text: The bar sat in a glade in a mist-wrapped pine forest, and the first I knew of it was the blue neon sign cutting through the fog: *Juliet’s.* On one side of the sign was a flashing feathery wing, and on the other, a red-lit pitchfork or a trident. I couldn’t tell you how long I’d been wading through the mist before I found it. But I do know that my death, and my life prior to it, hung on the very distant edge of my memory. Trying to recollect it was like trying to grab a handful of the fog. I could tell you I had a wife and a daughter -- but I couldn’t tell you their names or even their hair colour. The bar was pretty dim and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Music hummed, drifted like waves in the background. Bluesy saxophone with a woman crooning in the gaps. The tables were slats of wood. Lights dangled low from the ceiling like orange bowls on threads of string. “What can I get you?” said a woman standing behind the bar. Her face was winter-pale, hair pumpkin-orange. She was drying a tumbler with a dishcloth. ”What is this place?” I said. ”Juliet’s. Didn’t you see the sign?” “I saw it. But... I don’t get what a bar is doing in a forest?” ”Serving spirits.” She laughed at that but I didn’t. ”Want to try a martini?” she asked. “I do a pretty good martini. On the rocks.” I shrugged. ”Sure.” What else was there to say? “You must be thirsty,” she said as she poured the gin. “Bet you haven’t had drink in a long time.” ”I guess I haven’t.” I looked arounds at the empty booths and stools. “Why am I the only one here?” She poured a shot of vermouth into the glass. “I only just opened. You’re the first to find me!” ”Oh.” “Try this.” She slid the glass across to me and it was only then I realised I had no money. For the first time since walking in those woods, I looked down at my clothes. Jeans. Striped tee with a smear of red on it. Blood, I guessed. No wallet or coins in my pockets. ”Relax,” Juliet said. “I don’t charge. I’m not here for profits. And certainly not for prophets.” She only grinned at that one. ”Who are you?“ I asked. ”What do you think of the drink?” she replied. ”I haven’t tried it yet.” ”You should. Before the ice melts and dilutes it.“ She put her tongue out and bit on it. Then she said, “I’m someone who has been above and been below. Someone a lot like you, except you’ve not been above or been below.” “I don’t follow,” I said. ”I used to be an angel. Then I used to be a demon.“ That should have probably bothered me, being inside a bar run by a demon, but it didn’t. Nothing seemed to bother me anymore. The numbness where my heart used to be was everything. Like my heart had been replaced by a wad of tissues. “Oh, now I get the logo,” I said. “The wing and pitchfork. Angel and devil.” ”Exactly.“ “Are you Lucifer,” I asked? ”Hardly,” she said. “I wasn’t cast out of anywhere. I’m just someone who got fed up with everything. You know, before I quit the final time, before I left hell, they tried mixing the entire thing up. Sinners went to heaven to be fixed up, while the pious went to hell for being too pious.“ The song changed. The sound of an old fashioned bass guitar rippled down my spine. “How did that go?” I asked. ”A disaster. But who cares, right?” ”A disaster?” ”At least,” she said, “in my opinion. Because then no one was happy. You died and you got fucked -- excuse my french. You tried to live well, you got screwed, you lived the life of a sinner, you got screwed. Maybe rightfully in that case, but still, everyone got screwed. And that didn’t seem right to me. No nuance.” ”So you opened this place?” ”Yep.” ”And... Where is this place? Where are we?” ”Limbo,” she said. “They closed it down for centuries, you know? Because they couldn’t find anyone to run it. So everyone either went to heaven or to hell. Like I said, no nuance. You’re the first soul to arrive here, so that’s great.” ”Why did I come here?” I asked. ”Because I invited you! And I’m going to invite a lot more people.” I shook my head. ”I don’t remember that.” ”How’s the drink?” I still hadn’t tried it. I took a toothpick and stirred it idly. Finally, slowly, I took a sip. It didn’t taste of liquid. Or of alcohol. ”Careful,” she said. “It’s strong.” The drink tasted of memories. There I was at home. Hiding a bottle in cupboard beneath the stairs. There I was filling up a flask before work. ”Shit,” I said. There I was getting in the car. Drinking from the flask. ”*Shit*.” ”I told you it’s strong.” There was my beautiful daughter. My wife. Getting in the car after me. Headlights. Swerved too late. Screech. Scream. Shattered glass- “What the fuck,” I said, gasping, slamming the drink back down. ”Relax,” Juliet said. The drink had filled up my heart as if it had been an empty cup sitting in my chest just waiting for this. And now this poison had splashed into it, this black liquid. And it was being sent through my body, through my veins. This horror and self loathing, pumping through my being. ”Did I... Was that me?” Juliet placed a hand on mine. “Yes. But it’s okay.” ”Why am I here?” I whispered. “I should burn in hell if I did that. ” ”It’s never that simple,” said Juliet. “That’s why I opened the bar. It’ll be packed before you know it.” ”It is simple,” I said. “I killed them.” She shook her head. “It takes a lot of sun to grow a tree tall.” ”Huh?” ”Your childhood. Do you remember that? Your father? Do you remember being bullied at school? Losing your job?” ”What does that have to do with anything?” ”Take another sip,” she said. I stared at the glass. ”*No*. Never again.” “Take another sip,” she said. The way she said it, it was so gentle, so warm, that my body reacted before I had a chance to deny it. I picked up the glass and drank. ”Do you see?” she asked. I saw my daughter. I saw myself walking her to school every day. I saw myself skipping meals after I lost my job, so her and my wife ate. I saw myself having tea parties with her instead of socialising with work colleagues. I saw my wife, her mermaid-tailed dress as she glided across the church. ”You’re not good. Or bad,” said Juliet. ”You’re just a product of your life. Like everyone else.“ She took the glass from me and put it down behind the bar. I didn’t watch as she made a coffee, but I could taste it in the air. ”Here,“ she said. “This’ll suit you better. Why don’t you go sit at a booth? They’ll be here soon.” ”Be here? Who will be here?” ”I’ve invited a lot of people. Because there’s no one just good and no one just bad. Your family are on their way and they’ll want to sit with you.” A blade of ice-cold worry stabbed into my chest. ”*My family?* After what I did? I can’t...” ”You can,” she said. “This bar isn’t here to punish people. Or to reward them. It’s just a place where people can talk and be and help mend each other. And I’ll be here to help, too. So please, go sit down. It’s about to get very busy.