My name is Oswald and I have been a PI ever since I can remember. I never ask questions and always solve my cases quickly and efficiently. I never had any problems until I found a message on my phone from a mysterious and cliche sounding man, seriously the guy sounded like he was trying his hardest to do a Joker impression.
“I’ve heard you always solve your cases but I got a good one for you,” said the mysterious caller. “There has been a murder tonight at the docks. You’d better hurry or you won’t be able to to get there before the police.”
I drove down to the docks to investigate in my old blue 1980 Chevy Camaro. Taking extra precaution with this case I wore a Kevlar vest and was carrying my .38 Colt. There was something up with that guy on the phone and maybe he was the murderer trying to have some fun. But I mean, what do I know about people?
Walking up and down passed the boats is usually a thrilling experience. I wish everyone appreciated the docks as much as I do, but there was a rotten smell coming from one of the boats that was totally ruining the experience for me. I walked up to the boat where the smell was coming from and was only slightly surprised to find a dead body.  There was also the noise of flies swarming the body.
Hearing sirens in the distance I started to panic. I didn’t really get along well with the cops and I really didn’t want to try to explain why I was with the dead body. I fled to a nearby building that felt safe. The building felt familiar to me but I don’t ever remember being here.
“What a nice surprise seeing you here again,” said a voice like the one from the message.
I turned around to see a man wearing a white mask with only one cutout for the left eye.
“Who are you and how do you know me?” I asked.
“I’m Patches and I’ve known you for a very long time,” he said. “Follow me I have something to show you.”
I reluctantly followed him with my guard raised. He led me into a floor with a bunch of offices and showed me one with a plaque on the door that read Patches.
I walked into the office to find it was very much like my own only more messy. I turned around to ask Patches what was going on but he disappeared like a ghost. I found his phone and it had a message on it. Against my better manners, I played it.
“Oswald, if you are hearing this that means I failed and my other personality Patches has taken more control. He is obsessed with murder and is particularly fond of Batman comics. He is the worst part of you, try to maintain your control,” said the message.
It was with this message that I was able to understand why I woke up many mornings with no recollection of the night before and I couldn’t handle the guilt I got from it. “Oh God, it was my doing, all the murders and horrible things. How could I have done such a thing? Why can’t I remember anything!?”
With this whole thing over with and a guilty conscience, I headed to the bar and got as drunk as a guy who just found out his house was going to be demolished to make way for a freeway. After many hard drinks, I went home and promptly passed out.
I woke up with my wrist and ankles tied up with ropes. As I follow the ropes with my eyes, I see they are all attached to cars. Then a man appeared from the shadows and it was like I was looking into a mirror. “Hello there, my old pal,” said Patches. “I’ve had a lot of fun with the murdering and tricking you but it’s time this has come to an end.”
He raised his sawed-off double barrel shotgun from his side and shot it into me, shredding my guts while simultaneously signaling to the drivers to go. They drove off to the cardinal directions and tore me to pieces. people from miles away could hear the sound of my limbs popping out of place and flesh tearing from my body.
I woke drenched in cold sweat, realizing it had only been a nightmare. I finally knew what I had to do to put an end to the madness. I went to the roof of my apartment. There was a beautiful view of the skyline contrasting against the scarlet sunrise. Then and there I finally reached the place where I could be free of the madness and I became like a splatter of paint on the canvas that was the concrete in front of my apartments.