Sorrento slowly got up from the floor, staring at Mike, his mouth open. “What, what happened? I don’t get this. What is this place? Who are you?” he asked.
Mike smiled again. “I told you. This is a diner. My name is Mike. Some people call me Michael.”
Was it my imagination or did light flicker around Mike’s head when he said that?
Fear and wonder mingled in Sorrento’s expression. He crossed himself and fell to his knees. I thought I heard him muttering a Hail Mary.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mike said, embarrassed. “Get up. You need someplace safe. Help is coming, but you’ll have to wait a while. Want something to eat?”
Sorrento and Joey just nodded. I could understand. I was pretty speechless myself.
Mike filled our coffee cups, then turned the heat up under the grill and began cooking more eggs and bacon. Maybe it was just the reassurance of the very ordinary act of cooking breakfast, but the aroma brought a calm to the room.
Soon Mike set plates of food in front of Sorrento and Joey. “Weren’t you going to call someone?” Sorrento asked.
“Oh, he’s coming. He’s a regular.” Mike glanced up at the clock. “Should be here any minute.”
Sorrento looked skeptically out at the snowstorm. I highly doubted that anyone else was going to come into the diner that night; you’d think I would have known better. Before long another man entered the diner, stamping his feet and brushing the snow off his coat. The stocky black man hung his coat on the coat tree by the front door and when he turned to the counter I could see his clerical collar.
Mike greeted him with a smile.
“Hi Father Jones. Quite a night, isn’t it? Coffee?”
“That would be wonderful,” he said, then he looked at me. “Hi. Anything I can do to help?”
I almost said yes, but just shook my head.
Father Jones turned to Sorrento, who now seemed more angry than confused.
“You said help was coming!” he yelled at Mike. “I thought you meant the FBI!”
Father Jones answered, instead.
“Of course, you’ll probably need to talk to the FBI at some point, but I
think you might need my kind of help first. Am I right?” Understanding dawned on Sorrento’s face.
“Yeah, I think you are.”
As I got up to leave, Sorrento asked Father Jones to hear his confession. I started for the door and Mike followed.
“Goodnight, Ned,” he said. “Be careful.”
I suddenly remembered my car was across the street and looked out quickly to see how badly it was shot up.
“It’s OK,” Mike said. “Drive safe.”
“I’ve been here before, but never seen stuff like this,” I said. “What kind of diner is this, really?”
“Well, some nights are more interesting than others,” Mike said. “What kind of diner do you think this is?”
I thought about it a minute.
“I think,” I said, “that this is a diner that’s here when I need it. God knows I needed it tonight.”
“Yes, he does,” Mike said. “But maybe you needed it for another reason.” “Yeah,” I said. Josh’s thin frame and lonely eyes came to mind. “Yeah,
I think I did.”
I left. As I drove home, I reflected on a man whose face I couldn’t quite picture and a diner that was always there for people who really needed it. And on a boy who reminded me of the son I once had and would never see again. I’m not a man who believes in second chances much, but I suspect Mike is.
If you ever visit my city and find yourself wandering around a seedy neighborhood late at night, you might come across a diner with a neon sign that says “Diner Open All Night.” And in that diner you’ll find a man named Mike, or maybe it’s Michael, and you most likely will find help, or will find you have help to offer. But maybe those are one and the same thing.
AUTHOR BIOS
CHRIS MIKESELL “IN R’LYEH, JESUS WALKS”
Imagine if you will a writer whose work is so powerful that his stories have been credited with fixing broken marriages, reuniting geographically and emotionally distant parents and children, and in one case, causing guards and inmates at a small minimum-security facility in Boise, Idaho, to spontaneously burst into song.
Chris Mikesell is not that writer.
Chris Mikesell writes for guys, but not in the sense that some people work for food. His work has appeared in The Wittenburg Door, Ray Gun Revival, Infuze, and Dragons, Knights & Angels. A native Californian, he recently relocated from Oregon to Texas.
KEVIN LUCIA “WAY STATION”
Kevin Lucia writes for The Press & Sun Bulletin, a Gannett News Publication, and his articles have appeared in Infuze, Title Trakk.com, Nappaland Internet Magazine for Families, and The Suspense Zone. He resides in Castle Creek, New York, with his wife Abby, daughter Madison and son Zackary, and teaches Middle School English at St. John the Evangelist School in Binghamton, New York. Kevin is currently pursuing his Masters of Arts in Creative Writing at Binghamton University.
ROBERT N. JENNINGS “THE DEMON”
Robert was born in Virginia but ended up in North Carolina after 18 years of growing up as a Marine Corps brat. He currently practices law in Mebane, North Carolina with two other lawyers and a Golden Retriever, who outranks him. He lives about a mile away from his office with his wife, Angel, their son, Jackson, and their Shih Tzu, Phoebe.
J. MARK BERTRAND “GARGOYLE”
Before his disappearance, J. Mark Bertrand was a novelist, author of a forthcoming book on worldviews, and the fiction editor of Relief: A Quarterly Christian Expression. He inhabited a garret in a turn-of-the-century Midwestern hotel. When his rooms were searched, a wall of clippings and artwork was found, all devoted to the "gargoyle." Investigators believe this was research for a work of fiction, but others have suggested a more sinister explanation. On the reverse of a scrap of
sheepskin from the University of Houston, conferring an MFA in Creative Writing, Bertrand left a final note. The scrawl has proven indecipherable.
MIKE DURAN “POLLY’S MUSE”
Unlike banshees, Mike Duran does not live in the Scottish highlands nor wail outside his neighbors’ windows in the dead of night. He does, however, occupy odd hours, excavating untold tales and conversing with imaginary beings. Living in SoCal predisposes one to florid personalities—real and imagined—and many of these have found their way into Mike’s yarns. What’s more, said yarns have found their way into journals, anthologies, and e-zines. When not at the Midnight Diner, he can be found at www.mikeduran.com where he chronicles his pre-dawn pow-wows, serves Guinness, and toasts to grace.
MELODY GRAVES “THE LOOKING GLASS”
People tell Melody she has the perfect surname to write about death, doom, and destruction: GRAVES. Her mother-in-law tells the hostess at the restaurant, “Graves, you know, like what you bury dead people in?” Don’t get her wrong. she loves creating misery and chaos as much as the next pencil-wielding author with a God complex. But, being first a MELODY (and a soft-spoken girl from Texas), she prefers to write about how suffering deepens character and enjoys exploring the redemptive and healing power of love.
CHARLES BROWNING “DOOR TO DOOR”
When Charles Browning isn't contemplating the mysteries of the metaphysical realm or simply arguing against the neo-colonial ramifications of Western Evangelicalism, he is preparing to enter the Episcopal Priesthood. Other times he writes. A recent graduate of Palm Beach Atlantic University, Charles has written for The Beacon and co-edited the University's 06-07 literature journal, The Living Waters Re view. His poetry and short stories have been published in that fine publication, as well as in the Black Book Press.
SUZAN ROBERTSON “NIGHT TRAIN TO BERLIN”
Suzan Robertson grew up in and around NYC where she often hung out in seedy diners and scribbled story ideas on piles of coffee-stained paper napkins. She and her husband currently reside in the Atlanta area. Suzan writ
es in an imaginary café located somewhere in Eastern Europe, where desperate souls play endless chess and
quietly discuss freedom and resistance. She adores sending her protagonists on dangerous assignments into the shadowy world of political intrigue. She enjoys strong coffee, cynical noir movies, dystopian novels, and world history.: http://suzanrobertsonauthor.blogspot.com.
NEIL A. RIEBE “WORK AND WORSHIP”
Neil has been writing for more years than he cares to count. He has been published in fanzines including G-Fan, Japanese Giants, and Prehistoric Times. His fan fiction can be found on the Peter Cushing Museum and G-Fan websites as well as in Lindisfarne's Cthulhu Mythos anthology, Eldritch Blue, for which his story “Dagon's Mistress” received an honorable mention in the 18th annual Year's Best Fantasy and Horror Compendium. Outside of writing he's a voracious reader of a number of subjects including science fiction, horror, history, astronomy, and paleontology.
JENNIFER J. EDWARDS “ELVIS LIVES”
Jennifer Edwards walked into the diner and ordered a cup of coffee. Strong, black. With two lumps, er packets of sugar. After graduating from the University of Iowa with an English degree, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do (other than write). College was pretty fun, she ended up working at a small Iowa college in the Academic Dean’s office. The free writing classes are a bonus. She’s thrilled to have finally published a short story (after all, what else was she going to do with a story about talking to Elvis in a diner?).
ROBERT S. GARBACZ “THE SALVATION OF SANCHO”
Robert Garbacz, when in his natural habitat, is frequently seen arguing theology over ale with often excessive volume, haranguing his friends repeatedly with obscure but fascinating facts about Medieval literature, or staring cloyingly into the eyes of his beloved wife. Unfortunately, his natural habitat is Oxford in the period from
1930-1950. This is a bit awkward for someone born in Tulsa in 1983, but he is studying towards his Masters at the University of Toronto and feels this is a firm step in the proper direction.
NATHAN KNAPP “THE WATER RISES”
When Nathan Knapp saw the Diner on the side of the road he thought his eyes were deceiving him. Still more unbelievable was that at this late hour the place was open. After all the hours on the road it would be good to get inside—yet he never realized how dangerous stepping through that door was until it was too late. Before his near-death at the hands of a crazy fry cook, Nathan published short fiction in Infuze as well as music and book reviews on various online mags. He was seventeen at the time of his unfortunate maiming. . .
R.M. OLIVER “LAST TRIP TO CRYSTAL MOON”
R. M. Oliver is a drifter by birth that used to wander around as a child making up all sorts of wild adventures. He’s currently studying Humanities at The Criswell College in Dallas, Texas. He plans on marrying his amazing girlfriend a year from December. He’s been searching for an outlet for his little yarns since he was twelve and is overjoyed to be given this opportunity. He is currently loving philosophy class and is entering his third year teaching ESL to immigrants from Latin America. He dreams of one day owning a Tortay Tacos Restaurant in Huatulco Bay on the Mexican Coast, and being known as the crazy gringo who talks to himself.
MATT MIKALATOS “THE DELUGE”
Matt Mikalatos knew the dame was trouble. She pointed a pistol at him. "I have a job for you," she said. "At the Diner."
He pulled her to him, rough. "That place ain't safe, sister. And I got an irreplaceable wife and two adorable daughters to protect."
He could take a punch, sure, but the Diner was full of crooks, chthonic entities, zombies. He snatched the gun from her. He would take the job. He always did. He brushed past her and headed down the fog-bound street toward Coach's Midnight Diner. He would need the pistol before sunrise.
S.J. KESSEL “BLIND DOG DETECTIVE”
SJ Kessel spent three years skulking around the Michigan State University campus trying to uncover Ace Jackson's story. She then moved on to Pittsburgh, PA to attend Chatham University's creative writing MFA program. Jackson refused to take any cases that would require him to travel to Pennsylvania. Next Kessel plans to move to Columbus, OH to research rumors that Ace Jackson has accepted a case at Ohio State University.
MICHAEL MEDINA “AMERICAN ANGEL”
Michael Medina was born 1980 in Dallas, TX. Like anyone else, he loves a good hero. If he’s learned something from Jack Bauer, John McClaine, and Solid Snake, it's that
a hero needs strength. So the question is, why does Christian storytelling usually lack heroes as memorable as these? We're fighting the greatest battle in history. Why is it so boring to read about in most of our novels? Medina creates heroes that will hopefully inspire strength and faith, because Christ needs us in the fight. We need to be prepared.
CAROLINE MISNER “THE THIEF AT THE ALTAR”
Caroline Misner was born in a country that at the time was know n as Czechoslovakia. She immigrated to Canada in the summer of 1969. Her work has appeared in numerous consumer and literary journals in Canada, the USA, and the UK, most notably The Windsor Re view, Prairie Journal, and Dreamcatcher. She currently lives in Georgetown Ontario where she continues to read, write and follow her muse, wherever it may take her. Her work can be viewed on line at thewritersezine.com, truepoetmagazine.com, and bewilderingstories.com.
JENS RUSHING “BAVEL”
Jens Rushing writes fiction of every stripe. He is only twenty-four and already has far too many books. He plays the concertina, too. Visit his webpage at jensrushing.com for a journal, some stories, and a complete list of publications.
MIKE DELLOSSO “ALMOST A HERO”
When he's not concocting twisted tales of crime and suspense, Mike Dellosso is usually found playing with My Little Ponys or watching Barbie's Nutcracker Suite for the umpteenth time. A strange partnership, perhaps, but three daughters will do that to a man. Mike lives in Norman Rockwell-esque Hanover, PA with his wife and three girls.
PAUL LUIKART “THE GIFT OF THE MAGI IF THE MAGI HAD BEEN BIG IDIOTS”
Paul Luikart lives in Chicago with his wife, whom he loves. He loves to write. He also loves to frequent diners. If you live in Chicago, he recommends the Diner Grill at Ashland and Irving Park. Go there at about 2 in the morning. Best coffee in the city. Cops and criminals eating together. Here's the serious stuff: He has a BA in English-creative writing from Miami University and has been published a few times, like in Inklings, The Lucid Stone and Issue 3 of Relief: A Quarterly Christian Expression.
LINDA GILMORE “SANCTUARY”
If Linda Gilmore were a character in the diner in her story, she'd be sitting in the back booth, drinking coffee and reading a book until the place closed. But since she's not, she works in an office and drinks coffee. She also reads lots of books, writes stories, and plays her current favorite game—Guitar Heroes II—with her teenage sons. She's been married for 29 years and lives in Kansas, which is a lot more interesting than most people think. And it's not flat.
EDITOR BIOS
COACH CULBERTSON Proprietor
It was 3AM in the Diner, and I knew every vamp, demon spawn, alien and drunk in the tri-county area would be walking through the door in about 10 minutes. I sharpened up the grill a bit with a towel and wondered if someone or some-thing would try to throw me through the window again tonight as I poured a slug of coffee that had boiled down to espresso. I wondered how in the world I got here, and then remembered how that crazy Jesus guy kept asking me to go on these wild adventures. Why I kept saying yes escaped me for a moment, but then I realized once again that the company couldn’t be beat. Chugging down the last of the mug, I stepped out to the counter, ready to step up to whoever and whatever walked through the door. After all, even demon spawn and aliens have to eat.
VANNESSA NG Coffee Tester
When a body turned up in the river, Vennessa knew she had to get busy. Living up to her reputation as a Jill-of-all-Trades, judiciously juggling her role as a wife and mot
her with running her own freelance editing business and working a part-time job, she couldn’t let the mystery go unsolved. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she interviewed the three suspects, unraveled death threats, and discovered clues. Despite her dedication, the perpetrator remained evasive and Vennessa took up residence in two cyber apartments. Grab the drink of your choice, pull up the easy chair, and visit her at either www.aotearoaeditorial.com or www.illuminatingfiction.com. You’ll find her pondering murder as she continues to pursue justice.
KIMBERLY CULBERTSON Head Waitress
“Spending way too much time in diners,” she thought, as she sipped her coffee. She had poured through pages and pages of stories, tired of circling off-kilter typos Coach had missed. And just as she thought it would never end, the last page was flipped. There were no more pages to proof. The thrill of accomplishing the project leapt through her like a caffeinated lightning bolt. She drank the last of her hazelnut-creamered coffee, packed up the manuscript, and walked out of the diner free, free, free.
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