He stood out immediately, what, with him choosing to wear a navy blue tuxedo to the lamest bar in the block. I internalized a sigh (please don’t be a weirdo please don’t be a weirdo please don’t be a weirdo) as he walked leisurely to the bar counter.

“Scotch,” he said, after a beat. I sighed. Of course, he’s a weirdo.

“On the rocks?” I said sarcastically under my breath. His Face betrayed no offense.

His face… He was a handsome man, with a jawline you usually only see in the movies. He was bit old, though; there were specks of white in his stubble. The eyes kind of ruined it all. They were a nice blue, but they looked so sad.

I brought him his drink. He took a sip and made a face.

“Bad, huh?” I said. “That’s ’cause no one comes here for scotch.”

“What do they come here for, then?”

That made me think for a moment. “Beer. Tequila, if they’re feeling it. Tinder dates.”

“Ah. But I prefer scotch.”

“‘Course you do.”

A pause. “What’s your name?”

I sighed again. Weirdos always try to hit on the bartender. “Alice. You?”

He smiled, a bit different this time, as if remembering a joke. “I suppose you can call me Grim.”

“Grim. Of course. So, how was your day, Grim?”

His smile suddenly disappeared and his eyes turned sadder, if that was even possible. He tapped a finger on the counter a few times, as if struggling to form his words. Finally, he settled with a question: “Have you ever lost someone, Alice?”

I didn’t expect that. “I guess. We’ve all lost someone at some point.”

“True.” Another pause. “Was a he a good man?”

“She was my mother,” I said as monotonously as I could manage. “She died before I could walk. Couldn’t lay off the heroin. So… I guess it’s a no. ‘Good’ is probably the last thing my mother had been.”

“What was her name?”

I hesitated, then brought out a shot glass, pouring myself some gin. “Mary.” I chuckled. “Mary.”

“Mary,” Grim repeated slowly. He seemed deep in thought.

I took a shot and poured myself some more.

“And you?” His eyes were questioning, the rest of his face stoic. “Were you a good person?”

Maybe it was the warmth of the alcohol, or the fact that business was incredibly slow that night, but I was suddenly in the mood to be honest. “I mean, I try to be. But being good… isn’t really a good thing to be in this type of world, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at me, Grim. I’m twenty-five, working here full-time. I get harassed every other night because of it, but as much as I want to leave, I can’t, because I didn’t go to college. And I didn’t go because…” My hand instinctively reached for my stomach, but I stopped myself and took another shot instead. “I thought what I was doing was a good thing. But look where that got me.”

“I see,” Grim simply said. “And what would be a good thing to be, then, in this type of world?”

“Rich,” I replied. “And lucky.”

“I see,” he said again. “So if you were to choose how to relive your life again, you’d choose to be… rich and lucky?”

That made me think for a bit. “Not really. I’d just choose to be happy.”

His smile returned, but it wasn’t the sly one he had earlier. It was a smile I’ve been far to familiar with; I’ve seen it plastered on the faces of those who pretended to care, but in truth, saw me as a lost cause.

“Forget it.” I took my glass and chucked it in the sink. “Just enjoy your drink and go. Have a nice night.”

“But I’m here for you, Alice.”

I turned to him incredulously. “Sir, we’re not exactly friends. I’ve been polite, but if you expect me to just open up to a stranger about my entire life––”

“You don’t understand. I’m here for you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to keep my cool. But when I opened my eyes to face him again, he was on his feet, a hand outstretched to me.

It took me a moment, but it suddenly hit me.

Were you a good person? Past tense.

I stared at his outstretched hand. “You mean Grim, as in…”

His pity smile was still on his face when I looked up at him. “You people have always been creative with your names.”

My hands began to shake. This can’t be right… The lights in the bar began to dim and the atmosphere turned hazy.

I realized that it wasn’t that business was slow.

“How long have I been…”

“A while,” the Reaper said. “And it’s time to go.”

I didn’t move, so he walked around the bar towards me. He was a couple of feet away when I raised a hand for him to stop.

“You asked me,” I said. “You asked me how I’d want to relive my life again. Does that mean I can?”

He hesitated, and his expression turned shy. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know the answer to that? That I was just curious to know?”

I shook my head.

The Reaper sighed. “My job is to retrieve expired souls, yes, but what happens to them after… I have no clue at all.”

Then he looked to me earnestly.

“But there’s always a chance.”

That was all it took for me to take his hand.