“What is this place?” Blond Tips asked as I set his drink down in front of him.
“We’re a gamer bar,” I replied, picking up a fluro orange flyer from behind the counter and slapping it down in front of him. “Drink specials most nights. Arcades are pay as you go, and we can switch out notes for coins. Wednesday is anime screening night. Thursday is shooter co-ops with a fiver entry charge. Friday is theme night, this week it’s Horizon Zero Dawn. Saturday is the 8-Bit dance party—cosplay optional—and Sunday is tournament day, you know, PS4, Xbox One, that kind of thing. This week is the Destiny Two Crucible challenge.”
Blond Tips raised his eyebrows and handed me a tenner.
“Enjoy your drink,” I said, flipping him his change. I moved down to where the guy who’d been lingering in the corner had approached the bar. “What can I get you?”
The guy looked me over and his eyebrows rose. It was like everyone was in a constant state of surprise tonight. I wondered if I had something between my teeth. It seemed like the club to be part of, so I raised my thin purple-tinged eyebrows as well.
He was the tall, dark, and handsome kind. Cropped brownish-black hair, stubble on a chiseled jaw, black T-shirt, biker jacket, and I bet below the bar I’d find a pair of beat-up jeans and combat boots… among other things. Calvin Klein called and he wants his runway model back, I thought sullenly to myself. Guys like that never looked a girls like me. Girls like me being scarred internally and externally.
“What?” I prodded, resisting the urge to add a swear word into the mix.
Partially draping himself over the bar, he asked, “Are you always so… surly?”
“I work in a gamer bar full of geeks who’ve never seen a pair of tits before, what do you think?” I slapped my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp.
The guy smirked and batted his impossibly long eyelashes.
“I don’t… I’m sorry… I don’t know where that came from.”
“I do,” he said mysteriously. “Did you know your hair has a purple tint to it? Did you put that there?”
“Uh…” He wasn’t weird at all. “No,” I said, playing with a long strand that’d fallen forward over my shoulder. “I’ve never coloured my hair—”
“Aren’t you a curious little thing,” he mused, tilting his head from side to side, checking me out. “I can see why it came here of all places. You’re like a smorgasbord.”
“You’re making no sense whatsoever,” I declared. “Do you want a drink or not?”
“Do I get a flyer?”
I made a face and slapped down a fluro blue rectangle of paper. “There. Which is it? The cosplay night or the cosplay night? You’d make a great Lunafreya.”
“Now I can really see why it liked you.”
I narrowed my eyes, not understanding why this guy had my hackles up. I was never this rude to customers. Firm, yes, but outright bitchy? That wasn’t my MO. Maybe our auras had triggered an unstable nuclear reaction once they’d rubbed together. Oh jeez, rubbing together with a guy who looked like that? Happy birthday to me!
I glanced up as Blond Tips opened the door and left. Another point for Scarlett’s unwavering intuition.
The guy followed my gaze and straightened up. “Thanks for the chat, lovely, but I’ve got to go.”
“Huh?”
“Go home,” he whispered, his eyes shining. “Go home and forget.”
Jackson appeared in front of me, a confused expression on his face. He put down his empty beer glass and waved his hand back and forth to get my attention. “Uh, Scarlett?”
“What?” I asked, staring after the guy I dubbed as the Bad Boy.
“Who were you talking to?”
I clucked my tongue and rolled my eyes. “The guy in the leather jacket.” I waved in his general direction just as the door opened and closed. “He was just…” I sighed and glanced around the pub. He was gone, but hadn’t he just been standing right in front of me?
Jackson scratched his head and gave me a confused look. “Scarlett… No one was there.”
Scowling, I stared out the windows where I could see Blond Tips and Bad Boy arguing. “He’s right outside,” I declared. “He’s arguing with the guy with the ugly blond tips in his hair.”
“What blond guy? Scarlett, are you sure you’re okay?”
My scowl deepened to the point my face began to hurt as I glanced back at Jackson before my attention was drawn outside again.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said absently.
“Because I was thinking… Since it’s your birthday and all, I thought we could go out for dinner or something. I know it’s a tough time for you, what with having no family and all. So I thought we could go all out this year. Fast or fancy, your choice. Your shift ends now, right?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying because the argument outside was turning borderline violent. Bad Boy had thrust his hands into Blond Tips’ shirt and looked to be threatening him. People were walking right by them, doing nothing to defuse the situation at all. Maybe I should call the cops.
“I’d really like to take you out, because… Scarlett, I really need to tell you something,” Jackson said, “and it’s kind of important.”
I tensed as I saw a flash of metal in Bad Boy’s hand. Was that a knife?
“We’ve known each other a long time and sometimes feelings can change,” Jackson went on. “It’s only natural, right? And I guess what I’m trying to say is—”
“No!” I shrieked.
“Scarlett?” Jackson straightened up and glanced outside. “What’s wrong?”
But I wasn’t listening. Rushing down the bar, I weaved through a bunch of tables by the door and pushed outside. The two men were on the street in full view of everyone this time. Wait… this time?
I shook my head and stared at Blond Tips, who was lying on the ground with the knife sticking out of his chest. This was bad news in capital letters, bold, underline, italic, exclamation point.
“Seriously?” Bad Boy exclaimed, standing over his victim, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. “Again?”
I shivered, part of me slightly horrified and the other majorly confused. This had happened before. Just like that. Blond Tips on the ground and… Whoa, déjà vu.
“You’re impossible,” Bad Boy said, pointing at me.
“Am not!” I cried, causing passersby to stare at me like I was crazy.
“They can’t see me,” he shot back. “You’re impossible and batshit crazy, Purples. Everyone knows you’re supposed to run away from danger, not run directly at it!”
Standing there, completely stunned, I realised no one was even looking at the bloody scene that was unfolding outside of 8-bit. In a city that’d seen its fair share of tragedy because of these kinds of attacks, I was shocked. Nobody cared. Nobody cared because… I gasped as a wave of nausea smacked me in the gut. Nobody could see them.
“What’s happening? Am I going crazy?” I whispered, glancing nervously at a group of people walking past.
“I’m standing over a dead body on the street and you’re asking me? Get a grip, Purples.”
He was playing with me. He was a manifestation of my inner demons. The memories I’d locked away and refused to deal with were finally pushing me over the edge. Was this what was like to go totally insane?
Bad Boy grasped my wrist and pulled me into the lane beside the pub. This looked familiar, too.
“What are you?” he asked.
“I’m…” I didn’t know how to answer his question. I was Scarlett Ravenwood, messed up bartender. It didn’t get simpler than that.
“Like I said, impossible.”
“What are you then?” I shot back at him. “Are you a terrorist?”
“Am I a…” He snorted and shook his head. “Looks like you need a stronger dose.”
Before I could fight back, he’d grasped my face in his big hands and held me steady. His silver eyes flashed and I squirmed, trying to pull away, but he
was far too strong for anything I tried to make a difference. He was going to drug and kidnap me. I’d wake up tomorrow locked in some sick and twisted bunker in the middle of the ghetto where no one would hear me scream as he chopped me into little pieces and mailed them to Jackson.
“Go home,” he said firmly. “Go home and forget you ever saw me. Forget everything you saw tonight.”
Warmth spread through me and my limbs relaxed. He was so dreamy…
3
“Mummy!”
I sat up in bed, my chest heaving. Glancing around the room, I wiped the sweat off my forehead as my bedroom came into focus. I knew I’d been dreaming, but of what, I wasn’t quite sure.
I gasped, drawing in breath after breath, my limbs feeling like they were filled with lead. My head didn’t feel much better.
Memories were like icebergs floating in an ocean of darkness. Only a little peeked above the surface, while the core stretched into the depths of the inky black of the unknown. Sometimes they caught me unaware, smashing into my psyche and threatening to tear me apart like the hull of the Titanic. Other times, I was able to swim around them and let them drift off into the blackness until they inevitably floated back into my path. They were always there, and that was the problem.
The room was dark. The blinds were drawn, but light creeped in around the edges, casting a murky glow over my minimalistic design choices. I hated stuff. Furniture, knick-knacks, more than one pair of shoes. Three years later, and I was still using a suitcase as a makeshift wardrobe and my mattress was on the floor without a base.
Breathing deep, I shook off the confusion of my dream. I was in reality. I was sitting here. I was in my bedroom in Jackson’s flat in Camden. Wait… I didn’t remember coming home. I didn’t remember finishing work at 8-bit last night, either.
Turning, I grasped for my mobile phone. It was on the floor, plugged into the charger like always. I hadn’t had anything to drink last night, did I? It’d been my birthday, and I usually preferred to forget those, so it wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibilities. My head throbbed, so maybe I was hung over.
My fingers brushed against my phone, and then hit an unknown object. I picked it up, and made a face. It was a troll doll dressed in a tiny leather jacket and trousers. I stared at the ugly plastic toy and stroked the purple hair into a point. Where the hell did this come from?
Purples…
I shook my head and rubbed the grit from my eyes. Man, I felt like shit warmed over.
Knocking at the door roused me.
“Scarlett?” Jackson called. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah,” I replied, leaning back against the wall.
“I’m coming in…” The door opened slowly, then Jackson’s head appeared through the crack. “Is it safe?”
“Of course it’s safe,” I snapped, my temples throbbing. Ugh, my brain felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my skull.
“Just making sure you hadn’t brought back any, uh… conquests.”
“Puke!” I exclaimed. “I don’t believe in one-night stands.”
“There’s a first for everything,” he said sullenly, drawing the blinds.
The room filled with bright morning light and I shielded my eyes. I guess I deserved the rude awakening, even though I couldn’t remember what I’d done. The mattress dipped in front of me as Jackson sat, his shoulders hunched forward. He smelt of soap and aftershave—clean Jackson smells. I probably smelt like something dead.
“What happened to you last night?” he asked, his brow creased. “You rushed out of 8-bit like your arse was on fire, then you didn’t come back. At all.”
I shrugged, knowing I should get up and drink some water and find something to take for the pain. The troll doll stared up at me, looking impossibly happy with its tiny plastic smile. Even it was mocking me and it was an inanimate object.
“I was worried about you, Scarlett,” Jackson went on. “You were acting real strange. Are you—”
“Am I off my meds?” I shot at him with a scowl. “No, I’m not, thank you very much.”
He flinched slightly and pushed his glasses up his nose. “You know I had to ask.” Plucking the toy from my hand, he said, “Hey, a troll doll.” Holding it up he smirked. “It looks like you.”
“Shut up.” I snatched it back and let it fall to the floor.
“Like I was saying, I was worried about you, Scar,” Jackson said, watching me as I picked up my phone.
“You know I don’t like it when people call me that,” I murmured, starting to feel terrible when I saw the twenty missed calls and fifteen text messages from the loveable geek in front of me. I groaned and drew my knees up so I could lean my head against them. “I don’t know what happened.”
“You blacked out? Were you drunk or something?”
“No, I don’t… I haven’t had a drink in a while,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. Images swirled inside my eyelids, but I couldn’t focus on any of them. I raised my head. “Wait, what did you say about me acting weird? What did I do?”
Jackson squirmed and wrung his hands. It was how he occupied himself when he knew some juicy piece of gossip but was trying his hardest not to tell anyone. Usually, it was me he was avoiding because when it came to long-lasting friendships, we were two peas in a pod. Our circles were close in the up-close-and-personal kind of way.
“Jackson,” I prodded.
“You were talking to yourself,” he blurted.
“I was talking to myself?” My eyebrows rose. “Nuh-uh.”
“Scarlett… You were serving customers who weren’t even there,” he went on. “Then you shouted at something or someone that also wasn’t there, then rushed out onto the street. After that, who knows what happened because you didn’t come back. I tried to call and text, but you never picked up.”
I stared at him blankly, trying to recall my shift, but my head throbbed even worse.
“I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped or something.” He gestured wildly. “I almost called the police!”
Kidnapped… Black smoke… Black smoke swirling into the sky. My entire body stiffened as the image appeared in my mind, clear and sharp like a HD television channel. Black and thick… like ink swirling in water.
“Scarlett?”
Jackson was staring at me. His glasses were smudged with fingerprints, which annoyed me no end.
“I, uh… I’m sorry about ditching you,” I muttered. “I… I think I need to—”
“It’s okay,” he said, placing his hand on my knee, “I get it. Birthdays suck for you. Twenty-five is like a milestone, right?”
“Stop trying to make me feel better.”
“Of course I’m going to make you feel better,” he said with a smile I was sure had tinges of sadness around the edges. What did he have to be sad about? “We’re best friends, Scarlett. It’s what we do.”
I combed my fingers through my purple-esque hair and shrugged. “I suppose. I’ll still make it up to you.”
“Up to me?” He blew a raspberry at me. “It was your birthday.”
“Jackson… You know what I mean.”
He smiled and glanced out the window. “You want breakfast?”
On cue, my stomach groaned and squelched, signalling there was nothing in it. “I guess that’s a yes on my behalf.”
“C’mon then. Have a shower and we’ll go down to the café. My treat.”
“Your treat? I think it better be mine.” I crawled out of bed, not worried about the fact that I was only wearing an oversized T-shirt and boy short knickers. I hesitated at the door and turned back. “Jackson?”
His gaze flicked up, but I didn’t pay any attention to where he’d been looking.
“I really am sorry about last night.”
He nodded. “I know.”
I detoured past the kitchen, downing a glass or water and a pair of headache tablets before I locked myself inside the tiny bathroom. The flat wasn’t much to look at, and it was tinier th
an a shoebox, but it was home. The floor was uneven, I was sure the plumbing dated back to medieval times, and the kitchen was a hole in the wall with nowhere to sit and doubled as the laundry area, but that was the norm for semi-affordable flats in Camden.
Stripping, I stood in the tub and turned on the taps, waiting for the water to go from icy to warm. I pulled the curtain around and studied the vintage Pac-man pattern. Ghosts, cherries, and the man himself repeated over the plastic. It was familiar and very Jackson. The whole place was filled with video game decor. Even the cushions on the couch were printed with the Legend of Zelda characters.
As I let the hot water soak through my hair, I mulled over the one thing neither of us really wanted to acknowledge. Jackson had asked me about my meds, but it hadn’t gone any deeper than that. The real question should have been, ‘Do you want to go back to the doctor to make sure you haven’t reached breaking point?’ I snorted and grabbed the soap. The mysterious point of no return psych professionals had always threatened me with as a teenager. Anger had been my mission objective back then, but that was a long time ago. I was put together much better these days. The cracks had been repaired, even though some fragility remained. I was good, right?
Then why couldn’t I remember last night? I rubbed the soap over my lady bits. I’d had a flashback that much was clear, but what happened after that? I leaned my head against the tiles and circled the soap around and around. Invisible customers? Black inky smoke… Silver eyes.
A man stood before me and grasped my face, his silver eyes burning into mine. What are you? I gasped as I came on the bar of soap, my knees trembling. What the fu—
A fist bashed against the wall from the other side and I jumped, almost slipping in the tub.
“Scarlett!” Jackson bellowed. “Have you drowned in there?”
I swallowed hard. “No!”
“Then hurry up! I’m starving!”
Putting the soap back in the holder, I turned off the water and stepped out onto the bathmat. Dripping, I wiped the condensation off the mirror and stared at my reflection. A pair of brown eyes stared back at me, my wet hair black as ink.
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