The Morgue…was not that.
They’d left Walker’s truck at a hotel just off the highway, taking an Uber to the bar instead. Kota hadn’t really understood why until they crested a hill overlooking the town.
The Morgue was the sole shining light in a sea of black, right smack in the middle of a town called Last Chance. Last Chance was a ghost town. There were endless boarded-up houses and miles of barren landscape between the real world and whatever this place was.
Even the Uber driver had gone quiet as they’d approached, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
Kota spotted the bar a full mile before they reached it, tugging at Walker’s sleeve and pointing at it.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it,” Walker said.
The Uber driver didn’t even pull into the parking lot, like they were afraid their car might get sucked into the sea of cracked asphalt and broken beer bottles. The second they stopped, the driver unlocked the doors.
As soon as the car pulled off, Kota wrapped his arms around Walker’s bicep.
“What is this place?” he asked in a scandalized whisper.
Walker laughed. “It used to be a funeral home.”
Kota believed it.
The large square building was unremarkable. The windows were coated with film that made it impossible to see inside. The wooden double doors resembled a crumbling church. A faded stone angel stood near the entrance, half hidden by weeds, one wing broken clean off.
“Why did your friends want to see you out here?” Kota asked, still keeping his voice at a whisper, half afraid he might wake whatever spirits lived in all those dark empty houses surrounding them.
“They’re not my friends,” Walker said. “And I have literally no idea. I guess we’ll find out.”
Kota swallowed hard. “You sure it’s okay for me to be here?”
“Who’s going to stop you?” Walker asked.
Kota wrinkled his nose. “Literally anyone. I’m the least intimidating person on the planet.”
“Good thing you have me then,” Walker said gruffly.
Butterflies danced in Kota’s stomach. The ridiculous part was that it worked. Walker said things like that and suddenly all the sharp edges of the world seemed a little duller. He couldn’t believe Walker still wanted him after the spectacle with the cop. So embarrassing. Part of him worried the older man would change his mind, but he refused to think about something like that tonight.
Walker held the door for Kota. As soon as they entered, heads turned like they were in an old Western. Conversation didn’t stop completely, but it dipped noticeably.
For a solid minute, all the blood drained from Kota’s head, pooling heavily in his feet. Some of the people in the bar looked scary, some shockingly normal. But they all looked at Kota and Walker like they’d just walked into someone’s house instead of a bar.
A woman with pink hair and sleeve tattoos lifted her beer. A man who looked like somebody's accountant gave Walker a nod. An elderly woman knitting in the corner looked up over the top of her glasses and somehow managed to be the most intimidating person in the room.
The music was low enough for the din of voices to carry over it. The lights were low, except for over the two pool tables in the corner. There was a ball game playing on a TV behind the bar, but it was on mute. Nobody seemed to be paying it any mind.
The place smelled faintly of beer, wood polish, and something smoky simmering in a Crock-Pot somewhere. It should have felt threatening. Instead, it felt weirdly...comfortable, like a small-town bar. If every regular happened to be a murderer.
“Tex,” someone cried, followed by an almost maniacal cackle, then there was a guy in front of them.
He was taller than Kota and freakishly hot. He had a drink in his hand and a lollypop in his mouth. He wore tight black leather pants and a black and red jersey that looked like he’d bought it in the children’s section. A full strip of his toned stomach was on display. He looked less like a professional killer and more like a pop star who occasionally committed tax fraud for fun.
Before Kota could even think to ask who he was, the stranger looked at Kota with wide eyes. “Is this him? Is this your swan?”
“Shut up,” Walker grunted.
“His what?” Kota mumbled, frowning.
