A Descent into Darkness

Sober Syed

I've been lying on my bed ever since the detectives left an hour ago. To the outside observer, it may appear I'm staring into space. In reality, I'm really focusing on just how comfortable the bed itself is. On how privileged I am to have been able to sleep in one for over twenty years. I'm really going to miss it if I end up in prison.

Of course, I know I may be psyching myself out over nothing. I have no idea if the police have DNA from the Ross incident, or if mine will be a match. And if I think rationally about it, the odds seem to work pretty well in my favour. I was completely covered that night. My gloves, my hood, my mask, none of it ever came off. As far as I can recall, neither my skin, nor hair, nor saliva, nor anything that could trace to me, could have been left behind. It would suggest they genuinely did just need our DNA to match against the bushes outside, or were simply trying to see if we would decline. Still doesn't make me any calmer, the fact I know that there's even the tiniest chance still makes me want to vomit.

I haven't felt like this since right after the incident itself. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I didn't go to school for a week. I barely spoke to anyone. My behaviour inadvertently made it an easy sell to my parents that I was suffering from depression when they helped me find Dr. James.

It's times like this that I find myself in the somewhat shameful position of envying the serial killers out there, the people I have vowed I will never become. The ones who don't seem to care what others think of them. People who are unable to form real attachments with anyone. There biggest fear is probably losing their freedom and going to prison. For me, if that were all I faced, I would be fucking euphoric right now.

But I have people I love, and who love me back. If Mom, Dad, Liza, Veronica, Syed, or anyone else learned the truth about me, I would not only be living with the guilt of what I'd done, but with the guilt of having destroyed the lives of everyone I love for the rest of my life. And I'm young. I'll probably live another sixty to seventy years. That would be a long time of nothing but misery.

See, killing people is already one of the most selfish things a person can do, especially when there is no other motive than pleasure, as would be the case for me. You take another person's life, make their death as agonizing as you can, and in the process ruin the lives of everyone they love, just so you can have a few hours, maybe days of pleasure. But the fact that I would even be ruining the lives of everyone I love just makes it seem all the more selfish. I know that sounds bad. The damage I would be doing to the victim should be enough. But the truth of the matter is, if my family wasn't there to anchor me to morality, I don't know what I would have done by this point in my life.

I thought about calling Dr. James due to my stress, but he would ask why a visit from the cops stressed me out so much when I've done nothing wrong. So, I would have to admit I've done something wrong. Therefore, that option's out.

Running was considered. And I'm not talking about a jog around the block to clear my head, I mean packing my car, leaving a note for my family and hitting the road. But that option's not realistic. For one, I would be completely lost on the run. How would I make money while avoiding detection? How would I control my urges without my family and friends? How would I stand the overwhelming guilt of having just abandoned them?

Plus, as I noted, the odds are I have nothing to worry about, so disappearing would serve no purpose except to really make the police suspicious of me. Ugh, I hate this. What am I supposed to do?

"You okay, buddy?"

I look up from the bed. Syed is standing in the doorway, looking concerned. The sight of him makes me stop feeling sorry for myself and instead feel sorry for him. What I'm looking at right now is Sober Syed. It's the time of day between when he wakes up hungover, and before he gets drunk again. During this time, is when he most closely resembles his old self. It's also the time that he's most miserable. Not just because he remembers witnessing Ali's death the clearest, but because he remembers how truly happy he used to be, a feeling he will likely not experience again for a long time.