What You See Is Really Me

Mick Jenkins lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long guzzle before he slammed it back onto the bathroom counter as he gazed into the mirror. He felt numb as he gazed at himself, his emotions running high. 'Damn it,' he thought to himself as he took another long, rough chug of the oozing bottle of beer. 'Damn it, Al, what were you thinking?' he slammed the bottle back down and found his vision misty. Growling quietly to himself, he wiped at his eyes, bringing his fingers back wet with warm, salty tears. He glared at his fingers for a moment, and then glared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair, which was a rich brown and was usually perfectly brushed, was untamed and tangled from the many times he had run his fingers through his hair in despair. Today had been the worst night of his life, he was sure. There were no days of his rough childhood that could even get close to this. He had always known that doing what he did was dangerous, and he was sure that Al Carter had known it too. Things happened when you were FBI, he knew, and he was certain Al had known as well. But it didn't matter anymore, he realized with a dazed frown. Everything had happened so fast; his memory was a blur of time. He hadn't seen it coming, not until it was too late. Al had seen it though, and had reacted quickly. Mick shook his head, willing the images out of his head. He shuddered just thinking about it, and knew he would have nightmares about it for the rest of his life, however long it should be. 'What the hell were you thinking, you idiot?' he thought to himself. His gaze misty, he lowered his eyes to the counter, where his hand tightened around the beer bottle which was only half full now. With a sigh, he took another swig of it and put it back down, swallowing thickly. Shaking his head, he willed the memories of the last few hours out of his head. It didn't seem real. It didn't seem possible, yet he knew it was all true. He knew it was all his fault, though he wished it weren't so. He wished none of it was real, that it hadn't happened, but it had. He couldn't change the past, he knew, though he hated it. What was he supposed to do now? Go on like nothing had happened? He should have been ready for this; he should have been ready for death. The job was dangerous; always had been, always will be. People died on it all of the time, but never, not in his twelve years on the job, had he ever though that it would be someone he knew that would die. Never had he even considered the possibility, never had he wanted to consider it. Those final moments continuously played over and over in his mind, and though he wished to forget them, he knew he couldn't. A part of him wanted to, but a part of him didn't. If he forgot about it, he would be forgetting the end of a special person, a kind-hearted soul. But if he didn't forget about it, he didn't know what he would do. It was all his fault that it had happened in the first place, and every memory of it just put more grief, more guilt, into his mind. Taking another swig, he finished the bottle, and silently tossed it into the trash can next to the counter. His eyes watered once more, and he lowered his head, shaking it. 'What were you thinking, Al? You idiot...' his mind kept replaying those painful memories over and over again, though he silently begged for it not to. His mind ignored his pleas and allowed them to play over anyway...
_____

~Six hours before~

Mick Jenkins was currently sneaking around the side of a building, a gun ready in his hands. His partner and closest friend, Al Carter, was right behind him, watching his back. That had been the thing for the two of them for years now. They watched each other's backs, they talked together, they worked together...they did everything together. He glanced back at his friend and frowned. Al's green eyes were darting around as they narrowed into little slits. He looked nervous, which worried Mick even further. Al usually never got nervous unless he was unsure of something, unless he thought something was going to happen. Whispering, Mick asked hiim, "You okay, partner?"

Al Carter looked at his friend for a moment, and then nodded slowly, his black bangs swishing in front of his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mickey." he readied his gun, as though he were expecting a battle.

"Mickey?" Mick asked, sighing. "Told ya not to call me that." he shook his head and returned to the task at hand, wondering if Al would respond or not.

Al did, slowly. "Sorry," his friend said, and he could hear the smirk in his voice. "Old habits die hard, what can I say?" out of the corner of his eye, he saw Al shrug his shoulders in a casual way. "Anyway," Al continued. "Keep your guard up, okay?"

Mick frowned as he paused in his walking before continuing. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked as he turned his head ever so slightly to look at his friend. Al's eyes were troubled, which was something strange altogether. "You okay? What do you think is going to happen?"

Al shrugged and shook his head, sighing. "I have no idea, honestly. Just a feeling I have. Be on your guard, okay? No telling what this maniac is going to do." Al cocked his gun forward, silently telling Mick to look forward. Mick sighed and returned his gaze to in front of him, where he proceeded in opening the side door of the old abandoned warehouse. Entering quietly, cautiously, he glanced around, aiming his gun, expecting anything and everything. On his other side, he heard Al do the same. Squinting in the dark, he glanced around, looking for any sign of the villian they were after. The maniac in question had already killed three people. Two had been young teenagers about fifty miles away, and then the last kill had been last night. The victim had been twenty-two-year-old Adam West, and he had been killed with one shot to the head. Mick knew they had to be on their guard, for the villian was armed and dangerous, and could just as easily kill the two of them as he had his last three victims. Al's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "See anything?"

Mick shook his head. "No, not a damn thing. Just blackness and more blackness. You?" he asked.

"Well-" his friend had been trying to answer, but his voice had died out as shots had been fired from somewhere in dark room. Collapsing to the floor to cover himself, Mick rolled behind a stack of old tires.

Gazing around frantically, he couldn't see a thing. "Al?" he asked quietly, his voice only a mere whisper, as he didn't want the killer to find him and bump him off. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," came Al's voice from somewhere beside him, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I'm fine. You?" Al's voice was distracted, yet concerned at the same time.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Mick replied, and then readied his gun once more. "Can you see the bastard?" he questioned, glaring into the darkness. He couldn't see anything, even though he was quinting. There were no windows in this part of the building, and the killer had shut the door. No light could enter, and his eyes had yet to adjust.

"No. I can't see a damn thing, Mick. Sorry," said Al, and then the gunfire started up again, coming from somewhere in front of him. Gulping, Mick stayed behind the tires, hearing the bullets as they hit the rubber tires and bounched off. He knew he wouldn't be safe for much longer, as he knew the killer knew this place better than he or Al.

The tires he was hiding behind was suddenly sent rolling, and he froze, caught like a deer in the headlights as the killer, a shape in the darkness, stalked toward him, and somehow he knew that the gun was aimed at him, ready to fire. Gulping, he shakily reached for his gun, his heart going a million an hour. Dear God, he didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to face the music and die. He wasn't ready. There was so much that he hadn't done, so much that he wanted to do.

He heard the killer give a throaty, insane laugh. "I've got you now," the killer said, and Mick knew he was smirking. "I hope you're ready to die, because you're about to."

The gun fired, and just as it did, he heard Al cry out, "No!" and then he was hit hard, knocked to the side. He twirled for a minute, and then fell to the ground, where he rolled once and came to a stop. Lying there, breathing heavily, he was in a daze. Two more shots were fired, and he clenched his eyes tightly closed, waiting for the impact of the bullets to hit him...

But nothing did. He was fine, he realized. He hadn't been shot; the killer hadn't just been shooting at him. But if not him...who? Gasping in realization, he sat up and let his gaze wander to the motionless form lying sprawled out on the ground a few feet away. Squinting through the darkness, his heart pounding painfully quick in his chest, he saw the blood as it began to pool around him. Shaking his head, he noticed the killer, his eyes now adjusted, aim at his motionless friend. Snarling, he lifted his gun, his eyes full with a raging pain, and fired five shots. The killer cried out as they all met their mark, and fell backward onto the floor, where he twitched once and then lay still. Breathing heavily, he jumped to his feet and immediately moved over toward his friend, where he collapsed to his knees next to him. "...Al?" he heard himself whisper in a voice that sounded nothing like himself. "God...say something..." he clenched his eyes tightly closed, feeling sick to his stomach. Reaching a shaky hand out, his eyes slowly opening, he gently rolled his friend onto his back, wincing at the sight.

His friend had been shot, alright. He'd been shot twice in the chest, and once in the shoulder. Blood poured out of the wound in copious amounts, Al's gray shirt already soaked through with a crimson substance. Al's eyes, partly opened, gazed up at the ceiling, breaths rattling in his chest as he fought for breath.

"...Al?" Mick asked quietly, his voice sorrow-filled. "Can you hear me?" He tore his shirt off and pressed it to the two chest wounds, knowing that he had to apply pressure if he wanted to save his friend's life.

Al's eyes swiveled toward him, slowly focusing. His eyes, once a vibrant jade green, were dimming with an alarming speed, turning into a blackish color, as if all of the light were being sucked out of them, and along with it, his life. "M...Mick?" came Al's faint voice, sounding unsure and dull. "T...That you?"

Mick, his eyes tearing up, nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, Al," he whispered. "It's me. I'm here..." he closed his eyes for a moment. 'Damn it, stop bleeding,' he thought to himself. 'Stop bleeding, please...' he pressed down harder on the wound, careful not to injure his friend further. "You'll be okay, partner," he murmured, his eyes still closed, unwilling to look at his partner's bloodied body. "We'll get you out of here." he didn't know if that was true, but he silently prayed that it was. He knew that someone, anyone, would have heard gunshots coming from the builing and would have called the police by now. Surely an ambulance was on its way, and would arrive any minute now.

"No..." Al breathed faintly. "N...Not this...time..."

"You're going to be just fine," said Mick, refusing to believe Al. "You'll be okay, Al. I promise."

"Y...You should never...m...make a promise...you can't...keep..." Al weakly pointed out as Mick opened his eyes. He coughed painfully and blood splattered his lips, causing Mick to wince and glance away.

"I'll keep it," Mick stated firmly. "Damn it, you're not going to die. Help will arrive shortly. You'll be okay."

Al let out a breath. "...B...Before...I go..." he breathed weakly, painfully, his voice growing fainter by the second. "I...have...t...to tell you...something..."

Mick was about to argue, but Al cut him off.

"I...know who...k...killed...your wife..." he coughed and closed his eyes for a moment before he continued. "It..."

"Who?" Mick found himself asking. "Who killed her?"

Al sighed faintly. "The...same...b...bastard that...k...killed me..."

"No one has killed you, Al. You're not going to die, okay? You're not going to die."

"I...am..."

"No, you're not. I won't let you."

"C...Can't stop it..." Al breathed in painfully. "T...This is...g...goodbye..."

Mick's eyes widened. "No...it's not...don't say that. You'll be okay." he frowned. 'Where is that damn ambulance?' he thought to himself, knowing that Al wouldn't be able to last much longer.

"I...die...here..." Al choked out. "You've...b...been a good...friend...to me, Mick...and...I thank you...f...for it..." he coughed again, and blood trailed down from the corner of his mouth. "I hope...I've...b...been a good...f...friend too..."

Mick felt the tears as they threatened to fall. "You have..." he whispered before his throat grew too constricted to speak.

"Then...I...c...can go in...peace, knowing...t...that..." he took in a shaky breaht that rattled as it came out. "G...Goodbye, my friend..." he whispered, and then his eyes went blank as they gazed over, a ghost of a smile on his face. His head lolled to the side lifelessly, and he went completely still, his breaths no longer rattling in his chest. The blood, though, continued to pour from the wounds, undisturbed by the motionless body.

Mick's eyes opened wide once more. "Al?" he choked out through a constriced throat. "Al? C'mon, man, say something..." he reached out and gently shook his friend. There was no response. "Please, man, don't do this." in the distance, he could hear the sirens of the ambulance as it raced through the streets, hurriedly heading toward its destination. "C'mon, don't do this...the ambulance...can't you hear it? It's here..." a tear trailed down his cheek as he got no response. He hung his head low, his eyes tightly closed, his body trembling slightly. "Please...don't..." he broke off as the tears broke through his eyelids and raced down his cheeks.

Al Carter, his friend and partner, was dead.
____

~Present time~

Mick's shoulders shook as the memory replayed in his head. The tears, spilling out of his eyes, trailed down his cheeks. 'What the hell were you thinking?' he thought again. 'What were you thinking, Al? You idiot...why?' he shook his head. 'Why did you have to take the bullet? You idiot!'

Gazing into the mirror, he found his eyes to be red and puffy, his cheeks tear-stained. But there was something else there, as well. Frowning, he wiped at his eyes to get a better view. Written there, on the wall, somehow, were words. A message, it seemed. Taking in a shaky breath, he proceeded to read it.

'Mick,' the message read. 'Please don't be sad. I'm with you still. I'm in you, please don't cry. If only you could see...that the one you see in the mirror is also me...' and then there was no more.

Choking back a sob, Mick was so confused. He didn't know what the message meant, nor what was going on. In his state of mind, he couldn't figure it out, nor did he really care. Al Carter was dead, as dead as they come, and in two days they would bury him in a grave, and then he would never see him again except in pictures and the memories in his mind. Taking a shaky, unstable breath, he rubbed his eyes raw and turned on his heel, somehow feeling better. Why was he feeling better? He wasn't sure. He couldn't make sense of anything, but somehow the pain was numbed. Exiting the bathroom, he closed the door behind him.