Dead Give Away (short story)

5 | Discovery

Dylan approaches the door. He quivers from the stinging cold and mounting anticipation. He turns the handle down, the two-note squeak more prominent and sharp. Aged.

The door swings open.

The scent of paint floods him. The golden hue of the lights sting his eyes. Scuffs and scratches mark the once glossy floorboards beneath his shoes.

He advances in a calculated gait
Behind him, the wind whistles against the cold walls and closed doors. A deep, desolate pain and sadness ooted in every inch of this house howls in the wind.

Dylan turns, drawn by the source of heat behind him. Large, orange flames dance in the fireplace, and cast long black shadows across the floor.

For a moment, Dylan wishes to stretch out his hands and receive the warmth. He'd done that before. But he remains where he stands.

Instead, he takes in the scarce furniture. The light grey sofa is the only one left of its five-piece family, abandoned in a shady corner. Countless frames crowd the walls and morph into one sea of colors.

A desperate scream slices through the night. 

"Leave me alone!"

His heart hammers against his ribs. One thought hums in his mind. Kayla.

He leaps into action, darts towards the voice.

"Don't touch me!"

Her broken screams pulls him like a magnet, down a spiral of cold concrete stairs. A chill penetrates the atmosphere. A pattern of circular lights on the wall repeat and flicker before his eyes.

There is another voice, deeper, yet fragile and laced with fear. "Rachel, what's wrong? Rachel!"

Dylan hardly registers the door, instead bursts through the rotten wood. The stench of chemicals and paint rattles his senses, almost sends him recoiling. He rips his gaze across through the moonlit darkness. His eyes land on her.

Kayla's trembling figure presses into a corner of the walls, arms wrapped around herself, eyes shimmering with fear.

"Dylan," she breathes, her eyes wide and frantic. "Help me, he's—he's trying to kill me."

He whips around and follows Kayla's haunted stare. The figure dressed in shadows stumbles back, eyes a startled white glow in the darkness.

Dylan's reflexes kick in. His mind blanks over. His emotions shrivell away.

He advances.

"Emotions are pointless at this time. Don't think, don't speak, don't listen. That's buying them time." He leans in over his desk, a glint in his eyes  "Go in for the kill.

"Dad." Dylan hesitates. "You really expect me to murder people?"

"I've told tou. There's a fine line between 'killing' and 'murdering'. What's the difference, son?"

Dylan pouts, looks down at his hands. "Murder someone, and it's on you. Kill someone, and it's on them. They probably tried to hurt you or your family or something."

Dad lets out a delighted laugh. "Not quite my exact words, but we're getting there. You just have to understand this one thing. If you take a person's life—" he curls his fingers into a fist "—to save yours or loved ones', it's not a crime. It's the feat of a true hero."

"Dad, as stupid as I am, I know killing people isn't hero-y."

"You're not stupid." Dad slams his hands on his desk, his eyes a fraction wider. "Do you understand that, Dylan Atwood? You're intelligent, capable, and ambitious."

Dylan mutters the words under his breath, mimicks the tone.

The memory of last week's meeting in the principal's office surfaces, the guilt still fresh.

"He's a rowdy, ruthless, and angry boy, Mr. Atwood. I don't know what you've been telling him. He has serious problems," his teacher, Mrs. Tiller, had said, a break in her voice.

  Dylan doesn't know why he is labeled "violent" and, amongst his peers, "a mean bully". Why he does things to hurt others without feeling bad about it is beyond him. He also doesn't know why the only teacher who cared about him never showed up after that meeting.

She probably didn't care.

No one but his dad does.

The man shrieks as the knife plunges into his torso. Dylan rams him against the wall, hand grips the man's throat.

Dylan thrusts the silver blade between the his ribs. The warm, slippery blood gushes over his arm. The man's screams fade into nothingness.

Dylan's senses dull. His mind numbs over.

Then, the faint whisper shatters the night.

"Dill."