Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

“Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder” I’d never tried the drink before. After the shit week I’d had an Iberian style bar in the middle of a bombed out downtown Tokyo seemed the perfect opportunity. “Coming right up.” The bartender was pretty in that generically androgynous j-pop way that had become globally popular towards the end of the last decade. In fact most of the crowd in the small bar were all of the same type. A few people stood out here and there. Being marginally more pretty or handsome than whatever clichéd cluster they were standing with; the Alphas in the crowd.

Eight or nine years ago someone like me would have drawn whispered conversations, posturing from the alphas and probably politely veiled insults to my face. Heck, a year ago would of brought a subdued version of that. Personally, I would of preferred that to the hollowed out shell shocked version of the people here. 

“Who are you, Gaijin? What are you doing here?” Glancing into the mirror I saw standing behind me a scrawny nervous kid. His bright red dye-job had grown out several inches and was flopping over the Suns of Chaos bandanna he wore. The neon bright orange and green rising sun logo clashed with everything he had on and singled him out as a wannabe. The others were curious enough to let this play out, jumping in if it looked like I might snap and truly hurt him. After all, he was their weirdo. Plus whatever Alpha who’d put him up to this would lose face if he were hurt too badly.

“Hi, I’m Auncle Charlie, and I’m waiting.” I’d purposely kept my tone mostly neutral, almost monotone. Feigning a barely repressed sigh, my body language bored bordering on insolent. As his faced tightened in anger I looked down at the drink placed before me. I felt him reach for my shoulder, him thinking to turn me around and scold me like a naughty, errant child. My shoulder dipped without conscious thought, my hand coming up grabbing his, squeezing a pressure point I pulled him around past me his groin connecting with the stool next to mine. I let go as he slumped over the barstool, wheezing.

Looking up at the bartender “Get him one of whatever he usually has, I’m buying. Kid has guts.” Taking my hat off I put it in my pocket. My once light brown hair was almost completely silver-gray. I ran a hand through it, noting that I needed a trim again. The undercut had grown out, starting to curl around my ears in a way that annoyed me. The kid stopped wheezing and sat down gingerly on the barstool. His warm brown look meeting my cool blue-gray gaze and he nodded thanking me politely for the drink. I nodded in return. “Waiting for who?” his inquiries starting again, politer this time, after sipping his rum free cola. Kids tenacious I’ll give him that.

Pulling my tobacco pouch out I looked at the bartender quirking an eyebrow and lifting the pouch slightly. They waved a hand “Yeah, sure.” most places, at least the ones left, were okay with smoking. The majority of tobacco sold was genetically modified anyway. It was crossbred with marijuana and processed to reduce tar ‘and other harmful substances’ at least that’s what the commercials said. They also said it was less addictive but they were never really clear about the margin on that.

Rolling a cigarette I started to answer him “It’s a what, maybe a who, and I’m waiting for a sign.” lighting the smoke I contemplated the moment then shrugged and picked up my drink. It was bittersweet, a near perfect counterpoint to the cigarette and the end of my week. “What, like, a sign from God or something?” He sounded snarky, but there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Well, there might be several whos and/or whats involved. Hard to tell with these things.’ shrugging again, I hmm’d to myself “or something. Most likely the Moirai, if I had to guess, or at least some version of them.” He looked flummoxed “You mean, like, the Fates?” 

“Yup.” I went back to sipping my drink and taking drags off the cigarette while he contemplated this conundrum I’d thrown him. “That is the third time today the Fates have come up for me.” He said this quietly, more than likely afraid the others would hear and make fun of him. He was staring at his drink so didn’t notice the contemplative looks he was getting from the other patrons in the bar. At a guess, it was probably the first time most of them were seeing the real him. 

“Welcome aboard the Synchronicity Express.” His head snapped up, eyes narrowed, an angry retort forming then dying as he saw sympathy from me, not mocking humor. A grudging nod as he went back to staring through the bar top in thought. 

“So, you’re one of the ‘who’ I’m here for.” He nodded having already figured that for himself, he asked me “How did you end up here? I mean stories of people with the Moirai directly involved… “ I knew what he meant, with most people they were subtle; a nudge here, a jab there. A lot of people had at least one story that often began with “I usually didn’t… “. For reasons they clearly couldn’t define, one day, they took that action and that led to someone and/or something they hadn’t planned for in their life. 

“A few years ago I found old photographs… “ A couple of people sitting at the table behind us abandoned the pretense of not listening in, wiggling their fingers in a flashback gesture. I smiled hoping they enjoy the story I'm about to impart. Quiet laughter flows around the room the rest settling down to hear the story. “As I was saying, I found old photographs online while I was doing research for a short story I was writing. The photos were from the late 1880s to the mid 1920s of an obscure organization connected to some of the prominent spiritualist and occult groups through Bligh Bond. The Lodge of the Unknown a supposedly informal gathering of members from several different countries and cults. Purported to meet a few times a year and discuss matters both esoteric and mundane. All mention of them stop abruptly around 1926, around the same time as the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre burned. I only mention this as the minutes from the surviving record of their last meeting cite some members visiting Hall’s Croft that day.” 

Pausing I order another drink and what passes for bar food, rolling another cigarette I begin again “One of the photos has a caption on the back ‘A fortnight after taking the Silver Key from Hall’s to close the Theatre Gate near Avon. Pritchard will be sorely missed, Ava Holcomb - 21st, March 1926’ The group in the picture is a mix of men and women. They look like an upscale hunter’s club, all are wearing trousers. Most are holding hunting rifles. A few sporting bandages, one with their arm in a sling. A bit unusual but not overly so.” 

Taking a moment I ate a couple of bites, the food was better that I thought it would be. “What struck me though, was one of the people in the background looked exactly like me. I thought maybe a distant relative or some past life reincarnation weirdness. Between that and the cryptic caption I was hooked into wanting to know what the heck had happened.” I noticed a few nods in the crowd. 

“This was right before the Covid-19 pandemic’s final form and the Greenies started aggressively remodeling parts of the US... I looked up what I could online. There wasn’t much, even the dark web had precious little. I ended up getting in touch with Holcomb’s great-niece. 

She sent me her Great Aunt’s journals. They’d been gathering dust and taking up space in her attic. So for the price of shipping plus a hundred bucks I acquired a handful of seemingly very sweet, very boring accounts of the woman’s life and the group she was a part of. Unless, of course, you happened to notice that the pattern on the covers lined up with each other creating a map. Also, hidden inside some of the back covers was a map legend, along with coordinates and passwords. I thought how Lara Croft/National Treasure.” 

A grim smile I couldn’t suppress crept across my lips. “I was so lost in the mystery and adventure of it all. I mean this happened to other people almost a hundred years ago. Sure it was sad that Ava had lost a good friend, but this was something that had happened, not was happening.” Seeing the various looks of ‘you possibly couldn’t be that much of a dumb ass’ I can’t help the chuff of pained humor that escapes me “Yeah, surprises me too. Though in my defense a short, overweight, bored hausfrau generally isn’t the protagonist in most tales like this. Generally their generic victim number 12 on the real detectives way towards solving the case.”

I smile at the various contemplative looks followed by a few nods. Most probably trying to picturing themselves in my shoes at that point. “Like many I’d lost family and friends to the pandemic and the climate crisis. Including my wife. I was lost, hurting mentally and emotionally. This was something I could focus on; a reason to get out of bed and keep putting one foot in front of the other.” 

Relighting my cigarette I look up, away from the sympathy. For all that I had lost, most of my hometown was still standing. One of the places that escaped the Greenies ‘aggressive ecological restoration project’. The last I heard Interpol had captured some of the members of what they’d labeled Anarchist Eco-terrorists. 

“Of course I ended up going to Hall’s Croft and the Royal Shakespeare Theatre among other historical sites. Following the map and clues that Ava left I soon landed in trouble. 

Said trouble came in the form of a skeleton. I found what had once been Pritchard’s body bricked up behind a cellar wall in Hall’s Croft. The small caliber bullet, found inside his skull giving an indication of what had killed him. Though the letter from The Lodge found beside him said their friend had already been killed by the demon possessing the body. That they’d no choice but to put the body to rest and seal up the remains behind bricks inscribed with binding runes. Trapping it so they could find a better solution

They hadn’t and it was now free to pick up with it’s plan.” Images from the past few years flit through my brain and I down the rest of my drink before ordering another “For some reason I wasn’t clear on at the time it won’t possess me. It did possess one of the junior constables, I found out later he was suffering from a mental collapse. The demon then jumped to a neighbor after having Constable Roberts murder his family. The neighbor, Peony Pimsworth, that friends and family describe as a ‘lovely older woman who’s a bit barmy though harmless’, disappeared, turning up a few weeks later in southern Spain. She shot 37 parishioners at a small church. Wounding most, killing several. The demon had then taken over an older gentleman, Mathias Serrano, suffering from the onset of dementia. This is a pattern it repeated up until a week ago.” I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. On returning I notice most everyone is still seated waiting for me to continue story-time.  

“The demon had been looking for the Silver Key to unlock the gates holding back its brethren. A couple of weeks ago it had finally found where Ava and her friends had hidden it. There are the ruins of an old temple near Aokigahara, which the locals claim is cursed. A priest from a neighboring temple helped Ava hide the key there. They set up several traps and false trails. By the time I got there the demon had gotten through every trap except the last two. Leaving a trail of bodies behind it like broken toys.” 

Outside I can hear a distant rattle of gunfire. None of us react. We can guess, with some accuracy, how far away the storm of bullets is. There are several raised brows when sirens sound, there must be someone rich under fire. “During this hunt that has spanned several continents and years I’ve discovered the name of the demon and most of the ones it’s wanting to loose upon the world. I’ve also acquired the company of a few holy people. Our group came here with the intent to seal away the demon. Stopping once and for all its mad dash towards Armageddon. 

We succeeded in keeping it from getting the key. However it is now in possession of one of my friends and an artifact of the Fates they carry. It doesn’t take a genius to guess the Moirai aren’t happy about this. Hence me stumbling around looking for Fate’s Touched and Portents.” Looking over at the kid I see he has a resigned look he glances at me “You’re here because there are other artifacts that can track the one the demon carries.” I nod at his statement knowing that he’s been dreaming about it. “You need me to show you where they are and how to get them.” I nod again. Nothing I could say at this point would be consoling to him. The Fates had picked him out. He could refuse and the burden would pass to someone else. However they were pretty good at picking out the type of person who couldn’t and/or wouldn’t pass that on.

“So, where are we off to kid?” I give him a cheeky grin knowing that calling him kid would be mildly irritating “My names Kichiro, Old Timer, and… “His indignation deflated a bit “I think we’re going to Italy, or someplace with a bunch of broken columns cluttering up the place. So, possibly Greece... Also, don’t call me kid.” Grinning unrepentantly at him I say “Okay, Champ, give me a few minutes I’ll let the others know that we’re on the next flight to Rome. Then we can go get you packed. We’ll take care of passport and inoculations on the way to the airport. We already have private transport set up for Rome. A couple of those holy people I mentioned are with the Vatican so we have to stop by there anyway for them to make a report. Nice coincidence, huh?” 

I can tell he’s surprised when several people wish him good luck and tell him to take care of himself. My heart aches with how young he is and I take a moment to mentally glare at the Fates. I call Patrice, a Celtic Shaman that joined our group in Amsterdam, “Hey Reese, got a young gentleman here by the name of Kichiro… hang on. Sport, what’s your family name, your age?” Seems I broke up a tender moment, ah well, with best luck he’ll be back regaling them all with tales of daring do “Nomura, and I’m 19. Why?” 

“Well, my friends need to go ahead and get the paperwork started so that it doesn’t seem like we’re kidnapping you. Anywho, go back to chatting with your friends.” I turn back towards the bar picking back up the conversation with Reese and my drink “Kichiro Nomura, age 19, I’ll text the rest while he’s packing. We’re heading back to Rome. The next place according to him is ‘someplace cluttered up with broken columns’.” Their voice is still gravelly from being choked “Alright, Auncle, I’ll let the others know. We’ll be seein’ you. Give a call when you’re heading back.” I slam the last of my drink “Can do, sweety. Tell Wolfgang, he’s no longer the baby of the family.” Reese laughs “Alright, you know he’ll be so disappointed.” Grinning I say good-bye and hang up. 

Kichiro had turned back to me and by his raised eye brows I could tell he caught the Wolfgang comment “Wolfgang is a Monsignor at least a decade my senior. For reasons I won’t go into right now we started teasing him about being the baby of our little family.” Smiling he nods saying “Fair enough, maybe I’ll ask him on the plane.” I glanced around and noted that the crowd had mostly dispersed “Let’s be about it then shall we.” Suiting action to words we head to his family’s home. It looked like they had dug out and fortified an old two-story brick bookstore near what had been a community garden. 

He, and his family, looked relieved when I told them Kichiro would be paid a consultant fee for his work. After that I let him take the lead on what and how much to tell them. His older brother slipped a new jacket around his shoulder’s saying that it was suppose to be a birthday present. A new messenger bag and a pair of boots soon joined. They had all chipped in to get what was obviously a longed for set of presents. I stepped out to text the group his info and make certain that a care package for his family gets to the right address. Poor compensation for an obviously loved son and brother.

The Fates hath decreed that we drag our sorry carcasses back to Rome. With luck and time not many will be the wiser for what we have done, are doing or will do. We prefer it that way, the last thing this world needs right now is another undead Lovecraft or Crowley leading an idiotic chaos cult attempting to end this or other realities. Most realities have enough problems to be getting on with, thanks.