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“It was exactly your place,” the bartender snarls, and for a second, the veneer of the handsome young man shatters, showing writhing darkness beneath. “It was your job.”

Maggie doesn’t answer.

“So now, because she failed to kill us, we have to die?” Noemi says.

“Die horribly,” the bartender says, his gaze on Maggie. “And she has to witness it. You’ll all be killed by whatever you fear most. That is the death she gave you, instead of something quick and painless.”

“I—” Maggie says.

“She gave you this life, too,” he says. “A life where you skim the surface, barely making an impression. Because you’re supposed to be dead.”

The bartender nods at Henry. “How quickly do people forget you these days, Henry? How often do your girls call? Oh, you call them, and they’re happy to hear from you, and you tell yourself they’re just busy, but it still stings. Jenn, too. She just doesn’t reach out the way she used to. Always happy to grab coffee if you pass in the hospital hall, but she seems a little startled to see you, doesn’t she? As if you’re an old friend she’s forgotten instead of the father of her children. And promotions aren’t coming your way, no matter how good you are at your job. Afterwards, your bosses are genuinely apologetic, even confused, as if they don’t know how they passed you over—they just forgot all about you.”

A wave at Noemi. “You feel it, too, and you blame the fact that you’re young. Friendships change. Parents and siblings get busy with their own lives. Just ask Ellie. She knows all the excuses. She’s been hearing them—and making them—her entire life. That’s what happens when you cheat death. You aren’t supposed to be here, so you don’t leave an impression. That is the life Maggie sentenced you to.”

“I don’t care,” I say.

At first, the words feel automatic, as if I’m so accustomed to offering grace to others that I do it without thinking. But then I pause and think.

Would dying at ten have been better? Of course not. Compared to most people, I’ve had a very good life. I’m healthy. My family is amazing. I can pay my rent and put food on the table. Don’t most people feel as if they haven’t lived up to their potential? As if their life is less than they dreamed of when they were little?

If anything, I now have an explanation for why mine was less, and the answer isn’t, as I’ve always felt, that it’s me. That I wasn’t enough. That people let me drift from their lives because I’m so inconsequential they can’t be bothered to remember me.

I look at Maggie. “Thank you.”

She flinches, and the bartender laughs.

“Oh, you say that now,” he chortles. “But when you’re dying in agony—instead of not even knowing that a car hit you—let’s see whether you want to thank her.”

“So you’re telling us we’re all going to die,” Henry says. “We’ve been brought here so this lady can bear witness.”

“Yep.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell us we should just give up. Walk out there and accept our fate.”

“Well, that’d be the smart thing to do. Get this over with as fast as possible. Not that it’ll be fast. Just ask Caleb out there, trapped in—”

Henry moves so fast I don’t even see it. He actually manages to catch the bartender by the throat before the man disappears and reappears down the bar.

“W-what did he mean?” Noemi says.

“Ignore him,” I say. “He’s here to torment us.”

“Mmm, no,” the bartender says. “You’re here to torment old Maggie. I’m just here to supervise. And maybe have a bit of fun. At her expense. Not yours. You’re…” His long fingers flutter. “Inconsequential. Just as you’ve always been.”

Henry turns slowly toward the door.

“You thinking of making a run for it?” the bartender says. “With or without Ellie? That is the question. She’s still hurt. She’d slow you down.”

Henry turns to us. “Anyone who wants to come with me, I’d suggest we try. We’ll take some weapons and stick to the road.”

“Ask Ray how that went,” the bartender says. He lifts his hand and a snow globe appears and he gives it a shake.

“Pocket universe,” Raymond says. “We can’t get out.”

“You can travel in any direction, and you’ll only end up back here.”

“There must be a loophole,” Raymond says. “There’s always a loophole.”