Bobby Finstock took another sip of his drink and sighed heavily. Tonight was an exception. He was allowed to drink because his team had won regionals and were headed to state in a few week's time. The boys were off on their own celebrating, and he knew there was booze involved didn't bother stepping in to stop them. They deserved it. But if any of them showed up to class the next day with hangover and didn't pay the least bit attention to his lecture, he was prepared to give them hell.
"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?" A voice to his left made him look over his shoulder. A man wearing a long black trenchcoat stood beside him, pointing to the empty bar stool.
"Go ahead. I'm not expecting anyone. I never am..." He sipped his drink again, looking at the man through the corner of his eye. "So you auditioning for the next Matrix movie or something?"
The man stared at him oddly. "Pardon?"
Bobby looked away, feeling stupid. "Nothing. I didn't say a word..."
The stranger took a seat and sat completely still, which made Bobby a little uneasy. He didn't order anything, and he swore he could feel the man looking at him.
"I'm Peter Hale, by the way. You must be the coach at Beacon Hills High," Peter outstretched his hand for Bobby to shake.
"Peter Hale...why does that sound familiar? You're not Derek Hale's father, are you?" Bobby noticed his glass was empty and ordered the bartender to refill his mug.
"No. My brother died years ago in a house fire that killed my entire family." His voice was monotone as he spoke, staring ahead at the bottle of liquor that lined the shelves. "May I ask you a question?"
Bobby paused, his drink an inch or so from his lips. "Uh, sure? Depends. What do you want?"
"It's not about what I want. It's what I need."
Bobby nearly dropped his glass as Peter turned around to fully face him, half of his face scarred terribly. "Oh my sweet Jesus-what happened to you?"
Peter touched the scarred half of his face. "Oh, this? I was in the fire too. Trying to save my family. I've been in a coma for 6 years, and I only woke up recently from it. I never aged a day..." He looked himself over in the mirror that was behind the bottle of wine on the shelf. "Hmm. Not bad. Now back to what I needed to ask you..."
Bobby began to stutter and Peter stared him down. "I-I-I-I don't know anything. Look, have my wallet-just please! Don't hurt me!"
Peter smirked. "Why would I hurt you? Nice man like you. Leading our team to state finals? No, the boys need you, coach. I, on the other hand, am looking for one boy in particular."
Bobby blinked, his mind getting foggy and confused. It must be the liquor. "Um, what? Are you a pedo or something? Which boy are you talking about?"
"Scott McCall. I need to speak with him."
Bobby scoffed. "Nope. Sorry, Hale. Even if I did know where Scott was, I wouldn't tell...you..." Bobby nearly fell off his chair as he saw Peter's eyes turn red. "Wh-what the hell? What are you?"
"What am I? What are you talking about, Bobby? We're just talking. You've had too much to drink. You're hallucinating."
"No. I'm not. Your eyes just turned red!" He hiccuped, groaning at the taste of vodka in his mouth. "Dear God, maybe I am...am I drunk?"
"You seem to be..." Peter eyed him carefully. "So where is Scott McCall?"
"Ugh, I don't know. Probably with his friend Bilinski. Is it Bilinski? I think it's Bilinski-"
"Never mind. I'll find him myself. Thank you for your time," Peter sighed heavily and made a move to leave, but Bobby gripped his arm. "Is there something you wish to add?"
Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head. "No. Nothing. Sorry..."
"Of course. I understand," Peter said calmly. "Have a nice evening, Bobby. Enjoy your drink."
Bobby watched Peter leave, getting back up into his seat and groaning. "Clearly, I'm not drunk enough. Hit me barkeep. And leave the bottle. I'll be here all night..."
The bartender gave him an odd look, but said nothing as he handed Bobby his favorite drink and wondered how he was paying for all this tonight.