The Friend Beside Me

                  Aaron Doyle sat on an old, worn barstool at the end of the bar, nursing a draft Budweiser and replaying the conversation with the doctor.

Terminal.

                  With retirement just around the corner, Aaron took his leave early. The station was quiet as the announcement was made. He had been on the force for nearly five decades, spending the last twenty as a renowned detective in the cold case unit.

                  With only a brief time left, Aaron figured he’d try to spend it with his kids, if they’d have him. Aaron hadn’t seen his daughters since they were in their early teens. His wife couldn’t handle the late nights and the aggressive drinking. She split and took the girls. They moved out of Seattle and headed South, to the warm coast of California.

                  Both daughters, now grown with families of their own sent Christmas cards and a birthday text, but never a phone call. Aaron had three grandchildren he’d never met. He was riddled with guilt at the thought that they would never know him now.

                  “Hey, bud. Hanging in there?” Aaron’s partner, Joe Sanders slapped him on the back and slid onto the stool next to him.

                  Aaron glanced over, raised his beer, and took a long swig. The glass landed on the bar with a hard thud.

                  “Another round, please,” Joe called out to the bartender. “And two shots of Jameson. Thanks.”

                  “You’re on the clock,” Aaron said into his glass. “Not a good look for a cop to be drunk out there at this hour.”

                  “Ah, the clock never stops” Joe chuckled. “It’ll be fine. Anything for a friend.”

                  Joe studied Aaron’s face. They had graduated from the academy together and had become partners when they both made detective.

                  Joe smiled and slapped Aaron on the back again as the beers and shots were placed in front of them.

                  “Cheers to the best son of a bitch I’ve had the pleasure of knowing,” said Joe, lifting his shot glass towards the sky.

                  Aaron raised his glass and clinked it against Joe’s. They downed their shots, then sat in silence. Two more rounds and Joe placed a handful of cash on the bar.

                  “Gotta get back at it,” Joe said, patting Aaron on the back. “You gonna be okay?”

                  Aaron looked at him glassy eyed, “Yeah, I’ll make it.” He raised the last of his beer to Joe with a wry smile.

                  Joe walked out of the bar and Aaron downed the last of his drink. He set the glass on the bar and lazily glanced at the pictures on the wall behind the bartender.

                  “Need another?”

                  “Maybe just one.”

                  As the bartender set the Aaron’s drink down, the picture behind him began to shift. What was once a group of smiling girls, their arms wrapped around each other with sashes that read Bride-To and Bridesmaid Tribe was morphing into a black and white photo of John Wayne Gacy. The smiling girls turned sour, and a giant clown smile replaced the image.

                  Aaron’s skin prickled as he glanced around the bar nervously. He looked at his untouched beer.

                  Have I had that much to drink, he thought to himself.

                  He shook his head and cleared his throat. Just as he lifted his arm, to get the attention of the bartender in hopes to confirm that he was not as drunk as his eyes seemed to be telling him, the photo next to the infamous clown started to change, too.

                  This one, once a photo of the bartender laughing with two guys at the bar with beers was turning into a black and white photo of Ed Kemper. The large man appeared to be lunging towards the camera as the photo was taken. Like he was going to leap from the frame.

                  Aaron tumbled off the barstool backwards. He braced himself against the wall as he tried to get his footing.

                  “You okay, bud,” the bartender questioned, throwing his bar rag over his shoulder.

                  “Do - do you see that?” Aaron pointed at the black and white photos of the murderous men staring at him from the wall.

                  “Do I see what? These? Ah, these are some great memories from over the years. This one is two of my dad’s old army buddies. They used to come in …”

                  Aaron’s vision blurred and a loud ringing in his ears drowned out the bartender's nostalgia. He stumbled, moving towards the bathroom.

                  “You alright?” the bartender yelled in Aaron’s direction.

                  Aaron threw a hand in the air to wave him off and stumbled into the bathroom. He braced himself at the sink and splashed cool water on his face. His breath was shallow and labored.

                  The nurses had told him that the meds could come with some side effects, but they didn’t say anything about hallucinations. Aaron stared at his reflection in the mirror. He rubbed his hand along his jawline, making sure he was still him.

Aaron was handsome, rugged. His hair, now greying was always disheveled. He had a permanent five o’clock shadow and a gruff voice. He was tall and muscular, with deep set eyes and a strong handshake.

                  The lines in his face were deeper now. His skin was rough and leathery from years in the sun. His knuckles were gnarled, and his hands shook a bit. No doubt from the alcohol.

                  He took a deep breath, turned the water off and dried his hands on his jeans.

Pull it together, he told himself.

He yanked the door open and headed back to the bar. John Wayne Gacy and Ed Kemper still stared at him.

                  Aaron slid back on to the barstool. He twitched uncomfortably as he sipped his beer. The bartender headed back his way to check on him.

                  “Everything okay,” he asked, his voiced filled with concern.

                  “Yeah,” Aaron grunted. “I think so.”

                  He didn’t believe it. Not at all.

                  As the evening went on, more and more of the photos started to turn sinister. A photo of an old couple smiling morphed into a colorful photo of Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka. Another slinked into Ted Bundy.

                  “Shit,” Aaron thought to himself. “These are all serial killers. These are all monsters.”

                  His head began to spin. These types of vicious murders were the same types of cases that Aaron had been working on as a detective. He’d helped to solve several cold cases in his jurisdiction but there was one that remained unsolved. The one they called The Souvenir Killer.

                  This killer would follow women home, get inside and hide until they’d gone to sleep. He would then rummage through the house, finding some kind of souvenir to take. Just one small thing. Once he had his trophy, he’d stand over the women, his face so close to theirs that his breath would wake them up. Before they could scream, he would slash a wire through their throats. He was violent and angry and careful. He knew how to cover his tracks. He never left DNA or blood. It was almost as if he were a ghost.

Aaron had spent years working on the case with Joe, trying to link anyone to the 19 women that had been killed over the last 40 years with no luck. Now, with his terminal diagnosis, Aaron had left the force with the case unsolved. He just hoped Joe could find the guy before he was six feet under.

Just before last call, the picture at the far end of the bar began to fade and change. Aaron watched with curiosity. He’d given into the hallucinations and figured it was just his mind reminding him of what he was losing.

There was something familiar about the face that was starting to appear in the frame. Aaron leaned forward to get a better look. He dropped his beer to the floor. Glass shattered and liquid went everywhere.

Aaron trembled as the photo twisted and contorted. He was staring at a man, holding a small locket from the most recent killing of The Souvenir Killer. The face staring back at him, was Joe.

The bartender rushed around the bar and grabbed Aaron by the arm. “I think you’ve had enough, bud. Let me call you a cab.”

He started towards the front of the bar with Aaron’s arm draped over his shoulder. Aaron’s size stopped the bartender short, sending him to the ground as Aaron paused and grabbed the bar in front of Joe’s picture.

“Do you not see that?”

Aaron’s voice was tight and the air felt heavy as he tried to breathe.

“Tell me that you see that is the guy that was in here with me. The guy who ordered our shots. Tell me that you see that.”

His hands quivered as he yanked the bartender from the floor and pushed him against the bar.

“Dammit! Tell me what you see!”

The bartender backed away from Aaron. “Dude, it’s just a photo of a shitty cover band. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m calling you a cab. Just sit right there.”

He turned towards the end of the bar and Aaron darted for the door.

“No, wait –“ The bartender’s voice was fading as Aaron made it outside and started running down the street. The cold, night air hit his sweat-covered body in a fury. He shivered, realizing he’d left his coat at the bar.

Aaron ran for several blocks before his legs threatened to give way. He wasn’t in the shape he used to be. That was a hard thing to come to terms with. Tears welled in his eyes.

This can’t be true, he thought to himself. There is no way in hell that Joe is among those monsters. He was my partner. My friend. My confidant. I don’t fucking believe it.

He tried to will the feeling from his gut, but the giant, empty pit only grew larger. Gut instinct is a bitch to deny.

What do I do now, he thought to himself. What the hell do I do now.

He screamed, his lungs aching against the cold air.

“Fuck!”

* * *

It had been two weeks since Aaron’s funeral. The officers in the fifth district were still walking around like zombies. They were used to destruction and sometimes death but the loss of your own left a heavy cloud over the precinct.

Sergeant Troy Wilkerson stopped in the doorway of Joe’s office, a piping hot cup of coffee in hand. He knocked gently.

“You hanging in there,” he asked. “It’s always hardest when it’s your own partner.”

Joe looked up, melancholy.

“Yeah, doing my best. I’ve been in touch with Aaron’s wife a few times, just to make sure she gets everything she needs. They weren’t close at all, but I know he’d want her taken care of.”

“You’re a good man,” Wilkerson replied. ”Strange thing happened. I had a voicemail from Aaron late the night he died. He sounded frantic. He said he had an update on The Souvenir Killer and he need to talk to me right away. The phone cut off before he could say much else.”

Joe stared at Wilkerson, expressionless.

“Did you get a chance to talk to him, by chance? Did he give you any updates? I was going to call back the next morning but then I got the call from the hospital.”

“No, unfortunately. The last time I spoke to him was at the bar, two days after his retirement party. Who would have guessed he’d be gone so quick? Three weeks just isn’t enough time to finish the things in life.”

Joe’s gaze shifted out the window. A small tear welled in his eye. He pinched at them, wiping it away before Wilkerson could get a good look.

“Well, the case is yours now. Maybe you can dig through his notes, see if he left anything behind. I’d really like to catch this son of a bitch, put the city’s mind at ease.”

Wilkerson raised his coffee to Joe, then turned and left. Joe took a long, deep breath. He could feel his fingers twitching. He grabbed his coat and headed out of the office.

He hadn’t meant to kill Aaron that night. It just happened. He had gotten a call from him around 10:35 PM. He was upset and his words came out muffled and scared. The pit in Joe’s stomach grew. He knew that Aaron knew. He didn’t come right out and say it, but he knew.

Joe had no idea how he knew, but he couldn’t let this go. He asked Aaron where he was, that he would meet him. They could talk. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He traced Aarons’ phone and raced to the bar that he was at that night.

As he pulled up, he saw Aaron on the phone outside the bar. He heard the word Sergeant. His heart raced and all he saw was red. Before he knew what was happening, he had Aaron face down in the back of his car, smothering him against the dingy upholstery. Aaron struggled but the rage inside Joe was no match for Aaron’s size. Before long, his body went limp.

Joe, covered in sweat started sobbing uncontrollably. He wailed.

“Why couldn’t you just let if fucking go?”

After a few minutes, Joe regained his composure and sat Aaron up in the back. He flipped on his police lights and rushed to the hospital. He pulled into the emergency entrance, tires screeching as he slammed to a halt.

He yanked Aaron from the back seat and rushed into the hospital yelling. He told the doctors that Aaron was terminal and had been on medication for only a few weeks. They were out at the bar catching up when he suddenly started seizing and fell off the barstool. He stopped breathing and Joe rushed him to the hospital. Between gasping sobs he pleaded that he thought they’d have more time. The doctor pronounced Aaron dead at 11:37 PM.

Joe drove around the block, trying to pull it together. He knew he had to stop. He knew that he’d have to find another way to satisfy his urges. With the Sergeant on high alert, he couldn’t keep it up. Then, he saw her. She was beautiful, with long blonde hair and tanned skin.

Just one more, Joe thought to himself as he followed her towards her car.