LIKE LIGHTNING

There were little to no people that wanted to work the bar on Christmas Eve. Most had families and loved ones to spend the evening with, as evident by how empty the bar itself was. Peter knew he couldn’t be selfish, that the people needing to spend time with their families was more important than his wanting to spend the evening with his friends. Especially considering what usually happened around this time of year, it only made sense that parents wanted to be with their kid every second of every day. He hoped it wouldn’t happen this time. 

He was sitting on a stool behind the bar, rocking back and forth and scrolling through instagram when he saw a familiar face walk in. He looked up, quirking his brow and getting out of his seat. He didn’t sit at the bar, but in the corner, looking like he wanted to both disappear and call out for help at the same time. Peter stood up off of the stool and put his phone in his pocket, pouring them both beers and walking over to the booth in the corner. 

Before he slid in to the booth, Peter put the drinks down in front of him, looking down at him as though he knew his secret. Even though he knew nothing. All he knew was that he probably also didn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve. He slid in to the seat across from him, crossing his arms over the table top, and smiling over at him. “Hi. I’m Peter.”

Company had not been expected, but something inside of Conor wanted to give a sigh of relief when another took the empty space across the booth from him. He would never have asked for the company, but even without knowing who the individual was, he appreciated it. Whether good or bad, it was something else to focus on, and (surprisingly to some) Conor was cut of a cloth that was social in nature. 

When the door beers had been placed on the surface of the table, Conor had looked up to see who had decided to join him — he was met with a gaze that seemed knowing in a way that caught him off guard. The boy’s brow furrowed slightly and he gave an unsure smile. Truly, Conor wasn’t really sure what to expect.

As the other, introducing themselves as Peter, gave a surer smile, Conor found his own growing slightly. “Conor,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “I’m Conor.” He tilted his head towards the two drinks between them, and in a soft joking tone asked “Are those both for you?”

Conor was one of her favorite (if not the favorite) workers in the Grand Madam’s, and she had no problem admitting such a thing. He had years on many of her employees, and she hoped that she had become a fixture in his life just as he had in hers. Perhaps she would never have children of her own, but she would always have those lost souls in the brothel. They needed her guidance and she needed them, and she was painfully attached to just about everyone there. 

Her dearest Conor was so thoughtful, the expression on his face making her swell with affection for the young man. She offered him a smile and waved off the thought, “You are too kind, dear.” She laughed, and gestured for him to come along, wanting to get out of the cold apartment building and into the cold weather, and then safely tuck them away in her car and blast the heat. “But I’d rather freeze than mismatch.” She finished, shrugging her shoulders because this was a fate she’d long resigned herself to. 

Iris let relief wash over her as Conor reassured her, even if she did not agree with his opinion of her. She was thankful he was well, and she let her hand touch his arm and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. She couldn’t withhold herself forever. “Oh but my dear Conor, it’s my job to worry about you.” Iris admitted. “I just want to make sure you are taking good care of yourself.” She gazed at him with affection for a moment, hoping her eyes could convey the genuinity of her concern and adoration for the young man.

And just as quickly as she’d been giving him a serious, concerned expression, she turned to a lighter, easier topic. Business. “Should I be giving you less hours? Perhaps I could make you an exclusive. We could really rake in the big bucks that way.” She teased, hurrying down the staircase. “Of course, the people might riot.” She added with a look over her shoulder.

Her honesty was refreshing, and he appreciated her candor. Another might make excuses, leaving the pair in the hallway while their intentions clashed, but because Iris told him why, rather than simply she was fine, Conor was content to leave her be. He tried his best not to be overbearing, and the straightforward way she spoke allowed him to keep himself in check. Being cared for, rather than caring for was a new experience for him; he thought perhaps he could enjoy it if he could grow accustomed to it.

Her eyes were able to convey the message easily, somehow Conor knew that the words she spoke to him and the affection she seemed to hold was genuine. Again, Conor’s hesitancy with the situation was simply a lack of model on how to deal with it — maternal figures were rare at best within his life.

“No,” he replied, possibly a little too quickly. Grand Madam’s had given him purpose and connection. It was all a play down those stairs, one where the audience interacted directly, and the small framed boy had become something of a method actor. He could convince himself that he was something to those that came to visit him, if only for a few hours, and in doing so he convinced them that they meant something. It might be draining once the lights came back on, but in the moment Conor enjoyed a strange sort of comfort in the act. “I mean, if you think it is a good idea, but I’m alright with the hours I’m working now.”

Deciding to change the subject slightly, Conor looked over to the other as the exited his apartment building, and furrowed his brow slightly, a visible mark of the thoughts churning in his head. “Where are we going by the way?” he asked, voicing what had been on his mind. He didn’t have a particular drive for one place over any other, simply he was someone who liked to know where he was going ahead of time.

Charming as ever, Conor was always someone Iris enjoyed the company of. His eyes seemed tired and Iris wondered if she had been too early, if perhaps she should take him for some coffee before they eat. Her hand almost reached out to cup his face and ask if he was sleeping well, but she withheld for fear of seeming too overbearing.

Iris had always been fond of Conor - he’d started out in the front of her shop, a sweet smile on his face and he knew how to work the counter. She’d been surprised (but not displeased) when he had accepted her invitation to work downstairs. Part of her had always held a concern for him, but she had found it hard to express as just the woman who wrote his checks. Now that he worked down in the brothel, Iris had found it easier to cross the line and offer some sort ear or comfort to him, especially since his brother had left town. Not that she would bring that up to him, of course.

“I’m wonderful, despite the weather,” Iris chimed, but pulled her coat tighter around her. Perhaps she should have opted for a warmer coat, but she should be praised for having bothered to wear one at all. Winter always brought such gloomy thoughts upon Iris, the impending hours coming upon them, the hollow silence that filled the air. Even Iris would cut her hours back when late December hit, fearing the safety of the Grand Madam’s workers and their loved ones. No, winter was never a season she enjoyed, and the brisk weather added nothing delightful to it. 

“I hope you’ve been well.” She smiled fondly, walking back down the hall. Iris turned back and gave him a quick once over, still fighting the temptation to reach out and act all too motherly. She picked and chose when she would touch, not wanting to scare him away. So instead, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, “You look exhausted, my dear.” She paused for a moment, to wait for an answer, but found it hard to resist asking, “Is everything alright?”

Tired was part of his charm. He was young and sweet in most of his appearance, but there was an age behind his eyes that some had told him was comforting; Conor’s soul had been given the opportunity to age quickly. His presence was comforting and he had, with years of practice, become very good at taking care of those around him. It was what people enjoyed about him when he sold them pastries, that he asked and remembered, that he made them feel like someone cared. Now, it was what made him such a gracious host downstairs.

He was thankful for Iris and all she had done for him. Grand Madam’s had become a strange little family for him, with Iris acting in a maternal role and Abigail almost as an older sister. It was unconventional, but most things in the young boy’s life had been. Besides, he might not admit it, but he did better when he was around others, rather than shutting himself up in an apartment that, two years later, still felt empty for the lack of another. Maybe he should get a pet, but it felt cheap to replace Sean like that. It was wrong to restrict himself so, but he had defined himself as Brother for so long, that acting without thought for it was nearly impossible.

Conor furrowed his brow at Iris’s response. “Do you want a hat or a scarf? I have some extras inside,” he gestured towards the door as he spoke, wanting her to know that it wouldn’t be a hassle. Abstractly he knew that others worried about the season for the strangeness that accompanied the dropping temperatures, but it rarely occurred to him naturally. To him the cold was real, but The Haunt was a whisper that had never touched him.

“Everything’s fine, I promise,” Conor replied, his voice warm and a reassuring smile painting his face as he followed her. “I won’t lie, I’m a bit tired, but I usually am in the mornings, especially after work. It’s nothing for you to worry about, you worry about enough as it is.” His words were soft, encouraging her to take a break rather than chastising her for not doing so already.

He ventured out into the cold air, stepping off the stairs to hear the ice on the street crunch beneath him. Sallybrook always looked picturesque this time of year, even if the locals were wary of the season. He brought himself to The Crooked Eye, his hand on his cellphone the entire time, waiting for it to vibrate. The calls from his baby brother came with decreased frequency as time marched on. He said he’d call on Christmas, and Conor was holding onto the hope that he would.

It’s an unfortunate irony of life that things are more important when you don’t have them. Conor knew well the importance of family, for Sean was all he had, and he thought his brother felt the same way. Yet, here he stood, alone on Christmas Eve, wandering to a bar in search of warmth and company; another irony, that the boy who kept others company for a living could feel so alone. That newly arrived irony, however, was not lost on Conor.

He quietly slipped into the bar, taking a place near enough to the corner to allow him to go without question, he hoped. He wanted company, but the same part of him that wouldn’t allow himself to move on, that was trying to win this battle against reality, didn’t. Some unconscious part of him was ready to be alone, more alone around others than by himself. 

She used to love this store.  When she was a child she had spent hours, days really, wandering through the shelves, pulling out stacks of books as tall as she was, and finding the squishiest chair to curl up in; from sun up until sun down she lost herself in worlds that were far away from Sallybrook, in worlds that were far more perfect than her own.

It was only natural that when she returned, when she fell from the relative safety of Boston and returned to the place she swore she’d never come back to, she searched for refuge in her childhood safe haven.

She never imagined she’d arrive to a help wanted sign and a harried looking cashier – but what she once saw as extremely good luck she had grown to resent.  The safety net had grown stifling, and it was just another thing she couldn’t wait to escape.

Surely she’d find the answers she needed soon.  Surely her parents would stop looking at her like she was planning the highest of betrayals when she spoke of, once again, moving on from Sallybrook.

But that day wasn’t today, and that freedom was still dancing just outside of her grasp.

It was her first day back at work after the fire, and she had already grown tired of the three customers she had seen asking her about what had happened – she had been there, but she had no interest in talking about the fear… the screams and the smells and the pure terror on every face she saw.  After she rang Mrs. Oglesby up, an elderly regular, she sunk back in the swivel chair behind the register and closed her eyes.  It wasn’t even noon and she was already done with this day.

She was considering hiding out in the backroom for a bit when she heard the bell above the door ring.  She bit back a sigh and opened her eyes, sending off a short greeting toward her customer without really looking up.

Conor’s experience of the bookstore was different, far different than Caroline’s. Rare were days when he had enough time to peruse contents of the overly stuffed shelves, books threatening to tumble onto the floor if you pulled the wrong binding --- a literary soul’s ideal game of jenga. Instead his visits were quick, rushed energy behind his movements. He could never really experience the small store, rather his visits were clinical and detached, only coming in for what he needed. 

Bargain paperbacks were his safe place, paid for with crumpled bills made from mowing lawns. Then the books would sit on his nightstand, for late nights, unable to sleep past the witching hour, when he needed companionship to settle his heart. There was always comfort in their stories, no matter how trite. Now with Sean gone, he found he was moving through those companions much quicker, burying himself in dime fiction whenever he wasn’t otherwise occupied.

They say the human psyche isn’t able to truly invent anything new, that the faces we see in dreams are people we forgot we’ve seen in passing. Maybe Caroline had been in a dream of his once, when he was younger. Surely he had seen her before, curled comfortably in the chair in the back of the store, as Conor darted in and out, barely leaving time for the door to close behind him. She disappeared for a while, but he didn’t notice until she came back, her location changed. You don’t notice slow changes, you notice the drastic ones.

It’s interesting.. the little blessings that come with curses. Money wasn’t as thin when he was only caring for himself, especially working at Grand Madam’s... the pay was better than what he was used to. He was free to linger longer between the shelves, maybe even pick up a new hardback. He pulled his jacket around him, staying off the November chill for a little longer, refusing for unknown reasons to pull the heavier coat out of the back of his closet, leaving the warmth of the bakery and making his way towards the bookstore. Maybe he would spend an evening there. He didn’t have any urge to return to his permanently empty apartment. 

 The bell rang as he entered the store, stepping aside to let  Mrs. Oglesby pass, giving her a quick nod in greeting. He used to mow her lawn back in high school. He looked up when the familiar, though unnamed, face behind the counter greeted him and he gave a quick smile. For a moment he made to continue on his usual path towards the bargain bookcase near the back, but then he stopped, turning towards the counter. “Any recommendations?”