I have a guys’ night with my two best friends, Paul and Serge, that’s been running since we were in our 20s.

Over the years, we’ve traded the PBR for nice wine and the cheap cigarettes for cigars, but the idea is basically the same: we get drunk and talk shit until we get tired and then put on a movie or play video games. Then Paul and I go back to our families, and Serge goes back to his single life.

We’d been drinking for maybe an hour when I started to feel funny. Not drunk, but actually kind of hyper, like I had a million thoughts racing through my head that I needed to tell someone.

“It’s hitting you,” said Paul.

“I must be losing my tolerance,” I said. I barely drank these days. Too busy with two kids at home and my wife finishing nursing school.

Paul smirked a little. “Not the alcohol,” he said. “The other thing. The thing I added to the decanter. In vino, veritas!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Serge asked, starting to look edgy.

Paul held up a small vial. “Well, I can’t pronounce the actual name of the thing, but it’s basically truth serum. Got it from one of the lab techs in my office. Crazy stuff. It actually works. Also kind of makes you feel like you’re on speed, which is kind of a bonus.”

“This is bullshit,” I said, getting up from the couch. “I’m out of here.”

Serge watched Paul with angry eyes, trying not to say anything. In all our years of friendship, we’d only had a handful of deeper talks.

“Come on,” said Paul, blocking the door. “What’s the problem with a little truth if you’ve got nothing to hide?”

“You want the truth, dude?” I asked. “How about I’m pretty fucking upset that someone I consider to be a friend decided to drug me against my will. Now get out of the way. I’m gonna go sleep this thing off.”

“Not until you tell me if you’re sleeping with Jess,” he said, suddenly much more serious.

I rolled my eyes. I realized it was taking all my willpower not to launch into a long tirade. I was holding in my words like they were piss after a long car ride. They needed to come out.

“Just… just answer me man,” he said, and I could tell he was close to either throwing a punch or breaking down in tears. I’d seen him do both plenty of times over the years. “I just want to know if it’s true. I remember you telling me all the time how hot she was back when we first started dating.”

I tried to bite my tongue. I tasted blood, but it did no good. I had to answer him, regardless of the consequences.

“Jess is a train wreck,” I told him. “She totally ignores your kids, and she treats you like an ATM. I guarantee you she’s cheating with someone, but it’s definitely not me.”

For a second, everyone was quiet. Then Paul came in for an awkward hug.

“I’m sorry,” said Paul after a few seconds. “I should have known you would never. I mean–shit. I’m sorry. You guys want to dust off the Genesis, maybe go a little retro? I… I’m really sorry. I”

He started reaching in the cabinet under the TV to look for some of the older consoles.

“I’m a serial killer,” said Serge, all of a sudden. “It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud. I guess I’m not exactly sure what I am. I don’t have any kind of particular method. I’ve been doing it since I was in high school. I just look for opportunities. Like my first guy I did: he was just standing on a vista, looking out over the mountains. And I just pushed him off. And I felt like kind of calm release in me for a few minutes after I did it, a kind of peace I’d never felt before.”

Paul and I stared at him, trying to register if what he was saying was real.

“You’re joking,” I said. “Tell us you’re joking.”

“When I joined the army, I thought maybe I could kind of channel it, you know? Kill a few bad guys and feel good about myself. And what happened? Two years of sweating my ass off in the desert. Not in Iraq. Not in Afghanistan. In fucking New Mexico. Not a single whiff of combat. I killed a hitchhiker and two cadets over the course of my time there.”

As he spoke, he pulled out a hunting knife. I remembered mocking him when he bought it, calling him a mall ninja. Now, I wondered how many people he’d killed with it. My heart was thudding in my ears. I looked around the room for any kind of weapon, but all I saw were XBox controllers and wine glasses.

“Now it’s starting to get worse,” he said, his eyes cold, the knife shaking in his hands. “It’s like I can’t be alone with anyone without thinking about how easy it would be to choke the life out of them. I leave these bars with women, and I wonder if anyone would be able to remember my face if the cops came around asking questions.”

“I’m scared,” said Paul. “I’m really, really fucking scared right now.”

“You should be,” said Serge, trying not to meet his eyes. “I wish you hadn’t given me that drug, Paul. I honestly don’t know what to do. I feel like my life is pretty much over now. I don’t like killing people I know. It’s the easiest way to get caught. And you guys are my best friends. The only people I care about in the whole world.”

“I’m terrible at keeping secrets,” said Paul, unable to contain himself. “I’ll call the police as soon as I leave this room. You know how I am.”

“I know,” said Serge.

And then, suddenly, Paul picked up his wineglass and tried to smash it against Serge’s head. He missed completely, tumbling over the couch. I almost wanted to laugh. But then I looked down and saw the knife sticking out the side of Paul’s head. Serge had stuck him right in the temple.

Serge removed the knife in one swift motion, even as Paul’s body continued to twitch involuntarily on the floor. Serge was crying now as he wiped the blood from the knife with his shirt.

“Look what you made me do,” he said, looking down at Paul. “Idiot. I should have known he’d try something like this.” Then, he looked over at me, tears streaking down his face. “Now what?” he asked.

“I can’t die,” I said. “Think of my girls.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. But I have to kill you. I have to.”

He took a step toward me, and as I did I looked down and saw this last little glimmer of life in Paul’s eyes. As Serge tried to step over him to get to me, Paul grabbed his foot, and Serge tripped.

Run, Paul mouthed.

And I did. As I tore out the front door and into the dark street, I heard Serge screaming behind me, “I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you!”

It’s been about a week since everything went down, and I just got back from Paul’s funeral. The whole time, I was looking over my shoulder, waiting for Serge to show up. Maybe he was there and I just didn’t see him.

At night, I check the locks a dozen times, and watch the feeds from my new security cameras on my phone. So far, so good.

Based on what Serge told us that night, he’s not prone to taking crazy risks. He called himself opportunistic. But maybe that’s what scares me the most. Because when he yelled out that he was going to kill me, he was still on the serum. He was telling the truth.

And I know someday, I’ll be standing on the curb, waiting for a bus or an Uber, and I’ll suddenly feel a pair of hands behind me, pushing me forward to my doom.

When I get these dark thoughts at night, I sit up in bed, sweating and holding my knees, and my wife tries to hold me and tell me it’ll be okay. She brushes her hands softly against my hair, and says, They’ll catch him, baby. You’re going to be here for a long, long time with me. We’ve got high school graduations to attend, and weddings to pay for, and grandchildren to meet. You’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to die.

And I know that she is lying.