty shot glass clanked on the smooth, wooden bar-top, recently emptied and ready for collection. The bartender arrived shortly after to do just that.

“Another one for you?”

“That’s it for me tonight,” the man replied.

“I’ll bring you your tab in just a second.”

“Thanks.”

The bar was small, hosting only a few tonight. Rain poured outside, making the trip to the car less than ideal at the moment. The dim lighting wore down on him, inducing sleep far sooner than he wished. He kept himself distracted; eyes glued on the television. Another weekend night of football. Two teams he could care less about, but he would never say no to the gridiron.

The old man wiped his mouth, drying alcohol from his grey moustache. He scratched his right eyebrow, feeling along the scar that split through the hairs. His old bones were getting creaky, nothing a few drinks couldn’t ease. He had been drinking more as of late, not a habit he wanted to get into to.

“Who you rooting for?”

A young man sat down next to him. Mid-twenties maybe, built well, reminded the old codger a little of himself from years prior.

“Nobody,” he replied. “But I’ll never say no to the gridiron.”

“Cheers to that,” the stranger said, taking a sip from his beer.

“Say,” the old man said quizzically. “You look familiar…”

“Probably not. I get that a lot. I think I look like a celebrity or someone of the sorts.”

“If you say so,” the old man said.

“You from around here?”

“Couldn’t be further from it. Just got in from overseas. Figured I’d stop and smell the roses before I got on the road.”

“What do the roses in a town like this smell like?”

“They don’t. There’s something about the small town that I like. It’s quaint, easy going.”

“You’re right on that,” the young man said. “What were you doing overseas? If it’s not something personal. Can’t imagine what’s left over there after the war. Heard it’s all destroyed. A wasteland.”

“Not all of it.” the old man answered. “I travel. Just about all I do these days. If you know the places to avoid, you’ll be fine.”

“Retired?”

“For ten years in a few weeks.”

“What drives you to travel? The experience.”

“Yeah, the experience is one thing. I like to collect. Trinkets, odds and ends, that sort of thing. I got a granddaughter too. She takes after me in my curiosity. She’s a smart one, goes to UCLA. Keeps me motivated so I can tell her stories whenever I see her. Show her what I find.”

“You find anything interesting?”

“Not this time. They can’t all be winners.”

“Right,” the young man said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“I didn’t catch your name,” the old man said. “I’m Hank.” The stranger replied as he polished off his drink, muffling his words.

“See you around, Hank.” The young man left before he had a chance to ask for his name again. He was out of the bar seconds later, braving a trip into the rain. A shame, Hank enjoyed the occasional conversation of a stranger. It was a great opportunity to share life experiences. Chances are Hank would never see the kid again. His name isn’t important.

“Here’s the tab.” The bartender returned, setting the receipt in front of him. “Have a good one.”

“You too.” Hank retrieved cash from his wallet, setting down enough to cover the bill and then some. With a groan, he arose from his barstool. The rain was unrelenting outside, but his eyes were heavy. A little bit of water never hurt anybody.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Hank exited the bar. The cascading raindrops buzzed in a symphony. Water puddled in the cracks of the sidewalk. The night sky was in a haze. The downpour invisible in the darkness. Only around the orange glow of streetlights was the severity of the storm apparent. Luckly for Hank, he parked on the side of the street not too far away.

He left the safety of the awning above the bar door, exposing himself to the heavy rain. He moved quickly, avoiding puddles as he scurried to his car. He held his hand above his head, futile in blocking the rain but a force of habit.

Hank fumbled with his keys, unlocking the door and climbing into the driver’s seat. He exhaled, sheltered from the water once again. The rain pattering on the metal roof of his sedan was soothing in a way. He sat with the car off, relaxing in the seat, enjoying the sound of the rain.

He was more drunk than he thought he was. The town was small, and at a time like this, nobody was on the roads. His motel wasn’t too far away either. In other scenarios, he’d take the risk. But with the pouring rain, maybe it was best he waits a little. Here’s hoping he doesn’t fall asleep in the car.

Suppressing a yawn, he noticed a book sitting on the passenger seat. Something he took home with him from his recent trip. An interesting read, but not what he was looking for. He’d probably just donate it, unless his granddaughter claims it first. Hank grabbed the large book, tossing it into the backseat.

The passenger door opened. His heart jumped as someone quickly climbed in and shut the door. The young man from the bar, drenched.

“Jesus son you scared me. What are you doing?”

“Getting out of the rain if that’s alright with you.”

“I’m not sure it is,” Hank said cautiously. “What are you doing? Why did you just get into my car like that?”

“It’s pouring outside.”

“Yeah, but son, you can’t just get into my car without me inviting you.” Hank began to settle down but was still wary.

“Sorry about that,” he said. The young man stared at him with a cold gaze. His body language was stiff. Something was up. “You have something.”

“You’re trying to rob me, is that it?”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. You have something I need.”

“What could I possibly have that you need?”

“A book,” the young man clarified. “I can’t let that get out.”

“A book?” Hank asked confused. He wondered if he was talking about the one in the car. “What do you need with a book.”

“I’ll be honest with you Hank because I trust you. The book has information sensitive to me, and it would be best if it wasn’t brought to light.”

“What?” Hank grabbed the book he tossed in the backseat. “You mean this one?”

“Where did you find that?”

“When I was traveling in Europe,” Hank explained. “I don’t know, It seemed interesting-“

“Who wrote it?”

“It doesn’t say. I thought it was fiction. I have no idea where it originated.” Hank elaborated but froze when he thought about it a little more. “You don’t know where this came from either?”

“Listen,” the young man started. “That book has important information. A lot of stuff from my past that I would like to keep buried. I don’t know where it came from or who wrote it, or how anyone knows about my past in the first place, but I would really appreciate it if you gave it to me.”

The pieces came together all at once.

“This book is about you,” Hank deduced. “You’re the R-“

“Don’t. Call me that.”

Hank took a moment to process his discovery.

“Wow… I can’t believe this was real.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes, I’ve read the whole thing,” Hank said, still a little dumfounded. “Look, I get it. I completely agree with you. I think you’re a good man and you did the right thing. I probably would have done the same. I mean, when you read the details, it’s very justified. Hell, not just justified, but necessary. What they did to you-“

“I appreciate the understanding,” the young man interrupted.

“But I get it. I totally do. I know why you wouldn’t want this to come out. Here, it wasn’t what I was looking for anyways. I have no care for it.” Hank handed over the book with no issue.

“What were you looking for?”

“These artifacts,” Hank clarified. “I’ve heard whispers about them. About how there are multiple pieces that come together. I went looking around southeast Europe and Asia, but all I found was this book.”

“Sorry you couldn’t find them.”

“Oh, no worries. I doubt they are real.”

Hank and the young man sat in content for a moment, undoubtedly spelling the end of their conversation.

“Thank you for giving me the book, Hank,” the stranger said.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” the old man replied. “Say, I do know who you are.” The young man looked at him through his eyebrows, visibly annoyed.

“Yeah. I thought you looked familiar,” he continued.

“You’re mistaken.”

“No, no. I’m sure this time,” Hank insisted. He grew more fascinated by the second with their interaction. A very lucky turn of events for him. A good story for his granddaughter.

“Say, that book could be a gold mine for me. I’m sure some media outlets would pay good for it,” he joked.

A suffocating silence befell the vehicle. The rain pouring on the metal roof suddenly became ominous. The young man stared. His expression seemed almost detached.

“Why would you say that?”

Hank immediately realized his mistake.

“No, no, I’m just kidding.” He laughed nervously. “I won’t say nothing. I swear it. You got the book now, and, and, I’ll keep my mouth shut, and…” Hank stammered through his words. The young man didn’t even blink.

“Why would you say that?” The young man’s voice was dull, disappointed, almost. His face bore regret for something he knew he must do.

“Look son, I think it’s about time you got out of my car.”

Hank shuffled nervously. The rainfall became unbearably loud to him; its comforting echo now becoming tantalizing.

“Son-“

The young man forcefully grabbed the back of Hank’s head. He slammed the old man into the steering wheel. The sound of the rainfall disappeared. Light’s out.