Tucker Archer

Archive for March, 2011|Monthly archive page

Chapter 90: Skipping Record

In Uncategorized on March 31, 2011 at 5:36 am

The next two weeks are like Groundhog’s Day. I hit another 10 bars, across 14 worlds, and every time it’s the same. I order my second pint of Wild Scallop, the same guy comes in, sits next to me, orders a pint of Amelia, and we have the exact same conversation.

It’s too random to be a coincidence, though I suppose any series of random occurrences is just as likely to repeat itself as not.

Paranoid as I am, I’m certain that there’s got to be someone pulling the strings behind the scenes, making my days repeat themselves as I travel onward.

Chapter 89: Misdirection

In Uncategorized on March 30, 2011 at 1:53 am

“You know, I think I have a couple of copies of my book out in my car. Why don’t you sit tight, I’ll run out and grab one, and I can personalize it for you?” I say, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear as coquettishly as I can manage. You know, considering the deafening din of my own blood pumping around my skull.

“Really? That’d be incredible!” he says.

“I’ll be right back.”

I walk briskly out the door and duck down an alley. I click my heels together three times, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Chapter 88: …And Release

In Uncategorized on March 29, 2011 at 8:07 am

And of course, he’s been talking this whole time. While my brain’s been wrapped up in its pathetic panic spirals, his lips have been flapping and I haven’t heard a word of it.

“-and of course I’ve read your book about a dozen times. I can’t believe I just ran into you like this! Do you come here often? Could I buy you a drink?”

Oh good. Apparently the native Margery here is a writer. Time to spin some BS and make a quick exit.

“It’s always nice to meet someone who knows my work,” I say through a smile.

Chapter 87: Tense

In Uncategorized on March 28, 2011 at 6:16 am

It’s one of those moments that stretches out like an empty corridor. It’s “fight or flight” at the speed of paint drying, and my heart has forgotten how to move blood.

Who is this guy? A hired gun? An old classmate? A fellow traveler?

He’s the epitome of nondescript. In my book, that makes him a threat.

I can feel the weight of everyone eye’s on the back of my neck. Nobody’s supposed to talk in here, and they sure as hell don’t talk to each other.

I’ve got blades, but no bullets.

I’ve got legs, but nowhere to run.

Chapter 86: Mr. Man

In Uncategorized on March 27, 2011 at 2:05 am

So when a new guy walks in, it sort of upsets the mood. The bartender comes out from the back room, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s never had four customers at once.

New guy walks past the guy at the table and the guy in the booth, and has a seat two stools down from me. He looks at the two taps, and eight bottles on the shelf, and says, “Pint of Amelia Earhardt.”

He takes a swig, plonks his glass down on the bar. Turning, he says:

“Holy shit. You’re Margery Jones.”

Chapter 85: Bitter Root and Barley

In Uncategorized on March 26, 2011 at 1:51 am

There’s a grand total of four people here. That’s including the guy behind the bar. Who, now that I think about it, is probably also the guy that makes the cheeseburgers.

The other two guys aren’t here together. One’s sitting in a booth with his back in the corner, drinking his Irish neat. The other one’s decked in Dickies and peeling labels from his empty bottles of Old Gentian.

No one is a regular here. Not even me, though I’ve been here 3 times in the last 2 weeks. I never see the same face twice, not on this side of the bar.

Chapter 84: Dive Bar

In Uncategorized on March 25, 2011 at 1:37 am

There’s nothing quite like a frosty pint of McIlhenny’s Wild Scallop at the end of a crap-tastic day.

I’m in basement bar, a hole-in-the-wall that serves 4 beers, 6 whiskeys, and 1 type of cheeseburger. There’s a definite stickiness to the tiles beneath my feet, and the polished wood of the bar isn’t much better.

It’s perfect.

You’d think a girl my size would get harassed more here, but no one looks up in this bar. Everyone’s got a deep, longing stare for their pint glass. Even the bartender never meets my eye when I order and slide my bills across the bar.

Chapter 83: School’s Out

In Uncategorized on March 24, 2011 at 3:03 am

I’m back at the school. Not that it’s my school of course, just one where the same thing happened. I’m still not ready to go home. Not yet.

I’m not sure why I came back. There’s nothing to be gained, no closure, no need to remember those who are gone.

When that sort of thing happens, the news always calsl it a “tragedy”. When you actually live through it, there’s never a word that’s adequate.

The school always gets abandoned in the end. Paint peels, paper rots, monkey bars rust.

People rot, too. Even if their images survive, endlessly replayed.

Chapter 82: Gunshy

In Uncategorized on March 23, 2011 at 3:47 am

Three months later, and I’m having a hell of a time dressing myself. Most people get carpal tunnel from typing, or too much time playing video games. There are even some people even get it from tennis.

I got mine from shooting too many guns.

It’d be bad ass if I didn’t look like such an invalid. I have wrist braces on both arms, and though I’ve improved by leaps and bounds since last week, I’m still having a hard time with certain motions.

Holed up in a Montana motel, I’m popping pills for the pain and moping. I miss Em.

Chapter 81: A Parting Shot

In Uncategorized on March 22, 2011 at 2:47 am

And that’s how our partnership came to an end. She refused to go back and kick ass, and I refused to let a priceless artifact fall into the wrong hands. We fought about all that, but really we were fighting about everything else, too.

She jumped, without me. I eventually found my way back to MIT, retrieved our cargo and the Land Rover, and found a museum without a creepy vibe where I could offload the precious object.

And then that was done, and I was out of gumption. I was completely without purpose again, save my own insatiable wanderlust.