Composing myself, I ring the doorbell. I haven't seen Fred in five years, not since I went off to college. I wonder how he's been.

"Come on in" I hear a shout, "the doors unlocked! You came just in time-I just finished putting the food out."

I open the door, glad to see he's as friendly as ever. I open the door, and see a man on the couch, watching tv. I look at him, and he points down the hall.

Fred comes down "Oh, sorry that's my roommate. He doesn't really talk much."

We head into the kitchen, and there's a bowl of fettucini alfredo on the table.

"Only two plates" I ask, confused "John isn't coming? Five years ago you guys were inseparable."

He smiles, but it seems a bit forced "Five years ago all three of us were inseparable. Now it takes you 10 minutes of walking up and down the porch before you even ring the doorbell. Things change."

I sit down as Fred pours me a glass of water. "What happened? Is he alright?

Fred's smile is completely gone as he sits across from me. "After high school, things were tough for the two of us. We met each other through you, and had never really hung out by ourselves. It felt empty when it was just the two of us. About a month after you left, I bought some drugs for us, I can't remember what, but they made the emptiness go away. Within a couple weeks, every time we hung out we were on something. By the end of my first semester at college, I don't think I'd been sober for three weeks."

He paused, shaking his head, while I tried to absorb this. My best friends, the two nicest people I knew, became drug addicts. And it was my fault. I waited, and eventually he continued.

"Obviously, we both flunked out by the end of that year. I started stealing for a living, while he sold his car and started living on the streets. Oh yeah, when he failed out of college his dad kicked him out of the house. He would disappear for months at a time, only to be found later in a drunken stupor."

"I think it was him disappearing that scared me straight. His dad would call me, worried, and I couldn't do that to my mom. I weaned myself off the drugs, got an actual job, and rented an apartment. I figured, if I had to pay for my own place, I couldn't afford to waste money on drugs anymore."

I didn't know what to say. My mind raced for an appropriate response, but as I opened my mouth no sound came out. He didn't even seem to notice. Tears were building up in his eyes, and he was looking right past me.

"The next time he was found, I picked him up. I wanted to keep an eye on him, and told him he could live with me as long as he came clean. He agreed, and for some stupid reason, I believed him. Two days later I got off work early and found him in my room, shooting up heroine with a random girl in my room. She couldn't have been more than fifteen. I yelled at the both of them to get out and haven't seen him since."

"W-wow," I responded "I'm sorry. I had no idea. If I had, I would never have left. Have you heard anything about him?" That last part scared me. It's been four years since that incident, who knows what might have happened in the past four years.

Fred stared at me for what must have been years, then looked down towards his pasta. "Yeah. When I heard you were coming back, I called his dad. He answered; apparently he finally managed to clean up his act. Anyway, he went to go pick you up at the train station. He tripped and fell onto the tracks, seconds before your train arrived."