Chapter 1: The Last Call
The condensation on my glass felt like cold sweat.
I looked across the scarred mahogany of the bar at Leo. My good old friend was mid-laugh with his usually gravelly bellow, the amber light of the pub catching the crinkles around his eyes betraying his age—eyes that didn't see the shadow clad figure of an elderly man who had just entered the bar. Moving inside, entering from the door, inches behind his left shoulder passing over to rest at the end of the bar. The old man stared at me, the room felt like ice and I could swear there was a black aura around him. With a gravity and severity.
"You're time in this world is up. We must go." The old man's voice somehow seemed more ancient than he looked. Something in the room and... the lack of response by Leo to this strange man, saying words like this? It was real... wasn't it? My time was up?
I reached out, my hand heavy, and slapped Leo on the back. It was a solid, grounding thud. Right now, I needed to feel the warmth of his jacket, the reality of his heartbeat, because everything else in the room was starting to grey at the edges.
"One more round before I hit the road?" I called out.
The bartender nodded, reaching for the tap. Although, it wasn't the bartender I was looking at. My eyes drifted to the figure leaning against the end of the bar—the one only I could seemingly see. He didn't wear a scythe or a cowl; he just looked like a man waiting for a bus he knew was on time. With an aura that was draped in greying darkness and age.
"One more?" I asked him more silently.
Death offered a singular, slow nod. A grace period.
"Of course! You're a legend," Leo cheered, sliding his empty glass toward the rail. "But you're driving, right? Don't make me call you an Uber."
"I'm fine, Leo. Just... I want you to finish the story about how you got your promotion."
The beer flowed, golden and frothing, but it tasted like ash on my tongue. I leaned in, ignoring the cold pressure in my chest. I spent those final minutes pouring every ounce of sincerity I had left into the air between us. I told him how proud I was of the promotion he'd landed, how I still remembered the time we nearly burned down his parents' garage trying to fix that old moped, and how he was the brother I never had.
I talked as if I were trying to fill a vessel that had a leak. I wanted to leave him with enough memories to drown out the news he'd get tomorrow.
"Man, you're really getting sentimental," Leo laughed, though his eyes softened. "You okay? Age takes it toll but... you're going soft on me?"
Death's gaze was unwavering, with an unreadable poker face at our exchanged.
"Never better," I lied.
The silence that followed was punctured by a dull, rhythmic sound. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Once again, no one else appeared to hear anything.
The figure of the old man at the end of the bar was checking a watch that wasn't there, tapping a pale finger against an almost translucent wrist. The atmosphere in the room shifted. The music seemed to distort, and the warmth of the heater died away, replaced by the sharp, metallic scent of an approaching storm.
I drained the last dregs of my glass. It felt like lead in my stomach.
"Right," I said, my voice cracking slightly as I slid off the stool. My legs felt disconnected from the floor. "That's me. Time to head out, I think that's my signal to leave."
"See you Friday for the game?" Leo asked, already checking his phone, the world of the living pulling his attention back.
I paused, the weight of the "Goodbye" pressing against the back of my teeth. I couldn't say it. If I said it, the illusion would shatter.
"See you later," I said instead, patting his shoulder one last time. "Take care of yourself, Leo. Really."
I turned away before he could respond. The walk to the door felt like wading through deep water. Every step was an effort of will. As I pushed open the heavy oak door, the cool night air hit me—but it wasn't refreshing. It felt like an ending.
I stepped out into the alleyway, the neon sign of the pub flickering overhead. The silence of the street was absolute, save for the soft scuff of footsteps behind me. I didn't turn around. I knew he was there.
The papers would later describe it as a "senseless tragedy"—a botched robbery by a desperate man with a rusted blade. They would talk about the proximity to my home, the wallet taken, the cold statistics of a city after dark.
But as the steel slid between my ribs, sharp and sudden as a breath of ice, I didn't feel the pavement. I didn't feel the thief's frantic hands in my pockets.
I felt a hand on my shoulder—not Leo's, but one far older and much steadier. Not the robbers.
The old man from the end of the bar. His hand, his hold felt much stronger than its frail perception.
As the world faded into a dull roar of static, the shadow stepped into the light.
Death, He wasn't a monster. He was a dutiful and guiding companion.
"It's alright," a voice whispered, sounding like the rustle of dry leaves. "The road doesn't end here... there are many roads after this. It looks like there's a far more interesting one for you after this life."