The Break: Broken

This was the night Diane had been dreading…

One moment, she was standing in line at the Black Onyx arguing with her date, and in the next moment Bruce was there beating the shit out of him. Diane really didn’t care about Drew, he was an arrogant putz who deserved a good beating, but to see Bruce show up out of nowhere and guarantee Drew a lengthy hospital stay was beyond the pale.

It had been three weeks since she dumped him, or them, and she knew that it wouldn’t be long until his secret was uncovered. Not even Bruce had realized that she knew his secret. As she stood outside Max’s Bar, though, there was no doubt that the secret was over tonight.

When Bruce fled the Black Onyx, police sirens just coming into earshot, she looked down on Drew’s limp form and then at all of the faces gathering around her. “Oh my God, are you ok?!” “Who was that guy?” Looks of concern filled her vision, yet all she could think of was Bruce. Why did her heart have a spot in it for him? He certainly wasn’t a model love interest, the bruises that were now just beginning to fade could attest to that. But she found herself feeling sorry for him… for them.

So, as the crowd started focusing more on the bloodied Drew, Diane took the chance to slip through the crowd, escaping just as the police pulled up. She skittered to the alley that she saw Bruce head down and peered around the corner. There he was, walking stiffly and trying to look as though he was just an innocent strolling down an alley. She, too, began to walk down the alley, her clothes beginning to stick to her body as the rain penetrated to her skin. Thankfully, the noise of the rain drowned out the sound of her heels, but she still stepped gingerly to be safe.

As she watched from a distance, Diane saw Bruce’s head drop suddenly and his body crumple to the ground. In an instant, he came to and started talking to somebody. She couldn’t make out the words, but the immediate change in his demeanor meant that it was Jessica, Nash’s crush. She watched as he became frantic after being “helped” up by Jessica. He glanced her way, but the expression on his face let her know that she hadn’t been seen. Then he ran…

By the time she reached the The Golden Panda on Harrison, the commotion inside was already underway. Diane had no idea what Nash was seeing, but as she approached the windows of the establishment to take a peek, a large crash made her flinch in fear. In the center of the dining room she saw him, his breathing heavy and labored. She could also see the manager with the phone to his ear, no doubt another call to the police department.

Nash suddenly let out a scream so shrill and pained that Diane covered her ears. She watched as he darted towards the kitchen and the back door. She darted down the walkway between The Golden Panda and the apartment building next door. Her need to follow him was a confused mess of fascination, fear, and pity. Watching Bruce change was like watching an edge-of-your-seat thriller in the movie theater.

The rain continued to fall in buckets, and when she caught up to him again, he was once again on the ground. This time, though, Diane watched him turn and pick up a large piece of a broken beer bottle. With his back to her, she crept in closer than she should have. What is he doing?

Suddenly, Bruce turned and looked directly at her, his eyes wild. She stood rigid as a board, her fear now dominant in her mind. He rose slowly and said to her, “Who are you? Why is this so important to you?” The slightly British accent let her know that it was Fisher, which meant that, in seeing her, he was seeing the Highwayman. Diane had spoken personally to Fisher a few times, and he was the kindest of them. His journey fascinated her, but she had never been personally involved with any of them.

“I don’t know why!” Fisher yelled at her. Then, “Who are you?”

A moment later he held the piece of broken glass before him, as though it was a shield. The pressure of his grip on the glass caused it to break, a profuse issuing of blood from the center of palm blooming into existence. Yet another scream poured out of Bruce’s mouth, and he pretended to pull out a gun, point it at her, and firing it. “The one who is many?! Now you’re the one who is DEAD!”

He bent down and picked up the glass and something else that he had seen. Slowly, he made his way down the alley, muttering something about Maximillian. He was going to Max’s Bar, his usual hideout.

Diane remained motionless until Bruce was out of sight, then she made her way Max’s Bar, too. By the time she arrived, she could already hear a commotion going on inside.

“Calm yourself, boy!” she heard Max yell. She saw him standing behind the bar, brandishing a pistol, staring wide-eyed at the sight before him.

Bruce was engaged in a fight… with himself. In the cacophony, it was impossible to see him switch from one personality to another, but it was clear that he was beating the hell out of himself. Bruce’s arms were bloodied, his nose was bleeding and broken, and he was simultaneously throwing punches and ducking punches. Max, all 160 pounds of southern Neoconfederate, began to inch closer to the one-person melee, raising the barrel of the gun towards Bruce.

Diane broke in that moment, for she couldn’t bare to see Bruce hurt. And the next moments were a blur in her mind.

She rushed through the door of the bar, breaking a heel in the process. But she paid no attention to it as she started screaming Bruce’s name over and over. As her voice made it through his own noise, he stopped fighting himself and looked Diane in the eye. The blood streamed down his face in crimson rivulets, and his eyes looked like a deer in the headlights. The next moment, his expression became menacing and hateful. His mouth twisted with his now unleashed rage.

“You’re supposed to be DEAD!” came the British accent.

Without turning to look, he reached his right hand behind him and grabbed the barrel of the pistol Max held in his hands. Bruce’s fluidity in taking the pistol and aiming it at Diane showed how masterful his experience with firearms had become.

She didn’t even feel the bullet enter her brain, but her world suddenly became cloudy and far away. The image of Bruce fell away as she crashed to the floor. She didn’t see the fight resume, she didn’t see Bruce simulate breaking somebody’s neck, she didn’t see him aim the gun randomly and fire two shots. All she saw was the world fading, her breath coming in fits and starts. Then there was Bruce, tears mixing with the blood streaming down his face. She saw that he was calling to her, but she couldn’t hear it. As the world faded to black, she said, “Bruce…”

Don and Kim sat on the couch, silently watching the news on the television. “Bruce Sibil has been convicted of second degree murder and sentenced to 55 years at the state penitentiary, without the possibility of parole. He will serve his time in maximum security but will be isolated until his Dissociative Identity Disorder is brought under control. At this time, we have not been able to reach any of his family for comment…”