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“I … wasn’t actually looking. I saw you out of the corner of my eye. You were standing, and then you weren’t.”

“I dropped to the floor. Intentionally. Because the building was falling around me.”

At his look, I say, “I experienced the building collapsing, though obviously it wasn’t. But I didn’t hear anything and nothing hit me. It was more as if the bar … transitioned.”

“Transitioned?”

“To another place. To the ruins of this building. You were all frozen there. Except the bartender. He was … wherever I was. Then I saw a car drive past and—”

Something moves beside me, with a click-click, and I jump, stumbling, Henry catching me. The sound comes again, and I follow it to the handle on the back door. It’s a lever style, and that lever moves up and down, quickly.

As if someone’s jiggling it from the other side.

TWENTY-FIVE

“Hello?” a man’s voice calls. “Hello? I heard voices. Please open the door.”

Henry and I look at each other.

The man keeps jiggling the handle. “Please. I’ve been in an accident. I need help.”

I lurch toward the door, but Henry warns me back and opens it, carefully, his hand firm on the lever, one boot blocking it from opening more than a few inches. Then we see the guy. He’s maybe my age, with broken glasses and brown skin washed in blood, more blood soaking his clothing.

Henry pulls open the door, and the man staggers in.

“Thank you. Thank you.” The man’s voice cracks, as if he’s on the verge of tears. “There was an accident, and I—” He touches his head, where blood cakes his hair to his forehead. “I hit my head, and then I was in the forest, and I couldn’t find my way out, and I thought I saw a light, and found the door, but it was locked…”

“Come in.”

Henry reaches for the other door, the one leading into the bar, but the man wobbles as if ready to collapse, and Henry lowers him onto an old stool instead. The stink of blood doesn’t quite block out another smell, and the man must see Henry’s nostrils flare as he catches it.

“I had a few drinks,” the man blurts. “My wife is going to kill me. I was out celebrating, and I lost track, and I shouldn’t have been driving—”

“It’s okay,” Henry says. “I’m a paramedic. I’m going to take a look at you.”

The door into the bar slaps open, and the guy who’d taken off on the bike peers in. “What the hell are you two…?” He trails off as he sees the newcomer. “Who’s he?” Then, before we can answer, “He’s covered in blood.”

I stifle the urge to snap something sarcastic, and I shoulder past the older man, saying, “I’ll get water and cloths.”

When I bump into Caleb and Noemi, I say, “It’s another accident victim. He got lost in the woods and came in the back.”

“Oh, shit,” Caleb says. “Is he okay?”

“Henry’s checking him now. Can you get hot water and cloths? I’m going to grab the flashlight.” As they slip behind the bar, I look at the bartender. “Where’s that first-aid kit?”

He tilts his head, and again, I’m reminded of someone acting a part. Except now he’s looking at me as if to say “Ah, you’re playing along, too, are you.”

Rage rushes through me. A futile rage that says he’s right, and we’re just playing our parts, because whatever’s happening here, it’s so much worse than a motor-vehicle accident.

“Shit!” he says after a moment. “Sorry. I put it back. I should have brought it out for that guy’s leg.”

I grab the flashlight and rush back as the bartender passes me a roll of bandages.

“I have antiseptic, too,” he says. “But it’s expired. Maybe vodka?” He holds out a bottle, and when I look into his eyes, I see only a genuine desire to help and maybe a hint of sheepishness, an apology for him joking around earlier.

Damn it. I know what I saw in his face only moments ago, I wasn’t imagining it.

I leave the vodka for now, take the bowl of water and cloths from Noemi, and run back into the storage room, struggling to hold everything. Henry takes the bowl and cloths. I turn to the other man, the older guy who’d gone out on the bike. He’s just standing there, as if feeling the urge to do something but not knowing what.