A Stray in Need

As the drunkard came stumbling into the bar, he grasped at his temple and right leg, wincing. He paused in the doorframe, massaging those areas as his facial expression changed to one of confusion, as though he expected something to be wrong, but found nothing. His attention was caught by the sound of someone clearing their throat, looking up, he saw the bartender staring at him expectantly from behind the bar, some distance away. His brow furrowed with additional confusion as he looked at the building he was in, and the bartender especially. Despite not only its size but the hazy smoke that occupied the space, the building was completely empty, countless booths and bar stools without a soul to occupy them, a lone jukebox let loose a mysterious tune that seemed to shift constantly every time the man attempted to pinpoint the song, and even with the blinds open he could not see anything outside. The bartender continued to wait and stare behind the counter, he had shoulder-length curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and a green vest over a white undershirt. He had a smile on his face as he beckoned the man over, but only his mouth smiled, his eyes remained unphased and unblinking as the man approached the bar, rubbing his temple once more. “Hey,” the drunkard said as he sat on a stool. “Evening sir, how can I help you?” A silky voice came out from an otherwise chiseled face, “I gotta tell you Keep, I’ve had one fucking hell of a damn day. I need something strong.” He took his hand away from his temple, slapping it onto the counter for additional emphasis on the last word. The bartender’s eyes remained unchanging as his smile turned to a frown, “Oh dear, that sounds terrible,” he put a strange emphasis on the last word, almost as if his voice had rolled its eyes, “could I get your name for the tab?” The drunkard scrunched his face in confusion once more as he looked around the bar, still no one was there, but he shrugged his shoulders and held out a hand “Oscar, Oscar Stray, pleased to meet you, Mr.?” the bartender froze for a moment and finally blinked, before finally reaching out to shake Stray’s hand, saying “Raphael, my name is Raphael.” Stray nodded in appreciation, only now suddenly noticing the name tag on Raphael’s vest. I coulda sworn he didn’t have a nametag on… I probably just wasn’t paying attention. “So, Mr. Stray, what can I get started for you?” Raphael asked kindly with the smile returned to his face, if only his eyes could follow suit. “Just give me the strongest drink you got… I can’t seem to remember the day I’ve had but I know I feel like shit right now, so I need to get just as shit-faced in order to get through this shit.” He held his head in his hands as Raphael tsked at him “Can’t remember a thing huh?” He muttered something under his breath before continuing, “I don’t think you’re ready for my strongest drink yet then, let’s start off simple, shall we? I know just what you need to get started!” Raphael chittered as he reached beneath the bar, grabbing an unlabeled bottle. “Sure, whatever, as long as I get drunk I’m fine.” Stray muttered between his hands. Raphael continued to pour a glass as he stated, “Oh no, nothing here is alcoholic Mr. Stray.” Suddenly Stray lifted his head from his hands, “What? What the hell do you mean there’s no alcohol, this is a bar right?” he almost shouted. Raphael didn’t skip a beat as he finished preparing the drink with a garnish of lemon, “To your perception, it would seem so.” He chuckled out as he gently slid the drink over to Stray, who had already risen and was headed for the door. “Fuck this shit, I’m outta here, going to find a real bar!” Raphael made no comment as Stray got closer to the door, but he chuckled when he was only about arms reach from it, and suddenly the door slid along the wall to a different location. Bewildered, Stray moved to the doors new location, only for it to move once more. “What the hell is this?” He turned to Raphael, who simply shrugged. Stray turned to the door once more, only a meter away, and instead of walking to it, he lunged, and slammed into the wall as the door disappeared entirely. “Ok, just what the hell are you-” His sentence was cut short when he turned around, for the entire bar had moved to be directly in front of him. When he had come in there was probably seven or eight meters of space between the door and the bar, but now, against the wall, the bar was only a few feet away from Stray, and Raphael stared into him with… black eyes? I coulda sworn they were brown before… “Please, Mr. Stray, there cannot be healing if you do not accept my offers.” In shock, Stray sat down once again at the bar, sweating as he looked back into Raphael’s unwavering black orbs. “What the-” he was cut off once more as Raphael answered his question before he could finish, “I am an angel, Mr. Stray.” There seemed to be a flash of lightning from outside, if there was any outside anymore, and the light briefly cast a shadow behind Raphael, a shadow featuring a great pair of wings unfurled behind him. Dumbfounded, Stray looked down at the drink in front of him. It looks harmless, like a fancy lemonade. But what happens when I-? “Healing begins, Mr. Stray.” He looked up at the face of the being in front of him once more with a gulp, shuddering beneath his unmoving gaze. What seemed like an eternity passed as he brought his attention to the glass once again, slowly bringing a shaky hand to it. “Well…” He began, “I guess if an angel offers aid, I should take it right?” He chuckled to himself. Raphael was silent. “Ok then, here I go,” Stray finally lifted the glass to his mouth, intending to take a sip, but his body gulped the entire thing down without warning, it tasted bitter and cold. As he swallowed the last of the drink, suddenly his brain buzzed, and he gripped his head with both hands as a sudden memory flashed back to him. A young woman, covered in blood… her and two others in a similar state are rushed into a hospital. “FFFUCK!!” He screamed into his hands as another crash of thunder sounded, “But that… it wasn’t… I didn’t do it, right?” He looked up at Raphael again, almost laughing at the eye color change this time. Raphael nodded his head sagely as he continued to stare at Stray, only now with fiery red eyes. “We will get to that point, don’t worry. But the first stage is done.” He turned wordlessly then to begin preparing another drink, grabbing a jalapeño and cinnamon. A million thoughts swirled through Stray’s mind with these sudden memories, and the beginnings of a dull pain in his head and right leg, but surely he wasn’t the cause of those girls horrific injuries! “Here you are sir,” He turned with a frantic look on his face towards Raphael, who was presenting him with a new drink. This one was a dull orange color, and garnished with three slices of jalapeño along a cinnamon-dusted rim. He frantically reached for the drink, looking for anything to get him away from these thoughts currently plaguing him. Once again, he downed it all in one go, and this one was spicy and tasted of ginger, with the jalapeños stinging his nostrils. His eyes widened with rage as thoughts sprouted unprompted in his mind. A million voices, shouting, whispering, all of them saying the same thing: you killed them you killed them you killed them. He screamed as he hit his head against the counter repeatedly as his body filled with self-loathing. “Please sir, it’s difficult to make the next drink with you shaking the bar like that.” Stray looked up at Raphael once more, whose eyes have turned into a soft golden hue, before rising in a huff to bang on the wall instead. “What the fuck kinda healing is this Raphael?! I killed three innocent girls! God…” His voice began to trail off for a second before he continued “I could hardly tell through the blood… but they couldn’t have been any older than seventeen!” He banged his fist roughly against the wall once more and he heard a crack as a sharp pain ran up his arm. “Your drink sir.” Stray wheeled around to see a deceptively simple looking drink, cinnamon and vanilla sprinkled over a white foam in a small coffee cup. Taking a few more huffs of rage before sitting, he simply stared at the drink for a time, contemplating whether to drink it or destroy it. Raphael remained silent as Stray pondered. Finally, Stray reached out, steadying his grip with his other arm as he struggled to raise the cup. It was small but heavy, and he finally brought it to his lips, and gulped down far more vanilla and chai than what could have possibly been in that tiny mug. As he drank though, he felt the rage leave his body, replaced with a million thoughts and questions, one for each ounce that surely existed within this deceptive mug. This is just a nightmare, an ill dream brought about by… something I ate! Yes, that’s it, or something I drank, I do drink a lot. More and more ideas sprung to mind about how he could avoid or otherwise circumvent this horrid imagery. “The path ahead is not written in stone, Mr. Stray. It is shaped by choices, by acceptance, and by the willingness to confront one's own demons. Do you know your demons, Oscar?” He sat there just shivering for a moment, before finally whispering, “yes.” Raphael crossed his arms as his golden eyes drilled into Oscar’s skull, “what are they?” he asked simply. “Could you just bring me the next drink please… I think I know what comes next…” Instead of preparing the drink like normal, Raphael instead simply waved his hand in front of Oscar, like a magician, and a new drink appeared on the counter. It was a tall glass mug full of a creamy brown liquid, topped with whipped cream, a peppermint stick, and an artfully drawn smiley face made of chocolate syrup. Oscar gulped as he began reaching for it, before pausing, “Tell me, Raphael,” Raphael arched an eyebrow at him, “Did I kill them? You said the path ahead is not written in stone, so maybe this is a type of warning? Something I will do as opposed to something I have done?” Oscar gazed pleadingly at the ground beneath him, unable to meet Raphael’s golden gaze. “Take a sip, I’ll tell you after this final memory.” Oscar sighed dejectedly and brought the drink to his face. He couldn’t help but stare at the smiley face drawn in the cream, and finally he drank. Bittersweet dark chocolate met his taste buds, and despite the obvious heat of the beverage, it turned into ice as it reached his belly. Unlike the other drinks, he could not manage more than a sip, he tried to drink more but it continued to cough up out of him as tears ran down his face. “No…” giving up on the drink, he dropped it onto the floor, shattering the mug as another horrid image came to mind. This time was a much younger girl, no more than ten, in much a similar state as the others before. Only this time, she was accompanied by a younger Oscar Stray, also clearly injured, but uncaring of his own injuries. Please! Save my daughter! We were in an accident, some drunk driver hit us, please! His own voice echoed back at him as he cried into his hands, slumped on the floor. Your hands were too damaged; you’ll likely never paint again. “I still remember my anger at the doctor when he said that.” Oscar let out weakly as Raphael put a hand gently on his shoulder while he lay there. “MY hands? I don’t CARE about my hands! I CARE about my daughter!” his voice croaked and cracked as the memories continued to return to him. Raphael’s gaze felt much gentler now as Oscar looked up into his deep blue eyes, “Why couldn’t it have been me?” He looked down at his hands now, trying his best to still them, but still that faint tremor persisted, a permanent reminder of the nerve damage he suffered, and the life he lost that day. “To answer your earlier question, Mr. Stray, no. You did not yet kill those girls. But you will if you continue to drink the way you do. You will become the one person you hate the most in this world, only you would be killing three daughters and not just one.” It all fell into place in Oscar’s mind now. He was once a somewhat renowned artist, and he loved to make cute edible artwork for his precious daughter, like a smiley face in her cocoa. One day it was all robbed from him in an instant when a drunk driver collided with his car on the road. He lost his art, but more importantly, his daughter that day, and ever since has been spending the last of his small fortune on booze. Raphael was here to warn him… to help. “You understand Oscar.” Raphael stated this, it was not a question, he likely never had to ask any questions from the beginning, he already knew everything. “Yeah… I understand.” He wiped some tears from his face as Raphael helped him to stand. “Are you ready for your last drink sir?” Oscar shook his head, “not yet… I need just another minute.” Raphael nodded his head as he returned behind the counter. Oscar dug in his pocket for a moment and fished out a partly crumpled school photo of Amelia Stray. Smiling at it, he smoothed the wrinkles before turning to Raphael, who had the final drink in front of him. “Here you are sir,” Raphael said with a smile, and his eyes had changed once more to a pure, glowing white, “Some lavender chamomile tea.” Oscar nodded at him as he sat at the bar once more, “Thanks, Raphael, and thanks to whoever above may have sent you.” Raphael made a slight bow, and his whole face finally smiled for the first time. Oscar reached for the drink, first thing I’m doing when I get back is toss every forsaken bottle I own. As Oscar began to calmly drink his tea, Raphael began to walk away, and the entire bar began to light up with a brilliant light from outside.