Reunion

She caught sight of him in the back alley of the dive bar. Aldric Ivanov, in the flesh. The smoke from his cigarette drifted towards her as he hummed a piece of a melody. Her emotions all surged forward, cascading over her in a wave, then receded, leaving a wild rage that made her skin burn.

She couldn't talk to him now, not when she was this emotional. Not when she didn't know what she was feeling. She needed time. So, she did what anyone else would do when they were unsure of what to do next.

There was another bar a few streets back. It played old soul and blues. She had stopped there once before. The old bartender seemed like he would be the type of person to sit and listen to a wild story. Surely he had heard stranger. When he asked her what he could get for her, she shook her head.

“Recovering alcoholic. I just needed to get out and try to get my head straight. I'll buy you a drink and pay you well if you'll just talk to me a bit.”

He glanced around the empty bar, at the lack of patrons, at the outdated jukebox on the wall that belted out a Screamin' Jay Hawkins song.

“Sounds like a deal. It's dead in here anyway.” He said, going to pour a glass of whiskey. She slid a hundred dollar bill across the bar.

“Get yourself the good stuff.” She forced a smile. When his expression darkened, she continued, “It's a long story, and there's some heavy shit that you won't be able to forget. Trust me.”

“Honey, I do, and that's what worries me.” He poured a larger glass of the cheap whiskey, and at her look, responded, “Can't stomach the good stuff. Gives me heartburn.” He sat on the bar stool next to her, “Gotta say, we don't get many like you in here.”

“Like me?”

“Goth chicks. Mostly it's old hookers and showgirls.”

“Well, I used to be a prostitute. I just dress better now that I got out of it.”

“Well, good for you!” He looked genuinely proud of her. She smiled and glanced down at the napkin in her hands.

“You got a name, Elvira?”

That made her chuckle.

“Elvira'll do. How about you?”

“John Henry.”

“You got a sledgehammer behind that bar, John Henry?”

“Damn straight I do.”

Nikki grinned at him. He did look every bit like the old folk hero. His wrinkled face was tanned leather, dark and lined with creases. Despite his apparent age, his shoulders were still broad and thick with muscle beneath the white tshirt and dark denim overalls.

“You look pretty out of place in Vegas, John.”

“So do you, Elvira. You got a funeral to go to?”

“Maybe.” Her eyes darkened.

“So, what's eatin' at you? I'm sure this is a hell of a story.”

“Hell's right. You don't even know how right...” she sighed and picked at the corner of the napkin, “I was on heroin pretty bad growing up. Overdosed and saw... We'll say I saw Death. He told me that I had a life to go make in New Orleans and kicked me back here. Came to on the floor, getting chest compressions from my dealer. So, I went to New Orleans. Got off the dope, worked in a magic shop for a few years. Then, I got back on it in '12. I'd been seeing this guy every few weeks or so, not romantically seeing, just in passing, since I moved there in '09. I ducked into this club one day to get out of the rain and see if there were any tricks I could turn. He saw me and sang a special song to me. I was so scared, but I wanted to be there, but I knew that it'd be the death of me if I stayed. Don't know how I knew, but I did.”

She shook her head.

“Then, after the song, I bolted. Ended up in the back alley with a needle in my arm and he found me. I think I'd overdosed again. But he told me that he could save me, that he could make me perfect. He looked like an angel in that light, and anything was better than dying and having Death be disappointed in me.”

“Makes sense.”

“Does it?” She scoffed, “I guess it does as much as anything else... But he did take me in, helped me get off the dope and off the streets, and I was thankful. He was a sadist, though.”

“Sadist?” John's bushy white eyebrows arched.

“Yeah.” She shrugged off her jacket and stood, showing him the coffins carved into the flesh of her shoulders. Then, she turned, pulling her blouse up and showing him the even more intricate line work on her back. He let out a long, low whistle. Nikki turned back to face him, pulling her shirt back down, but not before he saw the latticework of scars on her stomach. One of her hands rose to her chest, to point at two pinpricks on either side of her heart.

“Stopped my heart with a car battery a time or two.”

“You kill the son of a bitch?”

“No. Worse. I loved him. Loved the pain, everything he gave me.” She noticed that his glass was empty, “Pour another one. There's more.”

He went to the other side of the bar as she sat back down.

“We were in a troop of artists, one of those underground, off-the-grid things. We had everything you could want to fake a convincing death, and not six months after we met, I thought he died. We all did. But last night, I found a flyer with his face on it, saying that he had a show tonight.”

“You sure it's him?”

“I saw him with my own eyes tonight. Didn't say a word to him. Was too... messed up to.”

“How do you feel, knowing he's back?”

“Honestly, I don't have a fucking clue. I'm beyond angry, beyond hurt. I feel betrayed. He was the first person I ever gave a damn about, and he pulled that shit. And I still love him.”

John was silent for a moment, staring into the swirling whiskey in the glass.

“Too bad you gave up drinkin'.” He said somberly.

She laughed.

“No shit.”

They shared a smile.

“I just don't know what to say to him. I don't know if I even should.”

“If you don't, you'll hate yourself forever.”

“If I do, this may be the end of everything I've ever loved,”

“Just tell him how you feel. Let him know how he hurt you, but that you've been doing just fine by
your damn self, and if you want him back, let him know.”

She started tearing the napkin into long strips, unable to look up. He placed a large, gentle hand over hers, stilling her restless hands.

“Tell me your real name, kid.”

“Nikki. Nichole.”

“Nichole. You had a rough go of it before he ever got his hands on you, didn't you?”

She nodded.

“And he was the first one to give a damn about you?”

Another nod. He squeezed her hands.

“That's special. I'll give you that. But, you know what? Somebody else is gonna come along and think that you're the best damn thing they've ever seen.”

She blinked fiercely and turned her head away, nodding once, sharply, making her hair bob at the movement. A moment passed while he let her regain her composure. Her eyes met him again.

“I love him and want to be with him again, but it won't be the same.”

“Nothing ever is.”

“He made me who I am.”

“No. You did that. He just threw shit at you to take or dodge. You took every single thing square on the chin. You're stubborn, I can tell, but he didn't make you no way you couldn't have been without his help.”

Nikki dropped the shredded napkin and took John's massive hand in her own.

“Thank you.”

“Any time. You come back and let me know what you did, okay. You got me invested.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

“I will.”

“Now, you go on and get this shit over with.”

“Thank you.” She stood and put her jacket on as she crossed to the door.

“Just don't lose yourself because you found him.”

She looked back at him, shocked. He just nodded to her and started rinsing out the glass.

She left.