First Night at Milliway's Bar

Ryan stalked up the stairs to his room after his conversation with Mrs. Wells. His teeth are clenched and his mind just keeps going over one thing: Wells survived. Wells survived and he didn’t. How? Wasn’t he the one with the superior training? Wasn’t he the one who had known what was going on from the start? Wasn’t he the one who had survived the previous encounter? Yet Wells survives the house explosion (what else could the blurry memories of fire, light, and noise be?) and Ryan got a bullet to the brain.

It wasn’t fair! How could Wells survive where Ryan didn’t?

Damn Cooper all to hell! Never mind that there was only supposed to be one of those thrice damned werewolves. If the Intel had been correct, none of this would have happened. Both of their squads would have been alive, Gruinard would have their bloody werewolf, and Wells’ squad probably would never have been the wiser.

 

Ryan sits down on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to die.

 

Hell, nobody was supposed to die (except, perhaps, Cooper), but especially not him. He sat on the bed, trying to adjust. Live and learn. It was his credo. You adapt to your situation, or you die. Since he was already dead, that really only left him one option. He could sit here feeling sorry for himself that he lost (to Cooper of all people, who couldn’t even kill a dog) or he could move on with his…existence. He stood taking off his jacket and throwing it on a chair. He moved to the bathroom, splashing his face with some water before staring at his reflection.

I’m dead.

He was dead. He can deal with that. He’s not happy about the way it came about, not by any means, but he can handle it. He took a deep breath and remembers something else he had been not thinking about.  It was that scent from Mrs. Wells that had done it. One whiff and he had known that she had figured out what he was suspecting. It had set him on edge before he could even acknowledge her body language.  Humans did not, could not do that.

 

In other words, he wasn’t human. He makes a mirthless laughing sound. He had been infected, and it looked like that was going to carry over to his afterlife. Brilliant. And if there were stars and sun out back, chances are there was a moon. He was going to need a calendar. And a plan. Someplace where he could stay till he could get it under control. He would control it. He wants to control it.

Doesn’t he?

He nods to his reflection before leaving the bathroom. What was he going to do about Wells, though? He knew the man was less than pleased with Ryan’s last actions. And he threw a good punch. Wells also knew he was here from two sources, both his wife and cousin, both of which recognized his name almost immediately, judging by the way Andrew had scarpered off. It might be best if Ryan avoided them for now, at least until he was more comfortable with his surroundings. Milliway’s could do with some recon work.