Category: Uncategorized

Mort stood behind the bar, hands on the top, thinking. The last patron had left for the night. Sometimes new people came through after midnight, but for the most part, no one came through between midnight and 8am. Most of the time, Mort was in bed by one and did not get up until nine. If a usual came in before he got up, they would serve themselves, and either leave a note with money, or stay until he was awake. Not everyone in the real world worked the day shift.

Terrance visited about a week ago, and the name Chauncy was still rattling around Mort’s head. He wanted to know who the man was. He talked to some of the regulars, this past week, and asked if anyone had heard of Chauncy. No one had. He also asked if anyone else came across someone English. They had not. Mort tried to put it out of his mind, but somehow, he couldn’t. The name whispered in his ear at night and came to him at odd moments, when no one else was around.

After a week of this, he knew he had to find out who the man was. He wasn’t sure how to go about doing that. Mort turned around to look at the liquor bottles, mostly for something new to look at. As he looked at all the bottles, he wondered if there was in fact a way to find out who Chuancy was, at the very least, when he came in. Oddly, almost every one that came in drank something different. Theo asked for whiskey, Selna asked for Screwdrivers, Terrance always drank coffee, black. Larry drank a dark beer, bottled.

Mort looked at each of the bottles and rattled off the regulars in his head. There were a few bottles he couldn’t identify, but it might be due to the regulars not coming in for a while. Mort stopped for a moment, cleared his mind and shook his head. He needed more time to think. He would sleep on it and try and get Chauncy out of his mind.

*****

It took three months for Mort to match up the regular with the alcohol they drank. As he did so, he had to wonder how all the alcohol came here. Before Lucy went away to have her baby, Mort tried to ask her questions about the bar: how was it powered, who dropped off the supplies, who wrote up the menu? The food menu was different every week. She said she didn’t know and told him he would probably never know as well. He left the questions alone and tried to forget about them.

The other thing that surprised him was the payment. Most of the customers were not from the same time. Some people shared the same decade, but not most. Everyone paid what was usual for their time. Each week, money disappeared, and supplies arrived. How was the supplier paying for the supplies if the money was not from the same era?

The questions continued, but Mort had no answers. He thought he was a little closer now, though. It turned out, the supplies were delivered every Saturday night, after he went to bed. He knew that because that was when the menu changed. That was the first question he answered, and he wondered why he didn’t notice it sooner.

He also had most of the drinks crossed off. There were three bottles he could not connect with anyone. One was an old bottle of wine; Mort didn’t remember opening it, but it was half full and had been for the past three months. The second was a bottle of some liquor he had never heard; it smelled like some sort of brandy. It has an old label, but the date on it was 4335. Old but very much in the future for Mort. The third was a bottle of clear liquid that had never been open. The label was in a language he couldn’t understand.

In the past three months, Mort wrote down what each customer asked for and drank. In the past three months, no one had asked for those three. He had the three bottles in front of him now, staring at them, as if their drinkers would appear in the bar.

Mort picked up each on and gave them each a long look. Once he looked at each one, he nodded, went to the storage room and came back with a pencil. He wrote down in a notebook that the clear liquid was full, and that the wine and amber liquors were both open. He then marked on the bottles with a very small line, how full the bottle was. Done, he admired his handy work, then placed the bottles back where they came from.

If Chauncy, or the supplier drank while here, he would be able to see the difference. As he went to bed that night, he wondered if Chauncy was the supplier. Mort wanted nothing more than to find out.

*****

The bottle of amber liquor was on the bar in front of Mort. He had thought about pouring himself and the customer that drank this beverage a glass before the person arrived, but Mort didn’t know how he drank it. It was late Saturday, or early Sunday, depending on your point of view. It took another month for Mort to confirm the supplier drank the amber liquor from the 4000s.

The marks showed that it was the only liquor being consumed, but it was not drank on a regular basis. The person seemed to only drink every couple of weeks. If Mort calculated correctly, this was the week the man would take a drink. As he pondered the drink, the door finally opened. A man in a lab coat walked through, but wasn’t looking Mort’s way. He was struggling with a box of supplies. The man set the wooden box on the floor, closed the door and turned.

The man saw Mort, blinked a couple times and laughed. “I thought someone would do this far sooner.”

“Chauncy?”

“Yes.” He moved forward and held his hand out. “And you’re Morton, the current bartender.”

Mort shook Chauncy’s hand and shook it. He smiled. “Pour you a drink?”

“Not until after I’m done. Since you’re up, will you help me?”

“Yes.”

Mort rounded the bar and went to the box Chauncy had carried in. Chauncy waited for him by the box. “I have one more outside the door. One moment.”

Mort nodded, and moved the box out of the way. He placed it on the bar close to the door. Once Chauncy was back with the other box, Mort held the door, then closed it when he could. In silence, they walked to the kitchen and started unloading the food. In one of the crates, there were copies of the new menu. Mort set those aside and collected the old ones.

With the food put away, Mort and Chauncy went out to the bar. Mort took his spot behind the bar and Chauncy sat near the bottle of liquor. They faced each other for a moment before Mort spoke.

“How do you like it?”

“Neat, in a snifter.”

“To warm the liquid.”

“Yes.”

Mort nodded, grabbed two glasses and set them down in front of Chauncy. “Mind if I join you?”

“By all means.”

“What are we drinking?” He started to pour.

“A very old, or very new for you, calvados. French apple brandy.”

Mort gave Chauncy a look. “I have so many questions.”

“I can’t answer all of them.”

A light came to Mort’s eyes. “But you can answer some, maybe?”

“The only way to know that is if you ask. If I can answer, I will. If it would harm the time stream, I will not.”

Mort nodded. “What year are you from?”

“Let’s start with you: what year are you from? That will help me understand how to answer your question.”

Mort frowned, but answered. “1500s. England.”

“I too, am from England, or what was known as England. I’m not able to tell you more, as that might harm the time line. Time is calculated different in my ‘when’ but in your time, it would be known as the 61^st century.”

Mort gave Chauncy a strange look, as he tried not to laugh. “How in the world would telling me anything about your time change anything? Even if I went back to my time, no one would believe the things I say.”

“I understand that but there are people that come here from times close enough to mine to change things. I cannot allow that. I work for the Time Stream Constables. We know how fragile everything really is.”

“Why are there Time Stream Constables?”

“Because when time travel was invented, people weren’t as careful as they should have been.” He held up his hands. “I can’t say any more on that.”

Mort narrowed his eyes as a thought came to him. “You shouldn’t actually be here, should you?”

“No. This bar is against everything I work to uphold in my time.”

“Then why…?”

“Because some things are worth the risk.”

“What happens if your colleagues catch you?”

“If I’m walking through the door when then see me, I’ll come through and never return. If they somehow find out when I’m not going through, I will do what I can to come here.”

Mort nodded. “How do you pay for all this?”

He gave a sheepish look. “I know when the money changed from one time to other. I trade some of it or I sell it to historians.”

“And you’re not afraid to get caught?”

“I…” He took a deep breath. “I would rather not answer that question. I don’t exactly do things that are wise in order to not be caught.”

Mort nodded. “Don’t worry, Chauncy. You don’t have to answer.”

Chauncy took a sip of his calvados and sighed as the heat of the liquor warmed his esophagus.

“France is still around?”

A look of admiration reached Chauncy’s eyes. “Yes. A stubborn people, the French.”

“But England’s different?”

“Well, everything is different, but yes.”

Mort took a sip of the calvados. It was very good. He could almost taste the apples. He set his drink down and looked around the bar. “How did you know what we needed?”

“Almost every century in civilized time has bars and/or restaurants. It seemed like a good idea. Also, this place told me it what it wanted to be. I listened.”

“You found it?”

“I did. It was nothing like this when I found it. It was a work of love to transform it.”

“How long did it take?”

“Months, but only because I had to work my day job, too.”

Mort nodded. “How do you power this place?”

“There is a generator from my time in the room you can’t go into. And no, I won’t show you.”

“That’s fair. How about the alcohol? How do you know what we need?”

“I pay attention to the bottles, see what is low.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He frowned and looked away for a moment to think. “How do you know, for instance, that coffee would be a good idea. I’ve been told that is not a staple in most bars. Or how to you know someone would want raspberry vodka? That seems rather random.”

“The bar tells me.”

Mort nodded. “Of course. It is a bit odd to have knowledge appear where it was not before.”

“I rather enjoy it.” Chauncy played with his glass, rolling it in between the palms of his hands, warming the liquid.

“I thought it odd when it first happened to me. I know a few people who tolerate it, but almost hated it when they first came here.”

Chauncy looked surprised. “That is unfortunate. I’m not able to stop it, at any rate. That is a mechanic of the bar, and not something I did.”

“I understand.”

Chauncy gave a terse smile and took a sip of calvados. As he drank, Mort grabbed two other bottles and placed them in front of Chauncy.

“Do you know who drinks these?”

“You should know the wine. That was Lucy’s favorite.”

“She didn’t drink while I was here. Did you know she was pregnant?”

“Really? Is that why she left? I wondered.”

“She was pregnant for three years, until she went back to her own time. Then the pregnancy progressed normally.”

“Ah. Wonderful. Has she been back?”

“Once. She introduced her baby and then left. She hasn’t been back.”

“I supposed that happens sometimes. We don’t always need this place.”

“True.” They both fell silent as they contemplated his statement, then Mort tapped the top of the other bottle. “And this?”

“I bought that one about ten years ago. If no one is drinking it, I either bought the wrong thing, or the person it belongs to hasn’t stopped by yet.”

“Ten years is a long time on the outside.”

“Yes, well, this is a labor of love.”

“Chauncy, what happens when you die?” The man didn’t look old, but he didn’t look young either.

A whisper of an answer came to their minds and they knew that someone else would take Chauncy’s place when he did pass on. The two men drank in silence for a while, contemplating things. Mort understood that though the bar new he didn’t like odd bits of information coming to his mind, it would happen anyway. Chauncy was wondering about his death, then pushed that aside and asked Mort about the regulars. Mort gladly told Chauncy about the customers, passing on his favorite story of each. When they were almost done with the drinks, Chauncy looked to Mort.

“Anything else you want to ask?”

“I thought I would have more, but I only have one: May I visit with you again?”

“Of course, but please don’t tell anyone else about me. I would rather be anonymous.”

Mort raised his glass, which had one sip of alcohol left. Chauncy raised his glass as well. They both had the same amount left.

Mort touched his glass to Chauncy’s. “To the secrets of A Bar Called Always. May they stay secret as long as they need to, in order to keep us safe.”

Chauncy nodded and drank when Mort did. They finished their drinks, Chauncy took the money from the cash register, took his boxes and left for the week. Mort cleaned up the two glasses, straightened up for the night and closed the bar. It had been a good night, but he needed his rest. Though Sunday was a quiet day, there was always the possibility someone new would come in.

Larry pushed open the door of A Bar Called Always and stepped through. It had been a year since his last visit. Each year since adopting Shana, he had come to the bar once a year. He tried for more often at first, but Shana took up so much of his time. He wanted to take care of her. She was eleven now, and bright. She asked so many questions, but oddly, not about her family. He told her once the was adopted, when she asked why she didn’t look like him. She said ok and let it be.

Now that she was old enough, he might have to tell her the truth, but he wasn’t sure how. The bar helped him to remember that her parents were from the future. It seemed so unreal. Sometimes, especially in the early morning hours before getting Shana ready for school and getting ready for work, he was able to tell himself that Shana was his own and wasn’t born in a bar with time travelers. On those mornings, he had to remind himself of the truth. On those mornings, he knew his trips to the bar were necessary.

Today was a month and eleven years from the day Shana came into his life. He would have a drink, talk to Mort, then go home and make dinner for Shana.

“Larry. Good to see you.”

He nodded to Mort. “Good to see you, too.” He frowned. “What’s that look on your face?”

“I have a message for you. Bert was in here a couple months ago. He’d like to meet his daughter.”

Larry hung his head, but nodded. He knew this day was coming. “When?”

“He wants to talk to you about that first. He’ll be here the third of next month. I told him you would be here today, but he wanted you to know he would be here.”

“Does he want me to bring Shana?”

Mort looked to Larry with a gentle look on his face. He had already answered the question, but he answered anyway. “Not yet. Wants to talk to you first.”

Larry shook his head. “Sorry. You said. My mind went away when you said he was here.”

“He was just as nervous as you look.”

“Did he say why he’s been away this long?”

Mort shook his head. “No. He’ll tell us when he sees us. He said it was a long story. Might want to find a babysitter for Shana, Larry. I don’t know how long you’ll be here that night.”

“I’ll figure something out.” He stood. “The third. What day of the week is that?”

“Friday night. He suggested the first, but when I saw what day it was, I suggested that Friday instead. Seemed like a better idea than the middle of the week.”

Larry nodded, then frowned. “Are times the same for me and him?”

“When he suggested setting a date, I wondered the same thing. There were a few people here that night. I asked them for the date and it was all the same, just not the same year.”

“Convenient.”

Mort laughed. “That it is.” He fell silent for a moment. Larry did not move, though he had stood from the stool. “Do you want a drink, Larry?”

“Well, that’s the problem: I want a drink. Rather badly, in fact. I’m just gathering my strength to push that thought aside and go home.”

“Have you told her yet of her birth parents?”

“No, but I’ll probably have to now.”

“Why don’t you wait until after you meet with Bert? Give her and you a couple more weeks of normalcy.”

“I think that’s a really good idea.” He stood tall. “Thanks, Mort. I’ll see you soon.”

Mort nodded and watched as Larry left the bar.

*****

It was the night of the third and Larry didn’t want to go. Shana was at a friend’s house, a sleepover birthday party. Larry didn’t like the girl holding it too much, but the parents were kind. He thought everything would be all right. He hoped anyway. He was pretty sure his cell phone didn’t work in the bar. Larry pushed his thoughts to the side and grabbed the door handle on his apartment. He needed to go. Shana deserved to know her birth father. With that thought in his head, he left the apartment and walked a few blocks. He turned into an out of the way alley and opened the door at the end that wasn’t really there.

The smell of food filled his nostrils. As that wasn’t the usual smell for A Bar Called Always, Larry frowned. He went in, closed the door and looked around. Mort was at the bar, eating a large burger. Sitting in a stool near him was a woman eating an equally large burger. Larry gave Mort a quizzical look.

“Larry! Good to see you. My friend Jersey dared me to make a burger bigger than her head. Now we’re eating the results. Or part of it anyway. Care for some?”

Larry gave Mort an odd look and shook his head. He walked closer. “Is he here?”

“Not yet. Do you want a drink?”

“Orange soda?”

“I have that. One moment.” He cleaned off his hands with a stray rag he grabbed from under the bar. Once his hands were clean, he grabbed a bottle of orange soda. “Glass?”

“No.” He sat near Jersey and smiled. She was about his age and was dressed in a similar way. “I’m Larry. 2028.”

“Bethany, but I here, I’m Jersey. 1996.”

He held out his hand. She took it.

“I was born in 1992.”

“Ha! So, you missed the punk era.”

“Yes, but it seems to be coming around again.”

“Good to know.” She gave him a smile, turned to her burger, then looked at him from the corner of her eye with a smile on her face. Larry sat up taller, then paid attention to his drink when Mort placed it in front of him.

The three talked for a bit, but Larry had a hard time concentrating. Jersey could tell he was distracted and nudged him when he didn’t answer her question.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Sorry. Waiting on someone.”

“A girl?”

“No. It’s a long story.” He looked into her eyes. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time. I don’t think I can tonight.”

“All right. I get you.” She turned to Mort. “Well, I’m full. Mind if I take this with me to feed to the local homeless?”

“Go right ahead, but let me cut it up better and wrap it up.”

“Sure!”

He walked away and the door opened. Larry turned his head quickly and his breath caught as Bert walked in. Bert immediately saw him and came right over.

“I wasn’t sure I would see you.”

“I’d be lying if I told you I thought about staying away.” Larry fidgeted with the napkin to give his hands something to do.

Jersey looked over Larry’s shoulder to the strangely dressed man. “My name’s Jersey. 1996.”

“Bert. 2352.”

Her eyes went wide. “Woah. That’s crazy.”

“Not as crazy as the rest of my story.”

She looked to Larry and Bert. “I can leave if you want.”

“You’re headed out anyway, and we need our privacy. We’re going to take a booth.” Larry got off the stool, almost walked away then turned back to Jersey. “It was nice to meet you. I hope we run into each other again.”

She smiled. “I’d like that too. You have a great one.”

He nodded his thanks and went to a booth with Bert right behind him. Once they were settled, with drinks in front of them, Bert took a deep breath.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what took me so long.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m also curious as to whether or not you want Shana.”

“I do, but unless time is really different for us, she’s eleven, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Well, then she may have to decide for herself what she wants, but that’s for the end of the story, not the start.”

“All right. So what the hell took you so long to come back?”

He looked taken aback by Larry’s anger, but he let it go and started his tale. “The war lasted five years after Shana gave birth and died. I was able to hide her body and buried her as she wanted, where she wanted. I was only in the war for two more years. An artillery shell exploded near me, threw me a few feet, into a wall. I hit my head hard and ended up with amnesia. I was taking out of the way, and sent home.

“My mother and father took care of me. They had enough money that we were safe. My mother’s father saw the war coming and helped the family to hide money well enough that no matter who won, we would still be on top.” He stopped and held up his hands. Larry looked pissed off. “Look, I know this might not seem relevant to the story, but it is. Please bear with me.”

Larry closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. “I’m sorry. I guess in some way, I want a quick answer.”

“There isn’t one.”

“I know. Life is rarely that easy.”

“True.” They gave each other understanding looks and Bert continued.

“So, we were comfortable, rich even, and my family hired the best doctors to try and get my memory to come back. There were machines and medications that could have helped me regain my memory quickly, but my mother refused. I only found out recently why.

“The years passed, with my parents trying to help me, and I just couldn’t remember my adult life. I remembered my parents and most of my childhood, but couldn’t remember anything for a few years before the war to when I was hit. My mother kept insisting that I would be fine eventually. Mother ran the household, not father.”

Larry nodded and took a drink of coffee, mostly to do something.

“Two years ago, my mother passed away. Things changed drastically after that. Father found doctors who would be willing to take another look at my brain to see if the drugs and machines could still work. The doctors told him that he had to tell me everything my mother may have missed, if there was anything. That’s when reminded me of Shana. Mother hated Shana from the very beginning. She was the one keeping us apart. My father tried to change her mind, but she stuck to her guns.

“When they found out I had amnesia, mother demanded father’s silence on it. As time passed, he understood it would probably help my memory to be told about her, but mother refused. Once she passed, father sat me down and told me about Shana. Then they gave me the drugs. I remembered her after that. All of it, almost sequentially. When I remembered her death and the birth of my daughter, I cried. I told my dad and he asked where his granddaughter was. I told her she was safe.

“It took a while for all that to come back. It wasn’t instantaneous.”

“Took about two years?”

“Yes. And now that I’m better and the war has been done a long time, I want to meet Shana. I want her to come for a visit.”

Larry frowned. “Visit?”

Bert gave Larry a very steady look. “She’s almost twelve. Do you think she wants to be forced into a new home?”

Larry opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He shook his head. “You’re her father.”

“No. You are. I may have supplied the genes, but you’ve been taking care of her all these years. She needs to make the decision.”

“Geez.” He leaned back in the bench. “This is crazy. Never in all my life did I think I would have to explain to an eleven-year-old that time travel is real and her father wants her to come home. I don’t even know how to do that. I’ve been trying to think of a away, but I have no idea how.”

A voice came from the end of the booth. “Why don’t you bring her here and tell her? I’ll back up the story.”

Larry looked to the side to see Mort. He was refilling Larry’s coffee. “I didn’t think I could. She’s not 21.”

“Pretty sure you’re not expecting me to serve her a drink, Larry. It’s fine. Bring her here to talk. Just let me know when and I can make sure Selna is also here, just in case. She comes in every Sunday night. Also, I would love to meet Shana again.”

“All right.” He wrung his hands and looked to Bert. “When do you want to meet her?”

“I’ll keep coming back, and I’ll ask Bert if you’ve talked to her. Once you have, we can set a meeting date.”

Larry sighed. Bert sounded so eager. “You would prefer sooner rather than later, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. Look, I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you can’t imagine what I’m going through either. I want to see her, Larry. I want my daughter. Please.”

The ‘please’ did it. That word cut him to the core. Of course he would talk to Shana. Of course he would let Bert meet her. He just didn’t want to lose her. He sighed. “Of course. She’s your blood, Bert. I haven’t forgotten that.” Weary beyond words, Larry got up and left the booth. He stood at the end. “I’ll take care of this as soon as I can, Bert. I’ll come here and tell her. For now, I got go. Shana’s at a sleepover. I’m going for a long walk and a good cry. You have a good one. I’ll see you soon.”

He turned and left, walking quickly. Mort came to the booth and looked to Bert. Bert gave him a look.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“He will. He came back every year to see if you visited, Bert. He knows what’s right. Even if it kills him, he’ll do what’s right.” There was a sadness in his voice.

Bert nodded, paid for the drinks and left. Mort stood there for a moment, wondering at his statement. He knew Larry would do the right thing, but he really didn’t know if Larry would survive another loss like that.