Another one. Another note sloppily scrawled on a scrap of paper and taped somewhere he knew I’d find it. His handwriting looked more and more similar to mine with every passing day. “Why did you do it?” This particular note, taped to the flask in my formal-jacket pocket, was the third I’d found this morning. Strange, I didn’t think I let the flask out of my sight lately. I brushed it off and downed what was left in the silver vial and filled it up again, this time with stale, white wine I discovered hidden in the back of my refrigerator. I was out of everything else, so this would have to do. I stumbled through my cluttered house and out the chipped, mahogany front door to head to the funeral.
    I hailed a dented, yellow cab and gave the driver the address to the parlor. I was so exhausted. I hadn’t slept in days; I’d been too busy wandering the maze of my mind, trying desperately to discover even the slightest clue as to what actually happened the night I lost my family. (I just… couldn’t remember.) The cracked, torn, and gray pleather seats of the back of the taxi looked inviting enough to doze off on. I didn’t seem like I slept for long, however because I found Ceil sitting next to me.
    “Hello, Jack. How ya holdin’ up, pal?” Ceil questioned, voice brimming with sarcasm.
    I sat up. I wasn’t shocked to see him. I was pretty used to him sneaking up on me at inconvenient times.
    “Two questions: what do you want and when did you get in the cab?” I asked.
    “One question: why did you do it?” The corners of Ceils smile curled and his ocean-blue eyes crinkled as I felt the blood drain from my face.
    I sat in silence. I started to remember a little…had it not been just been my husband, daughter, and I in the car that dreary night? Had Ceil been there with us?
    I gazed with hatred in to the man’s devilish eyes. I’ve known Ceil for about a year, but, come to think of it, I don’t remember ever actually meeting him.

   Ceil's pupils diataed.

   “Hey, buddy! Wake up, we’re here” the taxi driver’s raspy voice rang throughout the cab. Had I not already woken up? Confusion flooded my brain. I tried my best to smother my storm of emotions as I paid the man. Stepping out of the car, I took a swig from my flask and managed to climbed the steps to the door where two smiling, gray, old men in suits opened the gates of hell for me.
    I don’t remember much about the service, only that the coffins that lay on either side of that bastard priest who filled his audience with crap about his god’s love of life. I also recall receiving several dirty looks from my in-laws, my freinds, even my parents. I was so puzzled. Was this my fault?
    It was after everyone had left the parlor that I saw Ceil peeking through one of the windows. He motioned me outside. I unwillingly obliged, paying my last respects to the loves of my life. Once I had exited the building, I noticed Ceil was walking toward a wooded area nearby. Passing the calm shrubs and flowers lining the walls of the funeral home, I followed after him and entered the forest. I then lost sight of my rival, but for some reason I knew exactly where he was headed. I emerged into a grassy clearing.
    “This is the perfect place. Calm and peaceful. Jane and Andrew would have loved it here. This is the perfect place.” Ceil gazed straight into my eyes as he said the name of my partner and child, then continued looking around at the clearing with his crazed smile. I noticed he wore the exact same thing I wore. Really, the only major difference between our appearances was that his hair was more nicely groomed than mine.
    “I want some answers, Ceil, and I want them now,” The smile immediately left his pale face and stared at me piercingly.
    It unfortunately reappeared as he arrogantly said “Why, don’t you remember? I remember, Jack. I remember everything. So how can it be that you don’t remember?”
    I studied him. What could he mean by all that?
    “It doesn’t make a difference that you remember. We’re completely different-“
    “People? Jack, stop being so naïve. I’m not even a person. I don’t even exist,”
    He looked at me in silence, then vanished only to reappear next to me with his arm around my trembling shoulders. I looked straight ahead.
    “You see, Jack, you’re crazy,” Ceil shook his head. “Insane, delusional, loony, round-the-bend. Get the picture, numbskull?”
    I gasped. It all flooded back in a tsunami of torment; the notes- I wrote them (why did I do it?), my family- I killed them (why did I do it?), Ceil- I was him. Or rather, he was me (why did we do it?). I leaned against a tree stump.
    Ceil sighed. “Why’d you do it, Jack? You had a great thing going, there, your family, I mean. And you went and drove them into a tree. What a shame,”
    “You made me do it, you made me kill my family,” my voice cracked with the word ‘kill’.
    He nodded. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But consider this: I am a mere figment of your screwed up imagination. You cant blame murrder on an imaginary friend, even if I do drop a few suggestions here and there,” Ceil moved in front of me and placed his hand on my arm. He looked into my eyes and said “And here’s another one of my fun suggestions. We put a little something in our jacket pocket this morning didn’t we? Use it, pal. Do yourself and everyone else a favor.”
    I tried to say something but no words would come out. I was done fighting Ceil. His eyes never left my shaking hand as it slowly grasped what was in my pocket. I now cradeled a sleek, black pistol in the same hand that had once heald my husband's and supported my daughter's head. The gun had another one of Ceils, of my notes taped to it (why did I do it?). I could feel him smile toothily at me as I lifted it to my temple.

    His smirk remaining, Ceil cocked his head to the side. “Why did you do it?”
    BANG!