I always thought people were exaggerating when they said there’s always a weird, freakish regular customer. Surely it couldn’t be that bad. Maybe they were just awkward or something. People get shy, you know? Well, I was wrong. I’ve been running this little bar on the edge of the tourist area for six months now, and there are definitely some weird regulars.
But this guy? This guy was the weirdest.
Every day, the same thing. He would come in wearing a dirty black leather jacket with yellow trim, sit at the single table in the corner and watch as people come and go. Always had a hood on, so no one ever got a good look at him. He’d always order the same things as well. A lemon alco-pop or a glass of diet cola. Always diet, apparently he never liked the taste of the normal stuff. He’d stay there, from five minutes after opening until about 2:30am, half an hour before I lock the place up, or until everyone else is gone. He sits there, talking to himself, muttering things about each passer by.
The mutterings, they are what bothers people. He seems to know everyone by name. He’ll always tell them to stay safe. Not so much to regulars, but the tourists who pass by? He has muttered all sorts of strange things.
But he’s never done anything harmful. He always pays for his drinks. Sometimes he’ll pay for the drinks of others. Especially if they’ve lost a loved one. Always with slightly crumpled notes.
I only became suspicious when he got up from his seat and told a group not to leave yet. There were six of them, a mother and father, two sons, two daughters. He begged them to stay, otherwise they’d die. But they didn’t listen. Twenty minutes later the taxi they were in got hit by a drunk driver. Only the youngest son made it. Police said it was nothing to do with me or the bar or anything. Just bad luck.
That was a week ago. It kinda shook me but I got over it, these things sadly happen. But the last few days, I could tell that this regular was shaken up by it all.
Last night, I decided to talk to him. There was no one else in the bar anyway. It’s quiet season. And no one wants to come here anyway since my bar was the last place they visited. You know what it’s like.
I got the guy a drink on the house. A diet cola, as always. He hadn’t ordered an alco-pop for a while. I invited him to come and sit at the bar. He refused.
So I waited until about an hour before closing time, then I went down and joined him.
After all this time, I didn’t even know the guy’s name. Apparently he’s called Archie, but it’s not short for any name I recognise. Guess he had foreign parents or something. He’d been here for twenty years, mostly just wandering around.
Up close, there was something alien about him. He seemed like a normal human being, but he had almost golden eyes, way more yellow than anything I’d ever seen. His fingernails were painted, which was also odd, but they were just plain black, nothing unusual. He had a black, space-like tattoo on his neck but I couldn’t see anything else.
I tried to ask him about who he was, what job he had, things like that, but Archie didn’t really give me much information. He just said he was a wanderer. Wealthy, somehow, but he just drifted around, taking it easy. The way he spoke, Archie seemed rather old, despite his young looks. The body of a twenty year old and the soul of an old sage.
Archie though was very curious about me. He asked me as many questions as I asked him. We basically took it in turns, but his answers were never particularly detailed. Open and chatty, yet closed at the same time.
Finally, I asked him about the family that died. He looked at me and sighed.
“Your Universe isn’t a very caring one…”
I couldn’t help but agree. I’m not particularly religious, always thought that if there was a god, he didn’t care much. That can’t have been the only reason though. I pushed a bit further, until he finally spoke. But not before finishing his drink.
“They were just like my family, mate. And just like my family, only the youngest son survived… And I couldn’t stop them. I tried. I could have done more, but I’m not allowed to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not from here, of course!”
I blinked. Archie knew he’d confused me. He looked vaguely annoyed too.
“I’ve fucking done it again, haven’t I? Said too fucking much…” Archie grunted, then stared at me. “I’m not from here. And if you’re not from here, you’re not allowed to interfere. No matter what you were back home. Wasn’t supposed to say that…”
“You’re an… alien?” I couldn’t help myself.
“No. Well. Kinda. Depending on how you define the term.”
“Then… what are you?”
Archie sighed loudly. “I’m… I… I’m from another universe. A dead universe. One that doesn’t matter any more…”
“What happened to it?”
“It died. I killed it. As death gods tend to do. I don’t do that any more. Like I said, I just wander these days.”
With another sigh, Archie got up, leaving several notes on the table. I stared somewhat blankly at him as he adjusted his jacket.
“Thank you, mate. I appreciate it. You have a good one.”
Once he’d left, part of me wanted to run around and scream what he’d said to me to the world outside. But I didn’t. I sat there like a lemon, lost in thought, staring at the tip of five hundred euros on the table. Maybe he’d made it all up. Maybe he was pulling my leg or something. A super rich playboy with nothing better to do.
I took the tip, closed everything up and went home. What else could I do?
I’d almost forgotten the conversation, everything that had happened. I’d forgotten to clean some things up last night so I came in early. I opened my doors, same time as normal. I served customers, same as usual. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to realise something was different.
Archie didn’t come in for a drink today.