Macy

The heart-shaped locket shattered against the concrete below. As it burst open, each half scraped over the acidic gravel in opposite directions. The ground was now toxic from nearly one week’s worth of Sour Rain and chasing them quickly was the only way to ensure they didn’t melt. My gloves sizzled as I clutched each one in a different hand. Two halves, two photos. Hers face up and mine face down. Even through the gooey thermal smog, the sun’s warm reflection twinkled across her kind, calm eyes. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tilted my face to the sky. Exhaling, I promised with a whisper.

“He’ll pay.”

Macy’s picture showed her exactly as I remembered. Her curly blonde hair framed an effortless smile that would’ve taken anyone else a lifetime to master. Her blue eyes made the searing air feel cool against my skin. In a time of great war, she was peace. And now she was gone.

Before The Last War, we were best friends. During The Last War, we stayed best friends. But she disappeared before The Last War could end, and her memory was now an open wound, refusing to heal and oozing with unfinished business.

As I walked toward his office, dodging the bubbling puddles on the street, and avoiding eye contact with the soldiers lining the sidewalk, I noticed a wilted Serpent Poppy struggling to breathe through the cracks. Those were Macy’s favorite. She always used to say that flowers bring color to a dark world. Her heart would’ve broken when the lanky soldier crushed it with his boot as I skirted past.

Entering the building’s main corridor, the stench of dry rot and alkaline mold made me dizzy. His suite was at the end of the hall, across from CRC – the Cerebral Reassignment Clinic. The nameplate on the frosted glass – Dr. John Bernstein, Cerebellipsychic Therapist – hung by a single screw, and swayed back and forth as I opened the door.

Dr. Bernstein was an unassuming man. To look at him, one would think of a slobbish tech company middle manager, or a father with the worst dad jokes. Not a calculating murderer. And that façade cost Macy her life.

Her body hasn’t been found. By me, that is. The Neo Force refuses to investigate missing persons with the war going on. They say the manpower is better spent on enforcing The Greater Good than spelunking around the Chem Slums looking for runaways. So, I’ve been searching on my own. I was Macy’s only friend, and this goateed bastard took her away with all but permission from The Divine Republic.

“Hello, Matt,” he called. “It’s good to see you again. How are you doing? You’re right on time.”

How am I doing? Arrogant prick. Murderer.

“Right this way…”

I’d walked to Dr. Bernstein’s therapy chamber more times than I could remember. Macy had too. We used to talk about our sessions, and what a loathsome, government-assigned buffoon Dr. Bernstein was. As I sat on the couch, the cushion’s familiar indent seemed to conform to my body. This office had become a second home. It’s always those closest to you, I suppose.

As he sat back in his chair, I began to panic. Could I really do this? Could I confront him about my best friend’s disappearance? Could I make him pay? Before I could decide, he spoke.

“It’s been almost three months since we’ve heard from Macy,” he said with palpable arrogance. “It seems our sessions have helped subdue your alternate personality quite successfully.”

His words interrupted my concentration like TV static and I sat, silently.

“When we’re able to suppress an alternate personality consistently, and for a significant period of time, we can begin the process of eliminating it from our perceived reality. You’ve made great progress.”

“Her,” I snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“Not it. Her. My best friend. Macy.”

He didn’t even flinch, wearing his remorselessness like a tailored suit.

“Matt, we’ve talked about this. The more effectively you can dissociate from this…character…as an actual, living human being, the more potent our sessions will become. The Divine Republic has decreed that all mentally ill citizens must undergo mandatory psychotherapy to adhere to the tenets of The Greater Good. That’s why I’m here. To help.”

I was sweating. Visibly, from my brow. And my labored breathing echoed across the office. My palms were so soaked that the gun almost slipped from my hand when I reached in my back pocket to grab it.

“Matt!” Dr. Bernstein shrieked. “What the hell are you doing…?”

His piercing smirk was replaced with quivering lips while his eyes welled up with what I hoped were stinging, burning tears.

“You killed her,” I hissed. “You killed my best friend. She was all I had. And you took her away. You tortured her. Ignored her. Starved her. Poisoned her with pills. You killed her…”

Dr. Bernstein drew in a deep breath, the kind you take right before you scream.

“Security!”

The shot was louder than I expected. It hurt my ears. Blood splashed across Dr. Bernstein’s face, the bullet mangling his lips and shattering his teeth. Suddenly his office smelled like a bonfire, the smoke from the barrel reminding me of the time Macy and I spent camping in the Charred Forest. He wasn’t quite dead, though. His body twitched and convulsed as he fought the gravity tugging him to the floor. After a few seconds, his prone carcass stretched out across the hideous carpet, his cavernous wound glowing in the fluorescent light. A final breath gurgled from his throat, spilling even more blood on his cheap shirt.

I pulled the locket from my coat, and Macy’s calm, peaceful expression greeted me. I turned her to face Dr. Bernstein.

“He won’t hurt us anymore,” she said.