The Cavern
Just last week, he had witnessed one Passer reconcile with his abusive mother. Lee approached to Serve when suddenly the anger seeped out of his lungs without reserve. "You selfish child, you ruined my life! You ungrateful bastard!"
Seeing his mother's pain, the Passer nodded, hand over heart. "I hear you, mother. I am no longer a victim to your violence. Goodbye." He threw back his sour, scooted the barstool back, and vanished forever.
The nights were getting increasingly long. Lee had already extended the bar three times in the past two months, and he had reached a limit. There was the physical toll, of course. A bartender can only serve so many people at once. By the end of the night he had sometimes covered three to four kilometers of distance, shaking, stirring, pouring from one end of the bar to the next.
The emotional cost was higher. The sheer number of Passers had eclipsed anything he could conceive of, certainly thousands more in a single night than he had ever served before. What was happening out there causing all these deaths?
It’s normal for Passers to pound on the bar and cause ruckus. After all, it is their last stop before The After, and Lee has accepted as fundamental truth that humans will demand and leech from others through their last living moments.
But Sam's bar-pounding was unique. BAM, BAM, BAM.
"How long do I have to wait over here,?" Sam belched. "Is this what you call service?"
Lee's body held him motionless. "This is your life's work," he murmured under his breath. "Be still. Listen."
Steadily, with stern and focused attention, Lee approached the heckling Passer.
"Welcome. I'm Lee. The service I give simply reflects what you most need to see as you Pass. As you'll see, everything here is a gift."
"What the hell is this place, a bar or a fucking cult?" slammed Sam, both hands slapping down on the damp wood paneling that Lee had fabricated just nights ago when the line out the door extended far beyond the horizon.
"I'm moving as well as I can," said Lee. "You cannot Pass without your final drink. I'm sorry, I didn't make up the rules around here."
A surge of regret coursed through Lee's upper body, tiny pinballs shooting off into his arms and generating the buzzing of a thousand bees waiting to escape an enclosed box. The desire to flee filled his body.
Run where? This was the end of The Before. A liminal space defined only by what precedes and what follows.
"I can do better than this."
Lee heard the barstool squeak back as Sam hoisted himself up and walked away, mumbling under his breath.
It wasn't the first time a Passer had disobeyed Nature. Lee trusted that this was the inevitable — maybe Sam needed to face something painful and heartbreaking at the end of his life, and this was how it'd play out.
Lee had forgotten about the whole charade until eight days later, when he came to open the bar for the night and noticed a shorter line outside. At first, a wave of relief: the deaths are slowing. Then, a surge of rage: his line had been diverted. Half the Passers were moving perpendicular to his entrance. He walked alongside them, steady but cautious.
At the other end, Sam ushered Passers into a dimly lit cavern, lined with tree branches, neon tubes, and dingy fabric to block out the sunlight.
"First come first choice, coooommmeee on in."
Loud music blared in the background as Lee entered. He looked down the long bar, which extended well beyond the length of a football field. At least ten, maybe fifteen Passers were Serving, and behind them, Sam hovered, watching his bar fill with Lee's customers.