Chapter 1: Last Call at Havamal's

Unlike one of her coworkers, Rebecka still had all her fingers. As a result, she could count the number of people in Havamal's Axe Throwing Bar on one hand. There was her friend Steve who'd swung by after class, Lance, the homeless man she'd allowed to crash in a booth, the bouncer Quincey, Barbara, one of the regulars, and herself. Barb was nursing the remains of a beer out of her favorite mug and had been working on it for the last few hours. Rebecka didn't think the woman wanted to go home. She couldn't blame her. Barb wasn't shy when it came to talking about how difficult her girlfriend had been as of late.

Obviously, things had been slow thanks to the frigid February temperatures outside. The expected ice storm wasn't supposed to roll in until tonight, but few were willing to go out for some last minute family fun throwing axes or drinking. Normally, Havamal's was open until midnight on a Saturday, but given the weather, few customers, and short-handedness, Rebecka decided it would be best to close early.

"Hey, Barb. Last call, okay?" Rebecka said from across the bar. "You got a safe ride home?"

"I'm not drunk. Haven't even finished my beer," Barbara groused.

"I know, but I still gotta ask. You're gonna want to get home before the weather rolls in. If you go now you'll have about an hour before the storm hits," Rebecka said.

Barbara made a sour face before she pushed her mostly empty mug toward Rebecka. "Maybe she'll get in an accident?"

"If you don't want to go home, maybe you can get a hotel room? Tell Layla that you weren't sure about driving in the storm?" Rebecka offered.

"I might do that. Honestly, I'm at my wits' end. She thinks I've been cheating on her, Rebecka. I don't know where she's getting that from. Maybe...you know what if I get a room she'll just double down on that idea."

At times like this Rebecka wished she knew a better way to help, more resources, something. Personally, she wanted to give Layla a piece of her mind. Sure, Barbara might not be giving her the full story. There could be some vital information that explained why Layla was acting the way she was, or, perhaps she wasn’t doing anything Barbara had described at all. Either way, the whole situation pissed Rebecka off.

It was then that Steve chimed in, his slight Scottish accent still evident after all these years of him being in the States, "Has she agreed to do the couple's counseling?"

Barbara let out a raspberry. "Pfft, she's told me if I suggest it again she's leaving me."

"Really?" He asked.

"Text her you want to do counseling," Rebecka said firmly. It would be a good way to verify what Barbara had been saying was accurate. "If she leaves you over that then good riddance. You've said Layla refuses to talk to you at home most of the time anyway. Won't even look at you. She's being cruel just to be cruel. You shouldn't have to put up with that, Barbara."

"I...just...I love her so much," Barbara's words choked her throat as she began sobbing.

I am so bad at this, shit, Rebecka thought as she mentally kicked herself. I shouldn’t have doubted she was telling the truth.

Yes, she worked the bar and bartenders were known for hearing folks talk about their problems. Lending an ear. That said, she didn't like it when someone was bullied or full of shit. Half the time her Uncle Blake wouldn’t let her work the bar and just had her run the axe throwing lanes at the other side of the room. He wasn't in town, right now, however. Which meant Rebecka was left to run the place on her own, with the help of Quincey the bouncer.

"I know you do. I know you do, Barb," Rebecka said softly.

The weather app on her phone chimed. She looked it over reading the 'Severe Winter Storm Warning' that had just been issued. If Barbara and Steve didn't get on the road soon they were going to get stuck at the bar. Quincey lived nearby, at least, so he could just walk home like normal.

"Steve, can you make sure Barbara gets to her car and is good to drive? Or, better yet, can you drive her? Your e-bike will fit in her car, right?"

He made a bit of a face then glanced over to the elderly homeless man sitting in the booth near the entrance to the restrooms. "You gonna be okay here with that guy?"

Rebecka smirked. "Lance is fine. For one, he's like, ninety, and two I've been letting him crash here the last few days without a problem. Besides, Quincey's still here until I lock the front door."

"Rebecka's right. The old man's fine!" Quincey called from the front entryway where he'd been watching anime on his phone most of the day.

Steve nodded. "Okay, but give me a call if you need me to come back. I can be 'ere in a minute if you need."

"Thanks, Steve," Rebecka said.

He helped Barbara off her stool and to the front of the bar as Rebecka moved to check on Lance. The old man had been sleeping for a few hours and she was worried he hadn't eaten much during the day.

"Lance, you doing okay?"

"Hmm?" He murmured before rousing, looking at her with confusion in his one good eye. His eye was strikingly blue for someone with such a dark complexion. It reminded Rebecka of an actor she’d seen on television about ten years before.

"What is it?" Lance asked.

"I was wondering if you were doing alright. Can I get you anything?"

"What?"

She wondered if he was hard of hearing or just having trouble waking up. So, she signed her next question while speaking it out verbally, "Is there anything you need or want that I can get you?"

Lance huffed out a little laugh. "Needs and wants are two different things, my dear. What I want is not in this world. What I need, however...is some food."

"That I can do. Half a sandwich okay?"

He nodded with a pleased ‘humf,’ then shuffled his way out of the booth and toward the restroom. Rebecka quickly had a ham and cheese sandwich made and ready in the time it took the old man to get back to his booth. She cut it diagonally, separating out the halves on the plate by about an inch, then poured two glasses of water.

"Here you go, just like you like," Rebecka said as she brought the glasses to his table. She sat the water down first, then went back for the sandwich. "A glass for you and half a sandwich as well."

The old man inspected the set-up and nodded in approval. "Yes, yes. Very good. Half for me and half for my friend. They'll be arriving soon. Been a bit tied up as of late. I won't drink without them also getting a glass."

"Of course," she said.

"Good good. Thank you," he said, then waved dismissively.

He was quirky and, truthfully, his mannerisms and lack of eye reminded her of legends describing the old Norse god Odin. She wasn't sure if he was aware of the myths or not. Either way, it wasn't right to leave an old guy like him out on the street when it was below zero. It was no trouble to humor him. She'd still make sure the spare axes were properly locked away before giving Lance a few blankets and let him sleep in the bar overnight again.

"Hey, get the fuck out of our way!" Someone shouted near the front door.

Rebecka looked up in time to see seven white men pushing past Quincey. It only took her a second to spot the SS and 14-88 patches on the leather vests of the newcomers. The abundant prison gang tattoos also set off alarm bells in her mind.

"We're closed!" Rebecka shouted.

"You heard the lady, we're closed!" Quincey said.

He grabbed one of the men by the shoulder and pulled him off balance. The shorter man swung, punching Quincey in the kidney while two more of the gang members pounced, pushing the bouncer out through the front door. The rest of the gang eyed Rebecka.

"The Boss says we're having a beer here."

"'Have 'em all at Havamal's!' Ain't that in the ad?" The tallest and palest of the gang members asked loudly with his arms outstretched to his sides. "I aim to have 'em all, myself." He narrowed his eyes. "You don't look half bad for a lesbian. Surprised you'd let people in like the fairy that just left with his girlfriend and that one right there."

Rebecka reached for the axe in its holster on her right hip, flipping open the leather sheath that kept the blade covered. She wouldn't need to let the gang get close to do hurt. Sadly, slurs and insults weren't legally enough to warrant her cracking a skull open. She strained to hear whether Quincey was fighting the gang members outside or not.

"I'll ask you nicely one more time. Leave. You're not welcome here," Rebecka said, her words stone.

"Fuck that. This is our bar now," the gang leader crowed triumphantly.

She took a step forward but a vice-like grip clamped down on her left arm, hard.

"Don't move," Lance said softly.

"Let me go, Lance."

The gang member started toward her and the old man, but Lance would not relent. She had heard of old people being weirdly strong but it felt like her arm might break under Lance's grip.

"Don't move." Lance repeated.

The gang leader was a little more than a yard away and closing in fast. He reached out, ready to grab at Rebecka. Then his hand spasmed as everything behind it was replaced with a weatherworn limestone wall as the lights went out. The pressure from Lance's grip on her arm vanished. Her nostrils filled with a dense odor of petrichor, like right before a summer rain. It made her dizzy, like the whole building had somehow tilted on its side by a couple inches.

"What the hell?"

She could hear muffled screaming directly ahead of her and more distant sounds of sheer terror echoed beyond the walls of Havamal's. It took Rebecka a moment to switch on her phone's flashlight. Her feet still unsteady, she inspected the wall that had appeared. The gang leader's arm poked out of stone bricks that connected to...a thatched roof cottage that now occupied the entirety of the bar at an angle. She turned to discover the doorway that should lead upstairs to her apartment was blocked by the corner of a similar building that seemed to sink into the floor. Lance’s booth held only two empty glasses and the, now bear, plate. The old man was gone.

She was alone.