Dead Give Away (short story)

1 | Missing

The tinkle of keys echoes through the silent, empty house. The second Dylan Atwood steps past the threshold of his front door, the entire floor illuminates up in a plethora of golden and florescent lights.

He hangs up his heavy coat and leans against the wall in the foyer, massaging his temples to will the approaching ache away. He'd take another aspirin if he hadn't sworn to Kayla to reduce his daily consumption. Which had increased these past few days.

Kayla.

He exhales. During the drive home, he attempted to form some sort of apology for having stayed at his office overnight—again. Yet fatigue and stress clouded his brain. He'd come close to swerving off the road twice. Twice.

Dylan trudges up the winding staircase and ghosts into the darkness of their bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, and, like many times before, begins to apologize.

"I'm back." Dylan hears the sheepishness in his voice and cringes. He props his elbows on his thighs and weaves his fingers together. "I know you might be mad at me, but hear me out. The CEO of that company I've been meaning to contact came to my office yesterday. In person. They want to cooperate." He pauses. "Kay?"

On a usual occasion, this news would cheer her up. She'll forget about leaving him and start asking questions.

Tonight he deserves the silent treatment, he supposes.

"Saturday comes around, we'll go somewhere. Up to you to decide. Happy?"

The chugging alarm clock fills the silence.

"Kay?"

He reaches out to her, but his hand swoops through thin air. He pats the mattress, the multitude of pillows.

"Kay...you aren't pulling another one on me, are you?" His senses piques, reflexes wake.

The first and last time she tried something like this, he'd almost shattered her nose. Thank God his reflexes are as sharp as the are and he'd frozen at the sight of her, or else a trip to the hospital might have been necessary.

As he moves towards the lightswitch, he remembers. Kayla isn't here. He sifts through the mirage of voices in his head, most of them of his secretary, manager, and assistant.

  A sour memory of two days ago arises. He'd come home to find her sitting as still as stone in the couch, staring ahead of her. They had argued. About what, he couldn't remember. It was pointless anyway.

Dylan pulls out his phone and finds Kayla's number. She often forgot her phone at home, lying in an unconventional place. After a few tries, he pockets his phone. He flicks on the lamp and stares at his hands without seeing them.

An image of Kayla's puffy eyes and tearstained face flashes in his mind. That argument. He hadn't meant to make her cry. Seeing her like that gave his heart a sharp twist that left him breathless. Had he apologized?

When she came home today, he'd give her a proper apology. One that involved some sweet-talking and a promise of a date. Some relaxing days off, a vacation to wherever, just the two of them.

He slumps unto the bed and stares at the set of frames on the wall, hidden in a slant of shadow. The one year of their life together, mapped out on that wall.

Eventually his consciousness surrenders, and his eyes drift close. Pieces of their conversation ghost into his mind in his slumber.

"...to my mom's house...trees and birds, you know?...breathe...the waterfall...recollect...take a break..."

Dylan jolts up straight, and blood rushes to his head, streaks through his veins. Take a break from what? He closes his eyes and scrambles through his memories.