ARCADE

   “How many pennies do you have in that slot? I don’t have all night here,” came the low voice of the arcade owner. He was an older man with a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows. No one appeared to know who he was or where he had come from. He had—it seemed—materialized in thin air and then went on to re-open the old Clemont Arcade. Nobody could seem to trace him back to anyone else and what people did know was relatively useless. He had a tall physique and looked somewhat like an ancient philosopher, which, in short, didn’t help to soothe anyone’s nerves or suspicions. “Better move on out unless you want an issue.”

   The game light flickered at his words: GAME OVER. 

   Douglas exhaled heavily and took a step back. “I can’t see why you won't let me stay. Don't you realize everyone who comes here makes you money? All you have to do is kick back.” He paused to address a certain and rather particular observation, “And you don’t seem to know why I continue to come here or appreciate that I do. I’ve seen you sit there and watch me in your corner over there. Don’t think I haven’t.”

   The owner looked at him for a moment before undoing the coin lock. “You know what? I actually would like to know why you keep coming here. This machine is impossible to win. Now if you don’t mind, I have to close. The door is that way.” He stood up slowly and pointed toward a back exit that took one to an alleyway that was less than desirable. 

   Not to be so adversely rushed out, Douglas held his ground. “I’m an author,” he stated, “and this ‘machine’ is symbolic. Your entire cheat-scape arcade is. I choose to invest my money here,” He motioned to the blinking light on the vivid screen. GAME OVER. “because I want to experience its analogy in real-time.”

   “I have no idea what you mean, but I do know it’d be in your best interests to leave. I can’t make money if you don’t move on out.”

   “I’ll leave,” replied Douglas, “but only if you promise to watch out for a girl with dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes.”

   Straightening up, the owner stared. “You’re crazy!”

  “No, I’m not. You see, she meant a lot to me, but I didn’t realize how much until I lost her.” He shook his head, “We were always a losing game.”

   “What does this have to do with an arcade?” muttered the owner as he stalked towards a switchboard located on the back wall. A stick lever surrounded by millions of tiny buttons protruded out and upwards. It had a knobbed, red handle like the kind you’d see in old movies. He pulled it down. “And I told you to slide on out, not to tell me about your hapless chick encounters.” With a smile, he motioned towards the bar stools. “But now, why don’t you take a seat? I wanna hear this.”

   They walked over to several deep crimson seats studded with silver. The extravagance of the bar seemed somewhat out of place and almost like a piece of a 1920s hotel. Douglas looked around in awe. Every type of bottle known to man were neatly lined on built-in shelves behind the counter. Thick yet subtle shelves that had been cozily placed inside enormous arches. Beyond these archways, elaborate wooden panels intricately covered the walls in remarkable detail. Douglas took a seat and watched as the man picked up a bottle that appeared to be dark whiskey and poured it into shots. He slid the glass over and sat on a leather couch at the opposite side of the walnut counter. “Well now,” he exclaimed, “what is this story of yours? And what does it have to do with me?” 

   Douglas smiled and slid his shot between his hands. “Your coin-op is a losing game… it doesn't work, and it never will. When I play it, I already know the outcome. And I play it, anyway.”

The arcade owner nodded. “Yes, yes. I know. Carry on.”

  “Oh, I will. I will,” Douglas teased, “I meant this diva a couple years ago back in school. She was literally the most gorgeous and divine person you ever saw. She wasn’t like the others, and I crushed hard even though I knew it’d never work.” He smirked at some hidden memory and pushed his shot away. “I really don’t know how you can drink this.”

 “It isn’t too bad. Warms you up.”

  Douglas looked unconvinced. “Yeah, uh, I’ll take your word. But anyway, her dad hated me, and I had no idea why. She didn’t seem to know either, but I knew she deserved someone better. Someone with money, smarts, and luxury cars. I had none of that and I still don’t.”

   The man squinted at him. “Were you not able to obtain that? That status I mean.” 

  “No,” he answered quietly, “I wasn’t. She was popular and swarmed by men who were born with wealth. Like they practically drowned in it. I honestly didn’t stand a chance, but I still loved her, and she wasn’t even mine.” He paused, “She never knew because I didn’t tell her and now, I don’t know where she is. But I pray she’s happy and with someone who loves her even more than I did.”

   A black cat scampered into the room as he spoke and perched preciously on the old man’s knee. It twitched its tail around its paws in quick motions and delicate curls.He pushed the animal away and proceeded to study Douglas with caution. An attractive man still in his 20s with wavy brown hair and olive eyes. Eyes that showed both sadness and heartbreak. And yet they sparkled. “Son, how do you know she didn’t love you?”

   Douglas started, “What?”

   “Well,” the man hastily explained, “she could’ve. She could’ve loved you with her entire heart and prayed you’d love her back.”

   “I doubt that.” 

   “She… she did.”

  With a sudden shatter, Douglas’ untouched shot hit the floor. Whisky dripped down into a potent, brown puddle and steeped steadily outward. An equally potent and repulsive smell met his nose and stuck there. Too shocked to notice, he stared at the man and stood up with a thrust. “Who are you?” His eyes locked with those of this mysterious and sinister old man. A man who suddenly appeared vexed and provoked. Douglas trailed him as he walked past the barstools and cleaned up the spill in slow silence. Silence deep enough to hear the quiet tick of an old clock. It was a quarter past twelve. Douglas again demanded an answer. 

   “Quinn.” The man’s voice shook, “James Spencer Quinn.”

   A sudden and unexpected memory possessed Douglas’ mind. It honed in and locked on a scene he knew. 

   Winter break was over, and I had no choice but to attend school. I knew I’d never be accepted into a university unless I worked hard and it showed. I wanted a scholarship and delicate work was the only way I’d ever receive one. Like always, classes passed in what seemed to be an eternity. I was exhausted and went outside to stare blankly out at the lot. It was quiet here. Relaxed. Suddenly a black Cadillac sped around the corner and came to a halt. A man climbed out that looked as if he belonged to the secret service. He had on a black suit and an even blacker tie. His hair was thick with pomade, and over his eyes, he wore black Ray-Bans. I watched him climb up the steps and nodded politely in his direction. He called me Picasso and kicked trash into a bush near the door. I remembered his name. James Spencer Quinn.

   He stumbled backward and clutched the countertop in a concert hold. This was the man he had hated all these years. The one who’d insulted him that day long ago. Memory after memory flashed across his active brain and drowned him with their pain. Quinn. Wasn’t that…? He swallowed hard. “You’re Harpers’ dad.” It all clicked now. Finally, it made sense.

   James nodded slowly, “Yes. And you’re Douglas Burr. The man I wish I’d accepted.”

   “I–”

“Harper, she’s… she’s gone. She went to Europe and—” He turned away, “S–she prayed for you. I found her one day on her knees and she told me she was scared to lose you. She said she loved you and had pleaded with God that you’d know. And that I’d let her be with you.” He turned sharply to Douglas, “I hated you because she loved you.”

    Douglas’ heart squeezed around his throat. It wanted to choke him. He felt dizzy and even sick. No matter how hard he tried to speak, words wouldn’t come. They couldn’t. He sat down slowly and tried to breathe. Tried to concentrate. He’d heard the rumor. In and out. It isn’t true. In and out.

 “I failed her,” James whispered, oblivious to Douglas’ response. “Failed everyone. I lost my job and went bankrupt. We couldn’t pay our bills, so I divorced and ran away in hopes to escape. I took our car with me and cursed God with all that I had. I owed thousands and didn’t have a cent. So, I became a drunk and wasted whatever bit I had.” He stopped to peer at Douglas who had leaned forward with his head in his hands. “I— I received a letter one day from Harper and she told me she’d gone to Europe. She didn’t say where, only that she wanted to stay there. I wrote her to ask how she was but I didn’t hear back for months. And when I did it wasn’t Harper. It was some lady who said she didn’t know who Harper was but that someone with that name had lived there a couple months prior but had vanished—”

Douglas held up his hand to stop him. I know.

 “—people said she’d been killed.”

“No!” He shot up and clasped a chair. “She wasn’t! She lied to escape you. She wanted to erase you from her life.” He walked over to James and hissed, “She hated you! You broke her.”

James shook in mocked sobs. “No,” he quaked, “no!”

“I don’t know what happened to her,” Douglas echoed, “but I don’t believe she… was murdered. I refuse to believe it.” He walked over to the counter and poured a shot with trembling hands. “Where’s that letter?” he demanded. James looked over with scorn and weakly pointed to a drawer under the bar. Douglas dumped it out and tore open a wrinkled envelope. It smelled like roses. “This is mine, sir, and Harper is too.”

“Take her! take her!” James cried. “And don’t ever come back to this arcade, Burr. I hate you still. Hate you with my entire soul.” His words were dark. Dark and cold.

“I already did.” Douglas stood across the room with a bottle worth hundreds in his hands. His eyes were black and seemed to blaze. “You won’t win this—but I will.” He dropped it and watched on in slow motion as horror spread across the old man’s countenance. “You don’t care. You never did. All you want is money and riches. And you know what? I don’t care either.” He kicked over another bottle and stood there motionless while several others dropped and shattered into pieces. “How many pennies do you have in the slot now?”