"That's not your real name. Tell me your real name."
It had only been a half hour and she was already grilling me for my real name. She wasn't going to get it though. No one got that.
"It told you, it's David St. Hubbins."
"Yeah, okay, you liar," she said, sticking her nose back in the small bar menu, still grinning. "Do they have any real food here?"
"It's a bar."
"But come on, everything is fried. Everything."
"Again, it's a bar."
Somehow I had convinced the girl who wouldn't tell me her real name either to keep me company. It made sense since we were pretty much the only people in the bar. I very much doubted that she wanted to sit alone anyway after what had happened. After buying her a beer, I had offered to buy whatever food she picked out because I needed something of substance in my system. The alcohol wasn't going to keep me afloat much longer on its own.
"Are these those huge nachos that are said to be an appetizer but could feed twelve?"
I almost laughed at the way her eyes lit up when she said that.
"Probably."
Before she could change her mind, I grabbed the menu from her and ordered the nachos. The cooking staff was either really quick or just didn't care because they were placed in front of us within minutes, indeed being the nachos that could feed twelve.
"Why won't you tell me your real name?"
"I told you it already," I said, unable to suppress a grin. The mock aggravation on her face was comical.
"What, are you a spy or something?"
"Yeah, a spy who hangs out in places like this."
"Fine. Well, what do you do?"
For a moment, I thought of what to say to her, if anything at all.
"I'm...an independent contractor."
Her left eyebrow shot up as she eyed me curiously.
"You know what they call independent contractors with no names, right? Hit men."
I had a feeling the beer was starting to go to her head because she was stifling a laugh, quite unsuccessfully.
"That's not funny."
"Yes, it is," she said, still laughing.
It was strange that I couldn't remember the last time I had enjoyed the company of a stranger this much. Practically everyone was a stranger to me too, considering my line of work, so that was saying a lot.
"What about you? What do you do?"
"Me?"
She pointed at her sweatshirt, her mouth full of food.
"Student?"
Nodding, she swallowed.
"I never had time for that."
"Why not?"
"Family...issues..." I said, teetering off at the last moment, uncertain of how to really end that thought.
"Well, my parents would have kicked my ass if I hadn't gone to school, so here I am at lovely Stanford," she said in a tone that made me wonder if she really enjoyed the place or not.
"My brother is at Stanford."
"Is that why you're here? For a visit or something?"
"Something like that."
"What's his name? Maybe I know him."
"No," I said with a slight snicker, "I think you're a bit out of his league."
In my mind, all I could see was Sam turning into a complete bumbling idiot around her. It made sense. The last time I had seen him, he wasn't exactly the description of suave.
"I don't know if that's fair."
"Trust me, it is."
She could tell I wasn't being cruel, as I was still grinning over the thought. Her cheerful demeanor suddenly took a huge turn and was replaced with confusion as I noticed she was peering over my shoulder, towards the window. I turned to look, but saw nothing.
"What?" I asked, looking back to her, while she was still watching the spot intently.
"I don't know..."
Suddenly, the lights above the bar flickered in a sadly familiar fashion. Even the stereo system somewhere in the ceiling missed a couple beats. I tried to convince myself it was the weather. It had begun raining just after I had first arrived and had turned into a full blown dark thunderstorm since then, but I knew better. It wasn't the damn weather.
Fucking demons. Why now?
To save face and not look like a complete lunatic chasing after something that may not even be around us, I lied.
"It's nothing, just the weather-"
That's when the lights went out. All of them at one time and I heard a blood curdling scream escape her throat. From the lightning outside, I could see that she was still looking behind me, only now on her feet, backing as far away from the window as she possibly could. Whether that meant stumbling into the bar and knocking over glasses, she didn't seem to care. It was obvious that she was terrified. Turning around, I saw nothing except the dark street outside the window. The bar and the street seemed virtually deserted, save for a few people that had been sitting on the stools before I had even pulled into town. As I turned back to her, the lights came back on along with the music. Everyone in the bar was staring at us and she had a look on her face that I had grown accustomed to seeing with her skin as white as a sheet and her eyes wide. It took her a moment to speak, as she was shaking so hard, I don't think she was able to get anything out.
"Th-there was....s-s-something there!" she spat out, pointing towards the window.
Great. She had to say 'something'. If she would have said 'someone', I may have been able to persuade her into thinking it was nothing to worry about.
"It's okay..." I tried to coax her, stepping in her direction, but she was having none of it.
"NO! Something was there! You don't believe me it was horrible!"
There were tears of panic sliding down her cheeks as she continued to back away. The bartender looked at me, annoyed.
"You need to get her out of here or we'll have to call someone. I think she's having some kind of attack or something."
"She'll be fine," I practically growled at him, quickly pulling some cash out of my wallet and putting it on the table for the bill.
I reached for her, but she was still scared and wouldn't come near me or anyone that was any closer to the window than herself.
"Come on, we have to leave. Do you want them to call the cops over this?"
She just stared at me with no change in body movement.
"Look, lady, you just busted about 6 glasses back here and a bottle of Bacardi-"
"Hey, would you shut up? Christ, here," I threw him some more money that wasn't mine to begin with. "Take it and shut up so I can get her out of here, you heartless little prick."
He knew that if he said anything to me that it wouldn't end well, so he simply took the cash that was soaked in spilled alcohol and walked down to the other end of the bar.
"Come on," I said to her in a much gentler manner that my previous.
"You don't believe me."
"Yes, I do. More than you can imagine. And to be honest, if there was something there, don't you think we should get out of here?"
"No," she said, quietly, shaking her head. "It was in the street."
"Well, it's not there anymore. Even you can see that, right?"
She was silent.
"Right?" I asked, growing increasingly impatient but knowing if I didn't handle this correctly, she may have some sort of break from whatever she had just witnessed. Luckily, she nodded and I breathed a sign of relief. Still shaking, she stepped in my direction. I grabbed my jacket and car keys from the booth, shot the bartender another dirty look, and kept a strong hold on her so she wouldn't stop walking.
"Here, take this. It's pouring out."
Without any argument or protest, she took my jacket and wrapped it around herself. I could feel her tense up as we neared the window and gripped onto her tightly.
"Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen to you, just walk with me and please keep breathing, okay? I really don't need you to collapse on the way out of here."
I took her silence as a response, opened the door, and we walked out into the rain. We only had about a half a block to walk before we reached the Impala, which I was still unhappy about that because we were both soaked by the time we reached it.
"Nice car," she said through chattering teeth, once we had escaped the street and were sitting securely within the warmth of the car.
"Thanks."
We rode down the street in silence for a few moments, seeing as the urge to turn on the radio had eluded me. Things had taken a dark turn and the night had not turned out at all how I had wanted it to.
"Where do you live?" I asked, not looking at her until she didn't say anything.
At the stoplight, I turned to see her staring out the window.
"What?"
"I can't go home tonight. No one is there. I can't be alone after that, are you kidding me?"
I understood where she was coming from, having seen my fair share of those things in my life. The only difference was, I knew how to deal with them.
"So..."
"What about you? Aren't you supposed to be going to see your brother or something?"
"Not tonight, tomorrow."
"Well, what are you doing tonight?"
"Hanging out in some dive motel as far as I know."
She was quiet for a moment, silently weighing out her options. It was between going home alone and chancing seeing the things that go bump in the night again or going back to a motel with me. I couldn't exactly blame her for thinking it over. I listened to the windshield wipers squeak their way back and forth, keeping my vision from being obscured by all the raindrops.
"So, Mr. St. Hubbins, what's your real name?"
There was no real thinking it over. The girl was terrified and looking for someone to trust. I was probably the only person in this area besides my brother who could protect her and if gaining her trust meant spilling some personal information, so be it.
"It's Dean."
There was another moment of nothing but windshield wipers.
"Hi Dean, " she said without looking back at me.