AN EMBER IN THE DARK

         For the fifth time that evening, Kenna caught the edge of the bartender’s glance as his gaze slid away from her. She narrowed her eyes as the bartender cracked the seal on the shaker and began to strain the drink into a martini glass. Not a drink you might have expected in a small, locals-only, dive-bar like this, but there was always that one person who had to have something that took effort. Nick had been tending bar at Fitchett’s long before Kenna started coming here. The smell of gin spritz the air adding a bright note of juniper to the soaked in scents of old cigarettes and spilt drinks. He garnished the drink with a cucumber, and the boy accepted the drink. If he was old enough to order and drink a gin martini, his birthday had to have been a minute ago. The kid wore the subtle disarray of clothing that so many artists did. The real ones who made a living at what they did, not the starving, near-homeless bums who wailed about Muses and divine inspiration. Maybe he was old enough to drink.

         The kid cuddled the tall glass as if it were a mug of hot tea. Kenna’s calculating look lingered a moment too long. The artist stared back. She smiled vaguely so as not to seem threatening, but not so friendly as an invitation for him to come over. He nodded in return then settled back into the booth with his notebook again. Drinking gin and writing, he probably thought he was going to be the next Hemingway.

         The conversation around her kept a constant buzz with the small after work crowd. Kenna watched TV and her fingers twirled an unlit cigarette as one would a forgotten pen. Down and through the back of her fingers, back up and around the underside. Nightly news with subtitles played on the single TV over the bar while speakers play music which filled the spaces between conversations. Kenna watched it with nothing better to do, and if she didn’t have her head tilted up, then people would try and talk to her. 

         The news topics ranged from the latest unexplained death to a blurry picture someone caught which could either be interpreted as a plane, a UFO, or a demon. Kenna was betting on a plane since anything bigger was blocked at the city boundary by the presiding witch coven, Moon Lily or something. And everyone knew UFOs weren’t real. Demons, she’d never met, but if she had a passing acquaintance with the non-mundane of Chicago and that was deep as she wanted to get. The news channel was having fun tossing out buzzwords to catch viewers in the fifteen minute time slot. 

         “You think it’s a UFO?” the other bartender, David, casually asked the person to Kenna left. The man grunted and David continued the conversation easily. Kenna shook her head glad that it wasn’t her having to grunt answers.

After the highlights, the news anchors segued back into rehashing the story of a few weeks ago that discussed the simultaneous collapse of some run down buildings east of the main city. Kenna went back to ignoring the same nightly dribble.

         Her eyes lost focus and zoned out to everything but the feel of the paper as the cigarette spun around her fingers. She didn’t hate people, but she found trying to carry on conversation tiring. People very politely always asking about things like what you did for a living, where you came from - especially if you didn’t sound local, and other hard to answer questions. Kenna side-eyed the grunting man and David still rambling on about something. She didn’t have to beat off the conversation goers with a stick. Her muddy blonde hair paired with a severe pony tail and average features matched to a leather jacket slung over the back of the stool kept the rest from intruding on her solitude. She wasn’t looking for company and definitely not a conversation. She’d come straight here from her menial office job on foot. She was here to simply drink her scotch. At least, she’d planned to be until Nick kept casting guilty-child looks at her. 

         Fitchett’s wasn’t her only haunt, but it had a comfortable, typical fill level that granted her the anonymity she wanted while her glass remained full with her usual request. The drink itself wasn’t rare. All of the bars in the city carried one or another single malt, but few carried the brand she favored.

         She finished the second glass of her usual, and normally, she’d stay for a third. The flavor would simmer and sink its way into her bones, while the alcohol politely blurred the heavy thoughts in her head before she took off for the night. But Nick’s continued attention, and his very obvious way of trying to hide said attention, put an edge against her comfort. Maybe tonight she’d break routine for effect. The background music bounced from a decent pop duet to some bubble-gum, teen angst singer. 

         A quick lift and swallow finished off the last of the amber liquid in her glass. She set it back, pushing the glass closer to the spill tray to indicate its finished task. Instead of asking for another, she slipped off her barstool freeing it up for any of the after-work, flirt-going people that needed it. A few dollars next to the empty glass took care of the tip since she paid for each glass ahead of time. 

         It didn’t take a rocket scientist for her to notice Nick immediately speaking to David and moving towards the lift rack to exit the bar. Kenna didn’t know what his angle was, but every nerve ending she owned told her he wanted something from her.

         Her cigarette was still in her fingertips, not lit, filling a nervous habit. She tucked it behind her ear to free her hands for a fast escape. Choosing to slide out the side, instead of the front, Kenna pushed past the crowd filling the hallway to the overused restrooms. A moment later, she bashed the push bar of the fire door in the back to enter the alleyway between one downtown building and the next. 

         The scent of soured alcohol, stale vomit, and rancid urine punched her nose. She wrinkled it slightly then moved to the center of the pathway to avoid the worst of the refuse. Old cobbles mostly covered with sloppily laid asphalt made her pick her steps carefully and be thankfully for her boots. The brick and mortar walls reached up about seven stories or so blocking most of the city lights. No starlight struggled through and she couldn’t remember if there was supposed to be a moon tonight. The lack of artificial and natural light, made the alleyway dim, but not dark.

         “Kenna?” 

         She heard Nick’s voice a few steps behind her. He must have caught the door before it slammed shut entirely. Her quick back entrance escape had failed. The feeling of being cornered started an itch between her shoulder blades. She rolled them and grabbed the cigarette from behind her ear. She meant to simply move the smoke, but without meaning to, she felt warmth pool in her fingers. She glanced down at the now lit cigarette. Dammit, that was her last one.

         “Hi, Nick, right?” she answered without turning around,  bringing the cigarette up for an inhale. She hadn’t planned to light it until she could buy her next pack. Kenna had stopped walking in an attempt to be friendly. Friendly was easier to be forgotten than rude. She tilted her head to keep him in her peripheral vision, but wasn’t going to turn around enough to make him think she was planning on staying to chat.

         “Yeah, umm,” she heard his shoe scuff against the grit on the alley street, “I’m sorry to follow you like this, honest, I don’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to talk to you.” She took another puff giving him more attention. He held up his hands up in the universal safe and harmless gesture. His face looked anxious, but Kenna didn’t get the feeling it was threatening to her. He seemed like a decent enough guy as he poured her drinks and made boring casual talk about whichever sport was in season. When she didn’t say ok right away, his shoulders hunched in and his dark brown hair fell into his eyes. The hands stayed up. 

Kenna blew out another inhale of cigarette before saying, “Alright, so talk. I get the impression you had something you’ve been holding since I sat down.” 

         She could picture it from his point of view, the intense glow, dim, then the cloud of smoke that followed only barely discernible in the dimly lit alley.

Invited to speak, Nick chewed his lower lip like he needed to bite the words into smaller pieces before saying them. “I need — I wanted to ask for your help.”

         Kenna huffed a laugh. “If you’re reaching out to me, then you probably need a cop or a priest first. No judgement on what you believe in.”

         “No, they...” Nick started, then changed track, “they can’t help.”

         “Not sure why you thought of me then. You’re really shit out of luck.”

         “I know you can help,” he stressed. His hands reached out toward her a bit, but then retracted.

         A frisson of the same itch at being cornered ran through her limbs. This was starting to get too personal. She said, “Put your damn arms down, I’m not going haul you off. Also, ran out of blessings last week.”

         “I’ve seen you,” he said his voice rising a little. He hadn’t moved any closure, but tension racked him as he lowered his arms. The itch grew, begging to be let out. 

         Refusing to believe she’d been figured out, Kenna squashed the desire and said, “I come here like three times a week.” 

         “That’s not what I mean. You know what I’m talking about.”