“Rebecca?” a man calls as he pokes his head through the door. As he stepped through, a reply called, “Rebecca’s not here, but I am.” Her voice was full of flirt and Chuck sighed. He would never get used to Rebecca’s alters. He had no idea how hard it would be to have a girlfriend with dissociative identity disorder when they first met. “Oh hey Kaylen,” Chuck called out as he tossed his coat onto the couch. He pulled his shoes off with his feet and laid back. Kaylen walked into the room, sharpening her butcher knives as she sat down. As the sound of the metal scraping against stone rang through the room, Chuck’s muscles tensed every time she scraped anew. “Do you really have to do that right now? Right here?” he asked, hoping to avoid conflict. She set down her tools and looked blankly at him. Taking a deep breath she stood up. Took a step and exploded, “Chuck! You know I have to sharpen my knives every damned day! I cannot butcher squealing pigs with tough hides if my knives are dull! If they are not sharp, then the blood cannot run down my hands, over my skin! Their bodies need to flail and wail! Their screams need to run true!” Rebecca’s face was flushed with Kaylen’s anger and bitterness. Chuck couldn’t stand when Kaylen described how she loved the screaming and hopelessness that she enjoyed so much. The man simply ignored her, got up and walked away, down the hall, and closed the door behind him. Kaylen huffed and took a breath. Smiling, a plan formed in her mind.

    The door opened slowly, and Chuck sat up. After he left Kaylen to calm herself, he had gone to be by himself. “Chuck? What happened?” Rebecca asked calmly as she stepped into the room. Chuck smiled and sweetly and replied, “Hey Rebecca, Kaylen and I got into a little biff, nothing to worry about.” a smile crossed his face as she entered in further. She smiled and nodded, walking closer to the bed. When Rebecca was just a foot or two away, he laid back. She crawled over him, sitting over his chest. Rebecca smiled as she looked him in the eyes, her fingers crawling from his chest to his neck. The woman’s fingers circled the man’s neck, and she squeezed. “Kaylen?” Chuck asked weakly as his face turned red. “Hmm honey, you know it.” she responded. His eyes began to look slightly puffy and they began to shutter. Her hands gripped his throat right under his jawline, and she smiled. As Chuck gasped and struggled for breath, her heart leaped in joy and Kaylen laughed. He tried to push Kaylen off but she had his arms pinned below her knees.  The lack of oxygen made Chuck even weaker. Soon no more struggles and Kaylen slowly released his throat. His face was purple and color returned. Kaylen felt an immense bliss wash over and she pulled out one of her work knives from her belt. She put the blade up to his neck, and a line of red grew and spread. She jumped off the bed and ran to the closet.

    “Whaa?” Chuck asked as he slowly came too. The room was dark, but still lit. A candle was on the dresser, the bed stand, and several were on shelves. His face felt heavy and swollen. His eyes hurt, and when he went to rub them, he couldn’t. Chuck struggled against the bonds that Kaylen put him in. The rope was tight around his ankles. He heard her menacing and mocking laugh from somewhere. His vision was narrow, and he struggled to lift his head. Out of the darkest corner stepping his psychotic girlfriend, currently controlled by her sadistic alter.  She laughed wickedly, and the knife duly reflected the candle light. Kaylen pulled the knife closer to her face, as too inspect it. She looked past the blade, staring down the man whom she tied to the bed. She stepped closer, and swung the blade in a downwards motion. Chuck screamed out as toes were severed from his foot and fell to the ground. The scream pierced through the house and as Kaylen recognized it as a cry for help, a scream of pain, she felt relaxed and delighted. His breath was heavy. Kaylen dragged the blade up Chuck’s leg and a line of red followed. She laughed in glee as he screamed again. Soon constant screams filled the house, and Kaylen’s heart was overcome with joy.

      The car sped down the road, the wind whipping in through the partly opened windows. The driver smiled to herself as she thought of the previous events. She pulled into the driveway of the day care center. The moon shone brightly and the crickets chirped. Kaylen walked through the gate and knocked on the door. An exhausted and scraggly looking woman opened the door. Sounds of happy children screaming and running around flowed out of the door.  “I’m here to pick up Jackson.” Kaylen said.
“Follow me,” the woman commanded, “he was good today, no problems. You definitely have a well behaved child.” She scooped up a sleeping infant and handed him to Kaylen.
“Thanks.” Kaylen said as she left.
“Wait, ma’am?”
“What is it?”
“You have something on your shirt,” the babysitter indicated and indicated to a spot on her chest. A bright red splatter of blood stained Kaylen’s shirt.
“Oh thanks, I had a bloody nose earlier.” Kaylen said sweetly with a smile. She left without saying another word. Kaylen buckled in Jackson and drove off, heading for home.

She threw the keys on the counter and brought Jackson, who was still sleeping, to his room. As Kaylen put the boy in the crib, he woke and began to cry.  “Oh hush baby boy. Everything’s okay.” Rebecca said. She didn’t remember what had happened when Kaylen was awake.  The baby quieted down, and Rebecca put him gently into his crib again. She quietly shut the door as she exited.
“Chuck?” she called out softly. She got no reply. Thinking that he had just stayed out with his friends, she walked into their bedroom to get ready for bed. The light falling into the room as the door creaked open. Rebecca’s shill scream cut through the house. It was a cry of terror and pity. Outstretched on the bed was Chuck. His face grotesquely distorted in lost agony. His eyes stared upwards; dried tears were streaked down his cheek bone. Blood was everywhere. The red liquid had dripped onto the floor, off of his fingertips. The bed was soaked, and the walls were sprayed. Rebecca fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. The candles were still lit; they burned softly and were close to being out. Puddles of wax surrounded the low candles. Rebecca looked through her fingers and saw the blood on her shirt. Shakily, but fast, she ripped it off and threw it on the floor. Her breath was uneven and ragged. Chuck’s eyes were open, and the blood drizzling out of the corners of his mouth was beginning to dry. A bloodied knife lay on the bed stand; the whole room was just a deep red. The smell of the iron in the blood wafted up Rebecca’s nose. The overwhelmed woman began to cry. She saw the toes lying awkwardly on the floor. A large puddle of blood surrounded the whole bed and almost reached Rebecca’s knees. The whole moment brought back pain racking moments of her childhood. The sight and smell of blood triggered hidden memories. The moment her father killed her dog, ripped out its guts and gave her nothing to eat, but the only friend she once had. The blood that dripped from her face after he beat her, it would slide down her brow to her nose, then drip off. It was too much for the poor woman, and she fainted, falling into the puddle of Chuck’s blood.

“Smells like Kaylen’s been here!” Rebecca said happily with a perfect chinese accent.
“Oh dear,” he said, “Rebecca won’t be happy about this! Now where are my glasses?” The woman, possessed by one of her alters, blindly ran towards the bathroom. There on the counter was a pair of glasses with a note that said, “Chi-Ming,
Here are your glasses you 73 year old blind chinese bat you!
                        -Kaylen”
    When he put them on, and felt so much better. “I love being able to see clearly!” he shouted in glee. As he ran back down the hall, he stopped fast at the bedroom door, “we are just gonna close this, as to not damper our chipper mood!” He continued his path until he reached the kitchen. He found the old mail that was left on the counter for him. Grabbing the match box, and lighting the read papers, Chi-Ming tossed them into the sink. He watched as the paper twisted and recoiled, almost as if in pain. Soon there was nothing left of the mail but faint ink in the form of letters on the grey and dull ashes. He put his hand in the sink and the heat was absorbed by his hand. A strange smirk crossed his face as the smell of burning flesh reminded him of when he was 64. There was this house, and he had started it on fire, the smell of a burning man was infectious. It was the house of a man, a man who abused his child daily and kicked her out of the house at 13. It was a place of evil, and he felt the need, the craving to burn it down. It had been so simple and easy to get in, for the man was drunk and had left the door unlocked. Chi-Ming never regretted that fire, even though some of his others fires, had made him feel ashamed.

Chi-ming loved fire. It was alive, and it was all his. To keep the fire alive, the heat, the intense force that came with the flames, that is what Chi-ming needed. It wasn’t a want, it was a need. To this old chinese man, fire was a way of life. Once you lit one, there was no way of not lighting another. To him, fire was alive, it was like his child, he wanted nothing more for it than to grow, consume, and succeed. He loved fire, and he knew one day, that he would die at its marvelous and heated hands. Chi-Ming reopened the match box, and there was one more match inside. For the past 19 years, every time Ming had to use the last match, it was for something big, and he was not about to break that tradition.

With little effort, he grinded the match against the sand papery part of the box. The flame ignited and Chi-Ming felt so relaxed. He tossed and the match into a pile of crumpled newspapers. He gently grabbed Jackson out of the crib, and the baby cooed up at him. Jackson had always loved Chi-Ming. He just had that fun, loving, and gentle personality. Sure Chi-Ming set fires a lot, but Jackson didn’t know. The flames grew hot and began to climb up the light blue walls. As Jackson felt warm, and he began to cry. Chi-Ming panicked and another alter appeared. This was the personality of a 6 year old. This alter was named Evelyn, and Evelyn had incapability of feeling fear. This wasn’t a brave girl, she just didn’t understand danger. With a baby in her arms, she giggled. She sat on the floor, Jackson in her lap. She hugged him, and the baby stopped crying. Together they laughed, and they played. Impervious to the swirling hellish fire about to consume them. It was all around them now, it was roaring with life. Crackling with fury. The warm colors lit the room and smothered the other colors, turning the walls black. It was almost peaceful, and together, never separated. The moment was serene and placid. Not one to ever be repeated. Never once was this woman who struggled every step of the way shown mercy, except for when Evelyn was killed by the lack of oxygen rather than being burned alive.