7.9  ·  The Bar at the End of the Multiverse

The bartender licked his fingers as Colin cautiously approached the bar. He gestured to the table where the platter of wings awaited.

“Go on. They’re complimentary.”

Colin, to the bartender’s dismay, was uninterested in the catering. Instead, he took a seat at the bar, and stared intently at the bartender, silent and questioning.

“It’s been a while since you last paid me a visit,” he offered. “How’d things work out for you?”

“You’re…” Colin trailed off, turning the Reality Lens over in his hands. Al the Bartender gave him a serious look.

“Let’s keep that between the two of us for now, if you don’t mind.”

With that, he raised his eyes to greet John and Quinn, who were now coming in the door with greatly concerned looks. John’s eyes immediately locked onto Will and Al Prime, and he dashed towards them.

“Guys… oh my god. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Al looked his friend up and down, then gave a flick to John’s unruly hair. “You, uh, didn’t have hair this long two hours ago.”

“Yeah, it’s been more than eight months since I left here,” he said, drawing his friend into a hug. “It’s safe to say a lot has happened. I’m glad he hasn’t kept you here for that long.”

Will gave John a look of sincere relief. “We thought you might be gone forever.”

John put a gentle hand on Will’s shoulder.

“Seems this guy—” he gestured to the bartender, “—had somewhere for me to be. I don’t think he’s done any of this without… some kinda purpose.”

“Is that Quinn?” Al said, pointing a finger. “Coulda sworn he was just in here, but he wasn’t wearing that getup.”

“Another Quinn?” John asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. He was convinced he’d just kicked the bucket. Had us questioning whether we were dead, too. Funny thing, he seemed to know me.”

“I see…” John scratched his head. “He might have been right about his… status… but where is he now?”

Al shrugged broadly. “Don’t know. Blinked and he was gone. Seems we lost a half hour in the process.”

John turned an eye to the bartender. “Was it Nexus Quinn? Did you bring him here when he—”

The bartender quirked a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t catch his name. Happy birthday, by the way.”

He pulled a bottle of sherry from under the bar, and handed it to him. “On the house.”

John looked down at the label, and back up at the bartender with a deadpan glare. “Very funny. Where is she?”

The bartender merely let a smile draw across his face, before turning away.

At the same time as that conversation was playing out, the bartender was also listening to Quinn ask his brother about what he’d seen through the Reality Lens; and Colin, perhaps out of some sense of gratitude to the bartender for the help he’d once provided, evaded the question.

The next to enter was Al Calavicci, the third one around here to go by the name Al. The bartender was glad he was nigh-omniscient, or else he might have started getting confused.

Al strode to the bar, frowning. He slammed his hand down.

“Alright, listen, whoever you are: where’s Sam?”

The bartender shrugged. “I don’t know, but…” he looked down at his reservations sheet, letting his finger trace across the paper. “The reservation is under the name Sam, so why don’t you have some wings and wait? He’s bound to show up.”

The bartender looked towards the door, where another car load was entering: Maggie, Rembrandt, and the one who’d driven them there, Tom Beckett.

The bartender’s gaze shifted between Al Prime and Maggie, and he stifled a laugh as Al’s cigar dropped out of his mouth at the sight of her.

“Holy cannoli,” he breathed. Maggie paused for a moment, as she took in the two Al Calaviccis present. She wandered up to the Al she hadn’t met with a raised eyebrow.

“Do I have a stain on my shirt, old man? My eyes are up here.” she said, folding her arms, and pointing to her face.

Al Prime retrieved his cigar from the floor, and stamped it out into the ash tray on the bar. “I was just gonna say you have a lovely pair of… eyes.”

At this, John gave a visible cringe, and placed a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Look, he and Sherri were… you know. He never saw her this young.”

Maggie relaxed a little as John turned to Al. “You might want to adjust your expectations on the state of Sherri’s eyes, Al.”

Al squinted. “I thought you told me she didn’t make it.”

John hesitated a moment. “Uh, things have… changed since then. Last I heard she escaped the Kromaggs, but I don’t know what happened to her after that. She never returned.”

The roar of a motorcycle heralded the next guest, and the bartender gave her a nod of greeting as she entered.

“Ah, the little lady with the big bike,” he said cheerfully. Alia responded with a scowl.

“I don’t have the patience for your games today,” she said, throwing her helmet aside. “Where are they? Sam and Thames?”

The bartender’s gaze moved around the room, finding every set of eyes looking at him, awaiting an answer.

“Nobody’s eating the buffalo wings,” he said, pointing at the untouched platter. “Come on, I worked hard on those. First wings, then answers. Deal?”

The promise of answers finally got the guests to descend on the platter. Several minutes later, just a few remained. The bartender smiled, knowing his dish was a hit.

“Okay, we ate your damn wings,” said Rembrandt. “Now we got questions in need of some answers.”

“Well,” said the bartender, “You only turn fifty once. So let’s all make sure Sam Beckett has a lovely birthday. Everyone get ready to yell ‘surprise,’ okay?”

The bar’s patrons all looked at each other, bewildered. The bartender frowned. “What, were my instructions unclear or something?”

He gestured a ‘shoo’ motion with his hands.

“Everyone hide and get ready to jump out, would you?”

Across the bar, he noticed John sighing heavily. But, reluctantly, the guests all moved to positions that had wildly varying levels of obscurity.

“Oh, good enough,” said the bartender, before ducking behind the bar.

There was a short moment of silence, before the door opened.

The bartender jumped up, arms outstretched.

“Surprise!” he shouted, a lone voice in the quiet room. The bartender gave a withering look at all his guests, who were silently peeking out from their spots.

At the entrance, Sam’s jaw was hanging open. “What—”

Behind him, Sherri and Thames poked their heads into the bar. Sherri’s single eye looked like it was about to pop out of her head to join its partner. Thames, on the other hand, looked highly amused at the strange situation.

“Sam! Buddy!” Al was the first to make a move, crossing to his friend and drawing him into a hug. “This whole stupid charade was worth it now.”

Sam, still trying to find his words, looked down at Al.

“It’s good to see you, but… what is all this?”

“Apparently this nutcase—” Al pointed a finger at the bartender, “—organised a birthday party for you. D’you know you’re fifty today?”

Sam’s eyebrows met with confusion. “I am? I swear it was January a minute ago.”

The bartender piped up, giving a sage look: “Time flies when—”

“Oh, shut up already,” said both Als in unison.

Sherri’s eye fell upon John, Al Prime, and Will, and she crossed to them, hand over her smiling mouth.

“You guys…”

John’s eyes immediately filled with tears as he pressed his arms around her.

“It took all of us, but we finally accomplished the mission.”

Meanwhile, Thames had spotted Alia. She approached him with apprehension, as he traipsed towards her to meet her halfway.

“Hey, Alia,” he said, whispering as if he was sharing a secret with her. He pointed towards the bartender. “Sam thinks that guy is God.”

He stifled a laugh, and Alia rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Thames turned towards the bartender, who had his hands perched on his hips.

“I think if you’re God, you should probably at least get some better ventilation in this dump. This place reeks of cigars.”

The bartender stroked his chin. “Hmm, I guess I could get a few vents installed to improve the air quality. But listen, I have a job proposition for the pair of you. Talk to me later, alright?”

He let that sit with them as he grabbed a glass, and tapped a butter knife against it.

“Friends, can I get your attention, please?”

All eyes moved to him, and he smiled at his ability to herd these cats.

“I want you all to have a nice time tonight, but I need you to know that last call is at twelve-thirty sharp. So keep an eye on the time. Oh, and I wouldn’t mind a chat with each of you tonight, so come say ‘hi’ at some point, alright? There’s a lot to discuss.”

He gave a crooked grin to his guests. “Drinks are on the house, by the way. But pace yourselves. Don’t forget the designated drivers.”

Sam took a seat on a stool, gazing at the bartender quietly.

“Happy birthday, Sam.”

“It was my birthday last time we met.” Sam’s face was serene, but curious.

“So it was. Fifty years went by in a flash, didn’t it?”

“Thank you for… whatever this is. I’m glad to see everyone.” He squinted. “Who are you?”

The bartender tilted his head, as he wandered to the beer taps. “Sam, we’ve covered this. I’m Al.”

Sam leaned forward. “You’re not, though… are you? You look just like a guy I met on my first leap. I assume there’s a purpose behind why you’ve chosen this face.”

“Someone’s got all their memories, I see.”

The bartender slid a schooner of Schlitz across the bar to Sam, and he picked it up with amusement.

“Yeah. I’m brimming with memories, even ones that haven’t happened yet. Why is that?” He took a swig of the beer, keeping his eyes trained on the bartender.

“Don’t ask me; it’s your string theory, isn’t it?”

Sam’s gaze intensified.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he said, picking up his glass and turning towards the rest of the party. “But I assume you brought all my friends together for a reason, so I’m going to try and suss out what that is.”

The bartender nodded. “Enjoy the party. And try the buffalo wings.”