Chapter 39 - Me, Myself, and the Mob

“Craig! Craig!”

Craig groaned. Everything hurt in unfamiliar ways. The back of his head ached, his neck stung from laying awkwardly face down on a cold steel table, and his entire body seemed to throb as if he’d just finished the workout of his life.

“CRAIG!”

He jumped at the voice and tried to stand, but found his legs were bound to the chair and his arms were tied together behind his back.

“What the fuck?!” he panicked, pulling on the restraints to no avail.

“You surprised by this?” the voice asked condescendingly, “Cause I think this be par for the goddamn course at this point for us.”

“Fucking fantastic,” he muttered, looking around the empty room. Four bland gray walls and a door to his left. Nothing that could help him distinguish where he was. Across the table from him was an empty chair. Clearly an interrogation room.

“Where are we?” he asked, “Jail?”

“Nah, we still at the casino. They just drug us to some back room for, ‘questioning.’ They do be watching us, so maybe we keep it to inside voices, yeah?”

He glanced up to the ceiling and sure enough there was a camera in the corner angled at him.

“Fine, yeah.” Craig agreed, thinking silently. “Inside voices.”

“You seem mad, “ the voice continued, his tone almost mocking, “And confused. Whyever for?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Craig spat.

“No, I mean it!” the voice countered, “Aint this exactly where you want to be? Cause I’ll fucking tell you right now, I can’t imagine a different outcome for us given the choices you keep making!”

He glared at the table, laughing mirthlessly, “Us. Why is there an, ‘us,’ in the first place? How come as soon as I finally get a chance to do what I always wanted, my brain’s gotta break in half?”

“I got a theory! Want to hear it?”

“Sure, “ Craig replied, “Not like I got anything better to do.”

“I think when mom died, I was the part that reminded us of her. My existence made us hurt. Whenever we sang, whenever we smelled her perfume or watched her favorite movie or even just saw her name on the mail, the part of us that eventually became ... me, “ Craig didn’t know how he could feel the presence gesture to himself, but he could, “would trigger ... and hurt the part that was you.”

Craig’s brow furrowed. It made sense, which did nothing to alleviate his growing anxiety.

“OK, I’m following so far,” he replied, “but, that part of me ... you, I guess, I thought you died with her!”

“Nah, you didn’t, “ the voice countered, “You wanted me to, ‘cause of the grief and the guilt and the self-loathing. You did everything you could to push me down, lock me up,” his tone had turned cold now, “and eventually you found the perfect cage. Alcohol and drugs.”

Craig slumped in the chair. Great, now he sounded like Kayla.

“The best I could do at that point was scream at you from the dark, “ the voice continued bitterly, “anytime I’d get close to breaking through? Causing change? You’d go to karaoke and drink me deeper into the void. You tried to kill me for fifteen years, all while telling yourself I was already dead, “ Craig sank lower into his chair, “Then, last night something changed. I aint know what, but we woke up more sober than we been in years. The cage was gone. I was free. I ain’t even know I was separate from you at first. It was just as surprising to me when I started thinking and talking on my own.”