Part Three

"So that's it? You just got away?"

The man grunted, not answering, but Jonathon eyed him carefully. Sweat poured out of the man in buckets, his face shiny with perspiration, and his already sallow skin had turned several shades whiter as he'd told his tale. No, clearly he didn't just get away. Jonathon watched as the man took a deep drink of his eighth glass of water.

"Do you think she followed you?"

The man paused in his drinking, swallowing with a sour look on his face. He frowned at Jonathon.

"If she followed me, would I be like this?"

The man gestured at his body with a shaking hand. Jonathon pursed his lips. The woman had said that he'd die without her. Was he-

"You think you're dying?"

"There's no other answer, is there, laddie?"

Silence descended on the odd pair. Jonathon had heard more than his fair share of strange stories, and some even claimed to be dying of heartbreak, grief, anger, or some other thing, but this man- This man was the first to look like he actually was.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothin', laddie. Nothin' at all."

Jonathon raised an eyebrow and said nothing. What else was he supposed to do? He refilled the man's empty glass, sending him an apologetic smile.

Part of him knew he should try to get the man out of his bar, it was supposedly a toss up on whether a death was good or bad for business, but even if the man's tale wasn't true, he couldn't bring himself to kick the poor blighter out.

The hours ticked by, the seconds and minutes dragging on as Jonathon served more of his usual patrons and watched the man out of the corner of his eye. With each passing minute, each hour, the man grew more pale, more gaunt, until at last, at two in the morning, he got up from his chair.

The pub was silent as he stumbled out of the pub, eerie moonlight shining in through the open door. Jonathon was of half a mind to follow him, but he didn't.

Maybe he should've.

In the morning, the man's precious bike was still parked in front of the pub, and the man was nowhere in sight. All that was left was his bike and a single white flower that sat alone on its empty seat.