Having a Split Personality

Mike's Problem

Mike was in his closet. In the dark. Mad at himself. He thrashed about angrily, banging against the walls. He just...he couldn't explain. He could hardly stop himself from doing or saying things sometimes. He could hardly keep control over himself. He had just beaten up Billie...and left, walked away, getting mad over nothing at his friends.

The blood was still on his hand as proof that it had, in fact, happened. He now licked it, on a sudden impulse. He instantly felt disgusted at himself. He fell back and sat, leaning against the wall, facing the door. His head was cushioned by one of his jackets, and his feet were on top of a pair of shoes.

He sighed. He wondered what Billie and Tré were doing right now. It had been practically an hour since he had left.

***

"Billie," Tré started, "maybe you should give Mike another chance?"

"Another chance?" Billie said in a raspy voice since his throat was still sore. "He got mad at me, punched me, and choked me for no good reason, and you say he deserves another chance?" He glared at Tré, crossing his arms.

"Well, I don't know," Tré admitted. "But we've been together for years, and now you're saying it's all over?"

Billie nodded. "Yeah, I am. If he can't tell us what's wrong and is mad at us, that must mean he doesn't want to be our friends anymore. Surely you'll agree with that."

"I guess..." Tré replied. "But do you think we could somehow find out what's wrong with him?"

"I don't want to do anything that concerns him right now," Billie said abruptly. "He's an asshole, and I don't care what happens to him right now. Obviously he doesn't want us knowing anyways..."

Even though Billie had said it convincingly enough, Tré could tell that he was lying. But he decided to let it slide for now, let everything sink in for a few days.

"Okay..." Tré said uncertainly. He couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with Mike.

***

Mike emerged from his closet, feeling slightly better now. He paced around, not being able to sit still.

'Why did I do that? Why?' he thought angrily. 'Now they probably hate me...and never want to see me again...'

'Finally, they'll be off my back.'

Mike let out a grunt of frustration. 'No, no, fucking no!'

Pain erupted through him without warning and he crumpled to the floor, shaking.

He woke up in the room. The room he always dreaded. He picked himself up, waiting for his orders, hoping they wouldn't be too terrible.

"You've been busy since I've last left you..." Arcturis's voice rang through the room, echoing eerily. "Three deaths and a spat with your friends. I'm beginning to think you have some guts now."

Mike clenched his fists and felt them heat up a bit, small flames appearing.

"Temper, temper, now," Arcturis sneered. Mike felt the warning pain. "I need you to do me another favor, concerning a little someone..."

Mike knew he would have to kill this "little someone". He sighed.

"I see we think we know what we're doing, eh?" Arcturis asked. "Well, guess again. I want you to kidnap this little someone and bring them back here."

Mike furrowed his eyebrows. Kidnap someone?

"That's right, kidnap someone. I want them alive. So try to control your temper."

"But who am I supposed to kidnap?" Mike asked, not really wanting to know.

"A person who goes by the name of Kristine Wilson. I doubt you've heard of her, but she lives by the city, and I need her."

"Why?"

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out. Now move along," Arcturis told him.

Mike reluctantly left by way of lighted path. He didn't want to be Kristine Wilson, whoever she was. Arcturis didn't mean well to her.