another day alone at the ratty sports bar. trip didn't even drink, hell, he didn't watch sports, but the atmosphere during a work day afternoon put him at ease. that, and he couldn't bring himself to buy a non-alcoholic beverage at a nightclub on a regular night.
the waitress came by and handed trip his cola, which he thanked her for. in front of him sat a notebook flipped to a blank page, a pencil with the eraser chewed off, and the replacement eraser brick. all he really did was write down his thoughts. today he was distracted from his routine- he didn't remember skipping his meds, but his hands were busy fumbling with his biker gloves as one of his legs idly bounced against the chair's leg support.
he was used to the funny feeling something bad was about to happen. he'd always had awful anxiety, and even on a pill it didn't go away entirely. at least there was reason; the sports bar he frequented happened to be a favorite of some fairly sketchy folks in town. he was always lucky to not be around when they hit, but there was always an off chance...
new distraction. he flipped to an earlier segment where he recorded a recurring dream. or was it a nightmare? either way, it happened frequently enough to keep his attention- that, and some of the faces appeared in his other dreams as well.
in the dreams, he had been trapped inside of a large crystal. sometimes he could talk or move, sometimes he couldn't. a few things remained the same- knowing he was in hell, a friendly voice speaking with him and putting him at ease, the constant talk of marriage, and being rescued in the end by what he assumed to be a fallen angel. he wasn't a religious man by any stretch, but being raised in the south, it kinda seeped into his mind anyway. trip had figured it was some psychological output, and took it as another scenario where commitment or being trapped in a loveless marriage frightened him. but marriage wasn't ever at the forefront of his mind. he'd never met anyone he had wanted that level of commitment with. but what of the angel?
supposedly faces in dreams are of people you see in real life, even if you knew them for a moment. the face was fresh in his mind- he was no artist by any stretch, but would find himself doodling features that stuck out. the burning wings, the runes running down his limbs, the distinct silver-framed sunglasses, the dusting of stubble. he felt stupid obsessing over this mystery man.. yet it always ended up being a perfect distraction.
the bar's door opened, inviting in a small gaggle of rustic cowboys. the southern accents, country duds and mustaches in curious styles- one wearing a tassled mask- gave off a strange, comfortable local vibe, leaving trip to only chuckle to himself. the matching brown boots and yellow checkered flannel seemed odd in the moment. perhaps they work together? the trio seated themselves, voices blending together but holding their volume. once again, a staple in the locals, just a sight to behold against the more subtly-dressed.
the waitress returned, asking if he had made his selection from the menu. trip declined ordering, determined to decipher his odd dream. instead, the doors open again, introducing a single man who was definitely not an undercover cop. ...okay, trip didn't know for sure he was a cop, but the unpatched leather jacket, visible wallet chain and baggy blue jeans roused his suspicions. he'd be indistinguishable from the biker tourists if he’d had a do-rag or a beard- the one accessory he wasn't counting on was a familiar set of silver frames.
he kept a close eye on the new patron as he took a seat at the bar. he was turned away and sitting just far enough so trip couldn't pick out his face, but something about him..
maybe he was overreacting a bit. sure they're distinct, but that doesn't mean only one person's allowed to wear them. especially a dream guy who probably doesn't exist.
the masked cowboy stood up and approached the mysterious patron. maybe they knew each other? most cowboys down here would leap at the opportunity to choke on a cop's boot. as he walked across the bar, trip noticed a distinct silver poking out of the deep pockets. it wasn't the most thorough inspection, but that was enough to draw a very sound conclusion.
this was the off chance.
he couldn't hear the conversation, but he gathered his belongings together and began to mentally take note of his escape route.
the front entrance is 10 feet away, if i run as soon as the first shot goes off..
the other two had barricaded the door with their bodies. neither had weapons drawn.. yet. the few other patrons hushed as they prepare for what's to come, but it instead seemed to amplify when the visitor rose from his seat. he still couldn't pick out their conversation, but knew it had to be turning south very quickly. his stomach dropped and his spine ran cold.
the first shot ripped through the bar. he dove under his table, shutting his eyes tight and cradling his ringing ears. instead of hearing a body fall, broken glass. the other two at the door pulled out their guns, each shooting a full round, shattering more glass and eliciting screams from bystanders. when they finished, a body was thrown down- near where trip took cover. he opened his eyes to adjust his position accordingly, but his sight hung on that of the collapsed masked cowboy, chest oozing from several shots, blood forcing itself through his mouth and eyes clenched with pain.
his attention was averted again by the ensuing fight between the remaining partners and the visitor. it.. wasn't even a fight. just a complete beatdown. the cowboy was getting wailed on, punch after punch, hardly getting a chance to do much as attempt a retaliatory swing.
by the end of it, the human barricade were on the floor, varying stages of injured. the visitor seemed visibly upset, sighing and cursing to himself almost out of earshot.
that's when trip saw his face. the face of the fallen angel he'd agonized over for months. attached to this man who had just murdered three people. not just people, members of a notorious gang. every thought attached to this scenario was more insane than the last; it was the literal man of his dreams, appearing in a real life nightmare. and he craved it.
when the visitor left the bar in his hurry, trip followed behind, almost jogging to keep up. he wasn't even sure what he would say. he just needed to know he was real.
the man arrived at his rental car when his follower finally caught up.
"hey man," trip opened- his voice wavered from impending nausea. "what the hell was that?!"
the man turned to respond, but just as he did, his jaw dropped.
"shit."
"what?"
"i mean… self defense. you saw those weird assholes, they pulled a gun on me. what was i gonna do?"
"uh? not piss off the vaqueros in the first place?"
".. the vaqueros."
the sound of police sirens began to approach. the stranger grits his teeth and fires up the ignition.
"do me a favor. forget you saw me."
"take me with you." the words practically fell out of trip's mouth, almost without his consent.
"why should i drag some random asshole around with me? i'm not your fuckin' uber."
the squad cars turned the corner from up the street, prompting trip to toss himself in. grumbling, the other man slammed on the gas, barreling the duo out of the parking lot and down the highway. the sirens drew closer for only a moment- mostly in numbers rather than actual distance- but the sharp jerks of the car and expert dodging kept them in the clear. more shots rang out, this time from officers. trip was ducking his head below the windows- the flakes of glass from bullet impact grazed his exposed forearms, but the adrenaline kept his focus elsewhere. his heart pounded in his ears, his eyes danced between the rear view mirrors and passenger windows. something about this felt all too familiar, though it seemed it wasn't this guy's first rodeo either..
as quickly as it began, the chase died; fairly uneventfully, as a quick duck into an alleyway managed to lose the whole police force. the two sat in near silence waiting for the last of the sirens to pass. at least, the stranger was silent- trip was panting like a dog on a hot summers day.
"shit.. i can't believe that lost 'em." trip chuckled, lifting his head. his enthusiasm was met by a pistol pointed at his temple.
"you're gonna tell me right now why you're trying to make me lose my badge, or so help me i'll--"
"woah, woah, man! take it easy!"
"i coulda got out of that quicker if you woulda shut the fuck up!"
"i'm just saying, those vaqueros don't play games! you took out like three of their best guys in eight seconds!"
"...eight seconds." the man smirked, relaxing his arm. "where i'm from, they'd be lucky if their whole shop lasted that long."
"and where is that, exactly?"
"what are you, a fuckin' cop?"
"speak for yourself."
"... fair enough." the man falters. "what's your name, man?"
"trip."
"i'm gonna give you some advice, trip." he retracts his weapon. "get yourself home. forget you saw me."
"what?!"
"you look like you got a good head on your shoulders, don't go throwin' that away."
"but.. what you did back there.. i mean, yeah i was shitting myself i was so scared, but nobody's stood up to any of the gangs here in ages! not in a way that matters, at least." trip shifted in his seat. "and the drive after.." a chill ran up his spine simply recalling, forcing out a nervous, but euphoric sigh.
"good for you. now get outta here, i was being nice puttin' the gun away."
"alright, alright, fine.." he opened the passenger door, but stopped with one foot on the pavement.
"are you not giving me your name?"
"... johnny."
"see ya around, johnny."
trip fully exited the vehicle, and as soon as he did, his driver sped away, leaving him by himself in the alleyway.
there was no way this wasn't going to be their only meeting. considering the weird dreams and bumping into this strangely familiar face by chance? there was more to this. a deeper meaning. he didn't know what it was yet, but one thing was for sure- he was going to track it down if it was the last thing he did. for now, though, the adrenaline had started to wear off, and all his normal feelings that were bottled up before were resurfacing. mostly nausea.
trip promptly turned to the wall and emptied his stomach.
