Part 2

When Segun opened his eyes light was glowing through the window. He peeled his face off the pillow and rubbed his eyes, looking at his surroundings and feeling a rush of confusion, followed by the surfacing of his memories. Soft rain pelted against the window; the sky was coated in a deep grey that carried fog across the ground. He felt an ache in his stomach as he got out of bed. 

Segun looked to the ground where he had tossed his clothes last night and grunted when they were not where he remembered them to be. He pulled out a drawer from the dresser and was surprised to find a folded set of dark t-shirts and jeans in the drawer. He pulled on the fresh clothing, the material soft against his skin, and took a seat on the bed. He tried to collect his thoughts and come up with a plan, but the more he tried to conjure ideas the fuzzier his mind felt. He felt weak.

Finally, Segun pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his wallet and a pair of fresh sneakers at his door, not questioning where they came from. The hall was quiet, with many door handles hanging with DO NOT DISTURB signs. He kept a quick pace until he reached the ground floor and entered the lounge.

After he grabbed a table in the corner of the room he took a look at his dank surroundings. Comfortable sofas, armchairs, coffee tables, and ambient lighting. The furniture was mostly wood and exposed brick walls shimmered against the glow of the lights mounted on the walls. The fireplace was lit, adding heat and smoke to the air. There were a few guests huddled at tables, details hard to define as he kept quiet in his corner and grabbed the small paper menu sitting on the table.

Segun leaned into the wall light near his seat to be sure he was reading the menu correctly as it consisted of foods he'd never heard of. One of the appetizers listed was Mystical Mushroom Medley: a forest-inspired blend of rare, wild mushrooms sauteed in truffle oil and served atop edible soil made from crushed black sesame seeds. The Nebula Noodle Salad consisted of vibrant spiralized vegetable noodles tossed in a cosmic vinaigrette with edible glitter and star-shaped feta cheese crumbles, and the only side option was waffle-cut fries sprinkled with activated charcoal dust and served with a blackberry-black garlic dipping sauce called Black Hole Fries. Normally, Segun would be turned off by any of these abnormal options, but he could feel an ache in his stomach growing. He settled on the Exoplanet Tacos: a trio of tacos filled with Martian mole pulled pork, Venusian salsa, and Saturnian slaw, served on gluten-free asteroid tortillas.

As he made his way up to the bar he began to pull out his wallet, but when he reached the counter the man only asked for his order. When he pulled the cash from his wallet the bartender shook his head.

"Complementary to the stay," he said. His pale skin looked oily in the meek lighting, the blonde hair on his head flowing in massive curls over his eyes—brick red like the receptionist.

Segun watched the man walk through a back door that led to the kitchen with a slip of his written order. He eyed the liquor that lined the back wall, the center of the wall cleared of shelves where a stuffed bobcat head was mounted. He stared at the false animal and did not like the light that flickered from its glass eyes.

He went back to his table and clenched his fists as he generated frustrated thoughts. The rain was still coming down heavily. He could call a cab with the small cord phone in his room, but he had no idea of the address of the tavern.

"Hello," came a voice beside him and Segun jumped. A young woman was standing beside his table, her long spine leaning over him, a sketchpad in her hand. A large afro curled atop her head, and thin silver-framed glasses sat in front of dark eyes. "Sorry," she said with a small smile, "I did not mean to frighten you."

"That's ok," said Segun with a sigh.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"Not at all."

The woman slid into the chair opposite his chair and dropped the sketchpad on the table. "My name's Emma."

"Segun."

"Do you mind if I draw you, Segun?"

"Um…I guess not."

"Don't worry, I'll scrap it when I'm done. This is just a hobby, but one I want to improve on. And you have such beautiful, loosely curled hair and I've become overrun with the urge to draw it."

Segun smirked at the woman as she gripped the pencil she kept behind her ear.

"You look a little young to be out on your own," she said with eyes turned down at the paper. 

"I'm older than I look."

"And what brings you here?"

"Stopping for a rest. I'm hitchhiking across the state."

"What compels you to do that?"

Segun shrugged, not wanting to answer any more questions. "What is your profession if you're a hobbyist artist?"

"I'm a journalist," said Emma. "I was working on a story in a neighboring town when I crashed my car. I was lucky I found this place nearby. Waiting to get a call from the shop that it's ready. Should be any day now."

"Sorry to hear that. It's frustrating when things don't go your way."

Emma shrugged, eyes on the paper. "Shit happens."

"That's a healthy attitude. I'll admit when things don't go as planned I get more than frustrated. Usually take it out on whoever is around me. Makes me more prone to being alone."

"I had anger issues as a kid. Broke all my toys. I always felt bad about it later, but I usually did irreversible things. Like when I tossed my stuffed elephant down a cliff. And I loved that thing. I had been hiking with my parents and insisted I bring it along. I got mad and I don't even remember what it was about. But I was mad at my dad; I remember that. He had bought me that elephant, and he watched me throw it off a cliff, tearing from the jagged rocks and stabbed with pine needles. And guess the best part: my dad died a few days later. Had a heart attack while driving home from work."

Segun frowned at Emma's words and thought back to the items he had left behind in his room. Sorrow hit him as his mind trailed back to his shelves in his bedroom holding the rocks and minerals he had spent years collecting. Basalt from Hawaii, sandstone and limestone stolen from construction projects, gypsum from White Sands National Park, decorative gneiss, and quartz he got as a Christmas present from his mother when he was 9. When his aunt was alive, she loved to fuel his interests and sent him things as often as she could. Feldspar, mica, garnet, hematite, and halite filled his collection. Why had he not felt it necessary to take them with him? At the moment, it felt like a foolish attempt to hold onto a life he wanted to leave behind, but now that he was alone and lost he wished he had taken them. He should have kept something from his past, as it was not all bad. He had a picture of his aunt tucked on a corner shelf. It hurt to look at her smiling face after her overdose, but he felt it would be a disgrace to her memory if he hid it away.

"Aww, don't be sad," said Emma, pulling Segun from his thoughts. "But you do have a lovely glisten in your eyes when you tear up like that."

Segun blushed. "Sorry, I was thinking of something. That's terrible about your father."

Emma shrugged again. Her eyes focused on the paper, and Segun watched the tip of the eraser as it dashed over the pad, imagining the lines she was creating. His eyes watched the trace of her pencil as though mesmerized, the room spinning for a moment and Segun was beginning to grow frustrated as he still struggled to think straight since arriving at The Quartermaster. The longer he stayed the more he had the feeling he should leave.

"How do I look?" Segun asked after a few minutes.

Emma looked up at him and blushed. "I can't get your eyes right. It's just a sketch but…"

She turned around the pad and Segun smiled. He could see his face, his sharp jaw bone, and his small nose, and she got the hair perfect. But she was right about his eyes, uneven and shaped too small.

"It's not bad. You have good attention to detail."

Emma laughed. "Thanks."

"You mind if I draw you now?"

"Not at all. You like to draw?"

"I dabbled with it a little in school."

Emma handed him the pencil and pad. They felt surprisingly light in his hands.

"I can tell already that you're doing a better job than me," said Emma.

Segun smirked as he traced the curve of her head and the circles of her glasses. He looked back at her face, squinting in the dark lighting, looking at the detail of her afro-styled curls, and saw red in the gloom of the lights. It looked like blood was caked onto the side of her head, small discoloration in one section of her hair. He said nothing and looked away as he tried to focus on her face.

"I wanted to be an artist for a short time," said Segun. "It was my mother's profession for a while. I used to want to be like her when I was little."

"Not anymore?"

"She's got…issues."

"Don't we all? I've been going through a 30s mid-life crisis that has been driving me crazy. Been questioning my way of life, line of work, wondering if I'm fulfilling a purpose."

"Do you believe there needs to be a purpose?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Otherwise I struggle to find motivation. Purpose is what chains you to existence, having a reason to exist in the first place. Otherwise, things are pointless. Chaotic. And as fun as that can sound sometimes it's just not the way we work. Not anymore. Human beings need structure to their world."

"That sounds like the talk of someone stuck in their ways."

"Or just organized."

"I think that's a good skill if you're a journalist. Do you have any favorite pieces you've written?"

Segun had finished the outline of her face and was shading her hair, adding detail to her shoulders and shirt. The blood in her hair was growing in a dense clot and Segun wondered what was going on, thoughts again drifting before he pulled his attention back to the paper.

"Well, I'm an investigative journalist. I delve into topics or issues and enjoy uncovering hidden truths and exposing the corruption and rot of this world."

"Don't have much faith in the human race?"

"Hardly. Especially after some of the shit I've dug up. I enjoyed one piece I wrote about crypto criminality. Brought to light an intricate web of cybercrime that took place beneath the surface of legitimate transactions and digital innovations. I investigated the dark web a bit, infiltrating hidden online marketplaces where anonymous vendors trade in stolen identities, hacking tools, and counterfeit goods, and use cryptocurrencies to obfuscate their tracks. Money laundering has reached the cyber world as well, as I discovered when diving into virtual currencies. I'd follow the money trail, analyzing blockchain transactions, and tracing funds through intricate networks of anonymous wallets, and that led to the exposition of some of the techniques employed to wash tainted money. Even got an interview with a cybercriminal. It's interesting to look into the mind of someone like that—someone with a completely different life, experiences, and a way of thinking. I do honestly think he started as a good guy who got sucked into a poisonous atmosphere. He had a curiosity for technology, desiring to explore the hidden aspects of the digital world. But he found a way to gain power and anonymity through the internet. He found vulnerabilities in systems, and weak links waiting to be exploited, and it gave him a thrilling rush. His primary focus was on hacking into corporate networks to extract valuable information and intellectual property. He did things like develop advanced phishing techniques, and social engineering tactics, and exploited vulnerabilities in software and hardware. All operating in the shadows, selling stolen data on the dark web, sometimes dabbling in ransomware attacks, and laundering money through cryptocurrencies.

"It was incredible to see a field that changes so quickly. It is an ever-evolving battle between the law and cybercriminals. This guy invested substantial time in reconnaissance, carefully selecting targets, and planning attacks. He was constantly adapting his techniques, leveraging zero-day exploits, and collaborating with other hackers in underground forums. And he didn't feel bad about it. Maybe it was because he couldn't see the faces of his victims.

"How's that drawing coming?"

"Finished."

Segun turned the sketchpad around and Emma's jaw dropped.

"That's incredible! How did you get so much detail so fast? This looks like it could have taken hours to create."

Segun shrugged. "Just have a knack for it."

"You one of those genesis that are perfect at everything and never have to study for school?"

"I wouldn't put myself that high on the pedestal, but education has never been much of a challenge for me."

"Lucky." Emma crossed her arms. "I had to study my ass off and even then got barely passing grades." She stood and smiled at Segun, blood dripping down the side of her face. "I should get back to my work, but it has been a pleasure, Segun."

"Before you go," Segun blurted, "Sorry but…could you tell me about your car accident."

Emma frowned. "Why?"

"Just curious. Do you remember what happened after you crashed? Did you make a call to anyone or do anything?"

"The first thing I did was crawl out of the wreck. My door was jammed, so I had to jump out the window. It was okay though. The glass was already shattered. After that…I think what happened was I walked down the road and found this place. Pretty lucky, huh? I used the phone here and the mechanic said he could pick it up."

Segun's brow scrunched. "Okay. Thank you."

Emma smiled at him and walked back to her table.

His food finally arrived and Segun remembered he was famished. The food was as strange as it was described, but he barely tasted it as he shoved chips in his mouth. He told himself to slow down but struggled to listen to his inner voice, his mouth intent on swallowing as much food as possible. Some of his panic released from his chest and he began to settle in the wood chair that was suddenly quite comfortable. His eyes were slowly beginning to shut until he snapped his attention back to the present.

Segun looked around the room again, trying to get his head to clear. He looked at Emma, head down, writing something in one of her notebooks. He could see her bleeding head, blood slowly dripping onto her shoulder. There was a man at a table in the corner of the room, back pressed against the wall, twirling a pencil through his fingers while he looked at a book in his lap. When he focused through the fog and shadows Segun could see a massive splinter of wood imbedded in his left eye. There was a woman in a chair by the fireplace, legs crossed with a martini in her blackish-fingered hands. Segun could see her skin from the light of the fireplace, a pale blue color. Her eyes were glassy, staring at the fire with a purposeless gaze, mouth partly open with pale lips and frost in her dirty blonde hair. There was another man in the other corner of the room, his thick hair and slick physique suggesting mid to late twenties. He wore a thick leather jacket and Segun realized what he thought had been a necklace was a large red gash that opened up his neck, blood gently dripping down his shirt. He sat eating a bowl of Nebula Noodle Salad, unaware of his gushing neck as he forked food into his mouth.

Segun began to shake when he saw the bartender staring at him, red brick eyes wide as though the man suddenly had no eyelids. His face was stern as though he knew what Segun was thinking, his mind filling with fearful thoughts that made the man smile.

Panic began to wring through Segun's chest and his mind began to race, thoughts of his mother suddenly dancing through his head. Times when she was healthy and happy, taking him for walks and naming every flower species they passed. He thought she was brilliant and wondered what she would do in this strange situation.

She would listen to her gut. She believed instinct was still something to be taken seriously, regardless of how far the human species had progressed away from a life that requires less need for things like fight-or-flight impulses. Humans have adapted their instincts to react to more sophisticated situations. I need to get out of here.

Segun jumped to his feet, rushing to his room to grab the flashlight. He was not sure what he would need it for, but it was one of his last possessions and he did not want to leave it behind in the house of the dead. When he came to the bottom of the stairs, the receptionist was standing behind the desk with a piercing stare.

"You don't want to be doing that, Segun Tehrani," he said in a low voice.

"Stay away from me," Segun tried to say as a threat, but he could hear his voice crack.

"You will find nothing but disappointment," the receptionist called as Segun dashed out the door. 

Dark clouds covered the sky and an aggressive wind coursed through the trees. Segun kept his eyes on the road ahead, an instant chill whipping over him the moment he left the tavern. He tried to pace himself as he continued to grow colder.

Segun had just approached the tavern sign when he froze. He saw his bike broken in the road, his broken body beside it. He tried to make sense of what was happening as he slowly approached the scene. His dead face was pressed to the ground and he could see that his spine had been broken, his body turned at an unnatural angle. The corpse was cold and swollen and looked like it had been frozen for several days.

"Not many can understand things as you do," came a voice behind him and Segun whirled around to see the receptionist standing behind him, an awful grin on his living face.

"W…what's happening?" Segun managed to say.

"I think you know," the receptionist said. "I'm sorry, boy, but your soul belongs to the tavern now." Segun continued to stare. "Your soul was unlucky enough to fall into a pit when you exited your body, a pit that slowly consumes its victims until your energy fades to nothing and the tavern is finished with you."

"No." Segun shook his head. "How…how long has it been?"

"Eleven days."

Segun backed away from the receptionist in horror, his feet normally tripping over his corpse, but now his legs levitated through the material world and he turned to run away from the trap he had wandered into.

Segun ran without thought or reason, wanting to disappear into the trees and spend his remaining moments alone. But he could feel himself being dragged towards the tavern, invisible strings latching to his limbs and pulling him off his feet, dragging him across the ground.

"Please! I don't understand!" Segun shouted as he was dragged back to the tavern.

"Of course, you don't," said the receptionist as he casually walked beside Segun. "You were not meant to see any of this. But some humans are more perceptive, even after death. You must have noticed the others go about not seeing what is in front of them. Like that woman you spoke to. She crashed her car 2 miles from here, killed by blunt force trauma to the head. She died almost three weeks ago, but the woman still thinks it's only been two days. So, don't fret too much, young man. Your energy will be drained and you'll drift into nothing and you'll barely realize it's happening."

Segun struggled to break from the invisible strings, wishing his mind had generated fake memories to keep the truth away. If he was alive, tears would have flooded down his cheeks, but now he was empty, his body sprawled across the dirt road to be picked apart by birds. And he would be here, in the Quartermaster Tavern, lingering in a limbo state, memories erasing and light fading.

END