The sounds of the car radio echoed down the long street. Devin had a bad habit of cranking the car radio way too loud, but he didn't care too much. He couldn't resist bobbing his head back and forth to the newest chart topper.
Devin pulled up into the driveway. He left his keys in the ignition so he could finish the song he was listening to. He then noticed the mailman pulling a letter from the mailbox and then immediately replacing it.
A letter? Devin hadn't received a letter in ages. He was very excited to open it up and see who wrote him. He was also excited because someone took the time to write a letter by hand instead of just sending an email.
Eagerly, he got out of his car, picked up the letter, and headed inside. He impatiently sat on his couch and started tearing open the envelope. He noticed the absence of a return address or a stamp. After opening the envelope, he started reading the letter. The letter contained the following:
I hope you're doing alright. We haven't seen each other in a while, so I really wanna just catch up with you. I was thinking just the two of us could go to that new pizza place. I heard they make a mean Stromboli.
Anyways, maybe we could meet up at midnight tonight? I know, odd time, but the night shift is messing with my circadian rhythm. You can stay up for one night, can't you?
How nice, Devin thought. He hadn't seen his friend Kevin in forever. They were the greatest childhood friends. Kevin would always go over to Devin's house to spend the night. They would play with their toys, talk about girls, pretty much everything that boys do. And it always seemed that Devin's mother would let Kevin spend the night, even on school nights. Devin, of course, never complained because Kevin was his best friend. They were inseparable.
Devin spent the rest of the day getting ready: taking a shower, combing his hair, brushing his teeth, etc. He couldn't wait to catch up with Kevin. What was he up to? Did he have a family? How was his job?
A knock was at the door. A little late, thought Devin; it was half til one. Eagerly, he answered the door, and sure enough, Kevin was standing at the door.
“Hey!” said Devin. “Come on in!”
Devin led Kevin inside and seated him on his couch. Devin took Kevin's coat and hung it on his coat rack.
“How have you been?” asked Devin.
“Well,” stated Devin, “I've been alright. I got a new job working night shift as a campus security guard. It's pretty boring, but surprisingly pays very good.”
“Nice,” said Devin. “I've been doing alright myself, I guess. Still in that bachelor life, huh?”
“Yeah. It's pretty rough not having a 'go-to', if you know what I mean.” They both started laughing at this statement.
“Hey, you want a drink before we head out?” asked Devin.
“Uh, sure, why the hell not.”
Devin got up from his seat and headed the refrigerator. He pondered the fact that Kevin seemed a little...off. His speaking had been at a slightly faster pace than he remembered. Maybe he was just nervous, Devin thought. He grabbed two drinks and shut the refrigerator door.
“Hands up!” Kevin pointed a gun to Devin's head. Devin dropped the drinks in his hand and thrust his hands to the sky.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” shouted Devin. “Please don't hurt me! What are you doing?!”
“You...I've had to put up with your shit for twenty years now.”
“What are you talking about!?”
“You got everything! You got all the girls! You got all the good grades! I just stood in the background while nobody noticed me. You were the center of attention. Everybody always cared for Devin, never for Kevin. Remember that bitch Lindsay? I put her in the fucking dumpster. And you cried like a fat kid losing his ice cream. You couldn't handle the simple loss of a human life. She was probably a whore anyway.
“I've always wanted to do this, I really have. But, see, you were never alone. Such a mama's boy, never leaving your mom's side. Never a moment where it was just us. You little coward. You never let me express myself, never let me free. Now, it's about time you let me take the spotlight.”
Kevin cocked the gun and moved slowly towards Devin's face.
“Whoa!” plead Devin. “You don't have to do this! This isn't my fault! You should have done something!”
“I couldn't! I was trapped! You took me everywhere. I could never leave your side. You never let me!”
Kevin moved closer.
“Please! Don't do this!”
“The only reason we finally drifted away is because you outgrew me. You no longer wanted to hang around me. You moved out, went to college, fucked girls. You left me. And it felt great. I could finally enact revenge. And here we are today. You need to go.”
“I beg you! Don't do this! Please!”
Another knock at the door. A voice was heard from the other side.
“Help me!” cried Devin.
The neighbor, who was at the door, kicked the door in. He noticed Devin's struggle.
“Help! Help!” cried Devin. Kevin pointed the gun at the neighbor.
“What are you doing here?”
“Whoa, Devin, calm down!” exclaimed the neighbor. Kevin alternated his aim between the neighbor and Devin. The neighbor pulled out a holstered pistol and pointed it at Kevin.
“That's it!” yelled Kevin.
Kevin's shot went clean through Devin's skull. His body collapsed as his skull fragments flew across the room. His limp, lifeless body laid on the floor as the crimson blood pool beneath his head expanded, painting the tile kitchen floor. The neighbor dialed 911. The police arrived at the scene within minutes.
The policed ruled the case as suicide. Devin had a medical record showing that he had severe MPD, or Multiple Personality Disorder. Doctors said that, in rare cases, incidents such as Devin's could occur. Devin was also found responsible for the murder of Lindsay Phillips in 2006. She was found with her throat slit in a city dumpster.
The police interrogated different people that were involved with the incident. Here is the interrogation of the postman:
“What a weird guy. He would send letters to himself all the time. I ignored it because I thought he just had some self esteem issues, you know. Didn't know the fellow was suicidal, though.”
They also interrogated Devin's mother:
“He wasn't right. He had this imaginary friend named Kevin. Everyday, he would ask if Kevin could spend the night. Of course, I obliged every single time, seeing this as being relatively harmless. However, he never outgrew his imaginary friend. Whenever he got too old, I asked him who Kevin was, and he just pointed at himself.”
The mother started sobbing as she spoke.
“And he would sleepwalk all the time. In fact, it seemed more like he was being awake rather than sleepwalking. I would have coherent conversation with him while he sleepwalked. While he was sleepwalking, he would say his name was Kevin. He would mention all the bad things that Devin did, things that I didn't even know he had done. When I asked how he knew this, he said that he was always with Devin. This freaked me out. I took him to the doctor, and he said that Devin had a very severe case of Multiple Personality Disorder. He said that he would outgrow it with age. Apparently, he was wrong.”
The mother started sobbing uncontrollably.
Lastly, here is the interrogation log of the neighbor:
“Yeah, it was some crazy shit, man. I break down the door because I hear Devin yell for help. So I bust down the door and I see the crazy bastard pointing a gun at his head. He keeps aiming everywhere. He eventually says 'That's it!' and shoots himself. Poor bastard. Shoulda had medical treatment or something.”
“Sir, could we get your name?”