Dead Give Away (short story)

3 | Perspective

The truth is right before his eyes, hanging on the bedroom wall in the shape of a painting.

He drifts forward. The warm green, mild yellow, and crisp white strokes take on a new meaning. They form an abstract view of a crystalline waterfall spattering over damp rocks.

His eyes struggle to make sense of the blobs of paint up close. He backs up, but his calves hit the edge of the bed, and he gives in to gravity and sinks down into the matress.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"From afar...yes. Where did you get it?"

"I painted it."

"You did? Kayla, that's wonderful." Dylan admires the gentle strokes in a different light. "When did you start to paint? Why didn't you show me?

Kayla's eyes gaze at him, glazed with sadness. "I've been painting since forever. You just don't notice.

The catch in her voice twists Dylan's heart. "Look, honey, I'm just this close to taking over the business. I'm not as smart or talented as—as my brother was, but I'm working just as hard. I'll convince dad. I'll convince you."

He grasps Kayla's hands. "When that happens, we'll take a vacation. What do you usually like to paint?"

She sniffs, yet smiles through the tears. "Sunsets, the sky, waterfalls. Nature I guess."

"Listen. I've recently collaborated with this guy who owns an art mall. You buy out the store, and then we'll go to a country with beautiful scenery. You paint, and I watch. Sound good?"

"I'd love that."

Could it be...Kayla is at the place she wants to be most? The painting? No, the place in the painting.

Dylan gathers a breath.

He has to try.

He pulls out his phone and taps on Google Maps. This city, and the smaller towns cresting the border are built on flat land. He looks at the painting again. It's a big waterfall. The mountainous areas are approximately two hours away.

And there is one waterfall.

Dylan pockets his phone and stands. What if Kayla is lost?

"...took a phone, and a map in case her battery runs out."

Gory scenarios play out on a roll as he fills a bag with essentials.

"Food. Enough to last her a few days."

He scours the cabinets in the kitchen and grabs anything that looks edible, like it'd keep fresh for a few days.

"...and the most important thing, the first-aid kit. She remembers to look through the list and make sure everything she needs is there. There's a possibility Leo could be seriously injured."

A first-aid kit.

Lord, it would break his heart if Kayla was hurt. Because of him. His negligence.

"And...?"

"And what?"

"A weapon of course. Imagine she stumbles across a tribe. How would she defend herself?"

Will hesitates. "Well, it's the modern day. You wouldn't find a genuine tribe anywhere near civilization."

"Hey, now. Are you doubting my skill?"

"I'm just saying a weapon isn't necessary in this scenario."

Dylan opens the small, hidden compartment tucked away in his office wall. He clicks open the scuffed black case inside, and stares at the glossy gun.

It is handmade, customized. Handed down to him by his father.

"Now Dylan, a gun can kill, but it's not evil. Not nearly. That's determined by the person who holds it."

Besides the case lay a sheath.

"A gun is better by miles, but anything unexpected happens, you need something else to fall on."

Those times, during hours of training at the gym, through blood, sweat, and tears, Dylan felt loved. His father cared. This very dagger caused many casualties, a couple scenes that hurt his pride, but it also saved his life.

That time he'd taken a detour coming home, stumbled across a throng of thugs, and did what he'd learned to do. Put his dagger to use. As the victim screamed and writhed on the dirt street, he'd ran home and cried into his father's arms.

He'd killed a man.

Back then, he didn't understand the proud glint in his father's eyes as he assured he'd take care of everything, don't worry.

Dylan slides into the seat, taps the location into his GPS, and starts the engine. He glances at his watch. 12:46 am. Two hours ahead of him and a slim chance of finding Kayla.

"Why are you doing this on your own? Aren't you tired?"

"I am, Kay. I really am. But no one else can do it for me. It's my problem, it's my responsibility to find the solution."

Dylan blinks, his short breath is noisy in the silent car. He flicks on the radio.

"...recent investments made with several outstanding businesses and corporations, Dylan Atwood is truly taking Atwood Security to the next level, a true role model for uprising young business owners. Let's wind back to a previous interview to hear what our man has to say about his success."

  Dylan is taken aback to hear his own voice over the soundsystem. "It's been a wild journey. I've dedicated a lot of hours and...and work to this company. I know this sacrifice is the only way to—to surpass the limits, break the boundaries. My fi— girlfriend, Kayla, has been my biggest fan, support, during this time in our life." His voice softens, a smile evident. "I'm so grateful to have her with me. To have...that she believes in me. I won't let her down. I want her to know, the world to know, I won't let Atwood Security down."

The broadcaster's voice fades.

Dylan grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles white.

"What do I believe, Kay?" He breathes. "Where the hell are you?"