You know the cliche phrase, “My inner child is coming out”? I’m sure you’ve heard it once or twice. When I say it however, I mean it literally. You see, I have a condition called DID, dissociative identity disorder, more commonly known as split personalities. At any time, I could change from talking like a mature adult, to my other self. My inner child. This makes doing my job very difficult. I’m a manager at a local pharmacy, and the customers don’t truly understand what’s going on when I start talking in a little girl voice when I am a 27-year-old man. The worst part about the instances when Kelly, my inner child, takes over, is that I don’t even realize that it happened until after the fact. I’ll just be going about my day and then there will be a gap in my memory. I assume later on that I must’ve switched personalities during that blank period.
My friends don’t like Kelly. They say that she creeps them out. I’m not sure why, but then again, I’ve never met her. I’ve asked Lindsey, my best friend, about the episodes where Kelly is in control, but she never seems to want to talk about it. My wife doesn’t talk to me about it either. Everyone acts as if Kelly doesn’t exist, but she does. And I think she’s dangerous.
Yesterday during work, I must’ve had one of my blackouts, or whatever I’m supposed to call them. I had just finished stocking the children’s Tylenol when my memory goes blank. The next thing I know, I’m holding a box cutter with the blade out, and staring intently at an old lady looking at cough medicine. When I come to, I am mortified. What the hell was going on? Why did I leave the aisle I was in, come to this aisle, open my box cutter and walk up behind some stranger? Luckily, the woman didn’t notice me, and I was able to pocket the razor-sharp blade before she turned around and saw what was occurring.
I talked to Jamie, my wife about the incident, and she insisted that I see my psychiatrist about it. I reluctantly agreed. I already knew what Dr. Thompson would do, up the dosage on my meds. I believe he thinks I’m making it all up, which I can’t blame him. I’ve never had an episode at his office, and I’m not going to fake one just so he’ll believe me. The next day I went into his office, took a seat and told him the story. He sat in his chair taking notes while I spoke. At least, that’s what I think he was doing, as I couldn’t actually see the clipboard. After the session was over, he wrote me a prescription for a higher dosage medication as I expected.
The medicine never really did anything. It didn’t stop the blackouts. They still happened, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say they happen more frequently since I started them a year and a half back. Before I started seeing Dr. Thompson, Kelly only ever took over once or twice a month, now, however she took control on a daily basis. I explained that to the doctor multiple times, but his solution was always just to up the dosage. I hated him. He didn’t take anything I told him seriously. He treated me like some kind of junky who just wanted pills, and then would be on their way. I understand why though, and in all honesty, I’d probably act the same way if I were in his shoes. My condition sounds crazy. I still remember the day he told me I had DID. I couldn’t believe it, and in all honesty, I thought I was possessed, I never really thought of it as a split personality.
I swung through the pharmacy on my way home from his office. It was my day off from work, and I was looking forward to relaxing and playing video games. I got my prescription from the young pharmacy tech, that couldn’t be more than 1 year out of college and started the short drive back to my house. I knew Jamie would already be at work when I came home, so I’d have the house to myself for the afternoon, and I was perfectly fine with that. Well, not entirely alone. Our Saint Brenard, Bruce would be there to keep me company. Jamie works as in real estate, and is usually alone, unless showing a house to potential buyers. She didn’t mind; however, she liked the freedom.
As expected, the moment I got home he came rushing to the door to greet me. I rubbed behind his ears, and he panted in pleasure. “I missed you too buddy!” I told him as I walked into the kitchen to refill his food bowl which was completely empty. I had sworn I had filled it just a few hours ago. Weird. I thought to myself. I wasn’t going to dwell on it too much however, it was my day to relax after all, and that was exactly what I planned to do.
I remember booting up my pc and opening up Steam to search for a game to play. Then, I blacked out again. The next thing I remembered was standing in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. There was something off about my appearance and it didn’t take me long to realize what it was; I was covered in blood. It wasn’t my own blood I soon realized, and I had no open wounds anywhere on my body. I did a thorough search to make sure of it. I began to panic as I thought back to the box cutter incident and thought of what could’ve happened if I would’ve come to just a couple seconds later. Whose blood was this?! I thought to myself, not knowing if I truly wanted to know the answer. I ran down the stairs to find the front door open, and Bruce nowhere to be found. Oh no… Please tell me I didn’t hurt him, I thought. I couldn’t handle the pain it would’ve caused me if I had done something to that poor innocent creature.
I looked all around the house. Once I knew he wasn’t there, I went back upstairs to change my clothes and search for him outside, knowing that walking around in a bloody white shirt would draw attention to myself. I looked like freaking Billy Loomis for God’s sake. I changed, cleaned up and walked outside the house. I walked up and down the block for what felt like hours when my phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Is this James Donsley?” A voice I didn’t recognize asked on the other line.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“This is Detective Monroe with the homicide unit of the LAPD.” He replied and my blood ran cold. Oh no. What had she done… I thought. “I’m sorry sir, but your wife was attacked at a house she was cleaning up… She was dead when we got here. I can’t say anything more, but I would like you to come down to the station please.”
“Yes… Of course, officer. I’ll be there right away.” I said, tears forming in my eyes. I knew it was her… But how could I tell the police that? They’d never believe me. They’d think I’m crazy, just like Thompson does. I got to this station and was greeted by a clean shaved man in a white shirt and tie. He had a badge on his belt, and I assumed it had to be the man I spoke with.
“You must be James.” He spoke. I nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
“What… What happened?” I asked nearly breaking down into tears once more.
“For me to tell you anything further, you’re going to need to follow me.” He said in a sympathetic tone. I agreed, and he led me into an interview room where we both took seats opposite each other. “The neighbors of the house she was selling called when they heard a woman screaming. When we arrived, she was lying on the floor covered in blood. She had been stabbed 47 times, and there was no sign of anyone around.” I began to cry once more. I couldn’t contain my emotions. “We looked around and the only evidence we found was a note. It read, ‘Kelly was here :)’, now, Mr. Donsley, I’m going to have to ask you a few questions. Starting with if you know anyone named Kelly?” He asked.
I shook my head, “No officer,” I sniffled, “Maybe it was one of her friends I didn’t know about?” I lied. Guilt was waying on me, and I wanted to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t go to jail… It wasn’t ME who did it. It was Kelly, and she wasn’t afraid to make sure everyone knew it. He continued the interview, asking me questions ranging from “Where was I during the time?” to “Do I know anyone that would want to hurt her?” I told him I was at home, and that she didn’t have any enemies, “everyone who knew her, loved her,” were my exact words. And they were true… For the most part. I mean, every person she knew did love her… but I guess Kelly didn’t.
The interrogation finally ended, and he told me he’d be in touch. I cried the entire way home. When I got home, however, a little bit of happiness washed over me. Bruce was back! Sitting in the doorway! I got out of the car, and he ran over to me like always. As he got closer however, I noticed something hanging out of his mouth… It was a note, splattered in red with what was presumably blood. “Give it here, boy,” I said, and he kindly obliged. I grab the piece of paper and unfolded it. What I read chilled me to the bone. It read:
“She was a fun beginning, but next time I think we should try something a little less traditional than a knife. A chainsaw maybe? Idk. I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I’ll see you soon. Love, Kelly.”
I read it over and over again, and I’m terrified. I’m not sure what scares me more… The fact that the cops are going to figure it out…. Or the fact that she’s going to kill again…..