Page 12 of Oracles Always Win

Excepthaving sex with a vision my mind had created wouldn’t count as losing my virginity, would it?Imean,I’dessentially just be having sex with myself, and over the last yearI’ddone that a lot already.

Ishook my head to shake off my sleepiness.Whenthat didn’t work,Ipushed my face closer to the cooler, pretending to look for anotherWitch’sMilkin the back.Therewas nothing there, of course, but the blast of cold air was at least a little invigorating.

OldThomhadn't been happy to hear our current suppliers didn’t carry the specialty brew, making it impossible to order more.Iblamed the problem on my grandfather's abysmal record keeping.

Noneof my regular suppliers had even heard of the drink, which hadn’t helped.I’dnever tasted the stuff, but it had the same color and aroma as a cream ale, soI’dtried to steer the old guy to one of those.He’dsnapped his rotting teeth at me.So, the old grouch had been spacing out his consumption of the drink for months now, only having one bottle a month.Thiswas the last one.

Inall that time, no one else had dared ask for one.

Myfingers had just curled around the cool bottle when a hush fell over the bar.

OldThomwasn't grumbling.Sallywasn't cackling.Eventhe billiard balls weren't clacking against one another from one ofCarterJones’ well-executed plays.

Althoughit was early in the day, it was still aSaturday.Noiseshould be filling the place and getting progressively louder as the day went on.Thestrange silence made me freeze, like some sixth sense was warning me to sit tight and not draw any attention to myself.ThenSallylet out a soft wheezing sound as footsteps fell heavily on the hardwood floor.

"Holymother of dildos," she whispered.Shesounded breathless.

AndthenIneededto look…

Ineeded to make myself move, to turn around, to see what all the fuss was about.ButIwas still frozen in place like prey in the presence of a powerful predator.

Inthose few seconds, condensation formed on the bottleIwas holding, and it slipped a little.Itightened my grip.IfIdropped the bottle and it broke,OldThomwould be livid, andOldThom'swrath wasn’t somethingIwanted to experience.Certainlynot by myself.

NotthatAlice, my usualSaturdayco-worker, would have been able to stop him if she’d been working tonight either.Shebragged about being more street-smart and scarier than me, even if, by her own admission, she’d never lived anywhere but this sleepy little town.ButIdidn’t see it.

Shewas at least a foot shorter thanIwas.SinceIwas on the shorter side of average,Alicewas extra short.Andher ever-present toothy grin was hardly intimidating.Whenwe worked together, we were good at conquering any problem, butIdoubted any of her street smarts or my extra foot of height would deterOldThomif he decided to show his displeasure.

Theguy looked ancient, so you’d think he’d be weak and frail, but that wasn’t the case.Hewas huge and shockingly muscular.Hisskin was rough like it was made of sandstone, his eyes always glinted with anger, and his constant snarl made me uneasy.Hishuge, rosy-colored bulbous nose was about the only part of the guy that didn’t look menacing.Ididn’t want to find out what he’d do if someone pissed him off.No, ifOldThomor anyone else came after me…Well, hopefully one of my regulars likeCarterJones, who was a big bear of a man, would step in to help.

Mostof the timeIdidn't worry about working the bar by myself, whichIdid three nights a week.Theusual patrons were all well-behaved.Buttoday wasSaturday, andIwas worried people would get grumpy if they had to wait to be served.Thereshould have been two of us, butAlicehad begged for the night off.I'donly known her a year, but she’d become one of my closest friends, which meantIdidn't buy the fake cough she started out with.Notone little bit.Inthe end, she confessed to landing a date withBuddyJacksonand a weird sense of déjà vu swept through me at her confession.

ThenIremembered one of my black-and-white paintings was of her… andBuddy… on their wedding day.Well, nottheirwedding.Becausethey were only just now going on their first date.Atthe timeI’dpainted it,I’dbeen baffled as to why my psyche would ship those two, but now it seemed almost prophetic.

Whata ridiculous thought.

“Where’smy drink, boy?”OldThomslammed his hand on the bar.

“I’mgetting it,”Ireassured him, even as the bottle slipped in my fingers again.

Shit.Icouldn’t drop it.

Cradlingthe bottle like a fragile newborn against my chest,Islowly stood and shut the cooler door with a thud that resounded through the abnormally quiet bar.Itwas almost like people were even trying to breathe more quietly than normal.Thena song flipped over on the old jukebox andImagineDragonsbelted out “Demons.”

Myheart thundered painfully in my chest, just like it had last night whenIwoke from my latest weird painting episode, asIpivoted toward the bar.

There, with his elbows resting on my bar, was the guyI’dseen upstairs.TheoneI’dmade out with a few hours ago.TheoneI’dbeen painting for almost a year.Theone who was completely and absolutely imaginary.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Six

JAKE

“Helloagain,” the guy said, a sly smile forming on his lips.

Interactingwith my hallucination in private was one thing, but here?Inthe middle of the bar on aSaturdayafternoon?Thatwasn’t good.

Itried to keep my face as blank as possible asIignored the imaginary man.Nope.Iwould not look at his broad shoulders.Myhands absolutely did not remember the feel of his body.Hishorns gleaming under the lights?Nope.Ididn’t see those either.Andthe knowing smirk on his face?Ha.Noway was that drawing me in.