ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴 𝔅𝔬𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 - ᴀ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀʏ ᴀᴘᴘʟʏ ꜰɪᴄ

𝟎𝟏. ꜱᴘᴏʀᴛꜱ ᴄᴀʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘʀᴀʏ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ

The crisp autumn wind tugged at Dallas' dark auburn hair, whipping the locks around her face as she sped down the highway. The sunroof of the nassau blue Corvette she drove was opened to allow the stars to gaze down on the car and the girl driving. Not her car, but she was only borrowing it. What Mr. Shumway didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Besides, the old man never actually drove the car. He just displayed it in his driveway as a show of wealth. More accurately, he hid it beneath a car cover instead of keeping it in the garage, so when people walked by, they'd notice the cover and wonder what vehicle warranted such treatment.

The road was empty, as most roads were at three in the morning, so she had all four lanes to herself. Dallas whooped aloud, even though her voice was drowned out by the roar of the wind and the speakers blasting AC/DC's Highway to Hell.

Anyone unfortunate enough to live in one of the many apartment complexes that lined the road would probably be tossing in their beds, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from and which of the many neighbors was responsible so they could complain to the landlord once dawn came.

Dallas signaled right and pulled off the nearest exit, grudgingly turning down the music as she entered the neighborhood containing her high school. The last thing she needed was to announce her arrival with AC/DC, even though the security guard could surely use some rock in their lives. Honestly, who couldn't use some rock in their life? Mr. Shumway sure could. That man needed to loosen up.

As the beige bricked building came into view, Dallas flicked off her headlights and put her foot on the brake pedal to quiet the purr of the vehicle. She parked about a block away, shouldered her backpack, and headed towards the school.

The spray paint cans in Dallas' bag jostled against one another, clinking obnoxiously as she walked, but it was worth it to Dallas. She could already imagine the possibilities, even better, Dallas pictured the looks on everyone's faces when they woke up to find the masterpiece she created.

The girl scrutinized the school's exterior in the stale glow of the streetlights, shaking up a can of white paint, and selected the east wall to be her canvas. Dallas guided the mist in a blob shaped path, leaving artful drip streaks here and there as she created a background.

Everything faded to the background as Dallas painted, each stroke piecing together the image trapped within the girl's head and bringing it to life. Her pent up anger melted into the cherry red paint- a testament of all the things society told her to be- and then she buried it beneath the black of her rebellion.

Dallas stepped back to admire her work. Over top the white background, a red monarch butterfly stretched out its wings, fighting to gain purchase against the stormy winds pulling it this way and that. Inside the desperate insect, Dallas had painted its twin, but in black. The second monarch dropped its beautiful wings, no longer caring to fight against the world. Instead, the butterfly wilted, crumbling to nothing more than black streaks of paint at the bottom.

To top it all off, she'd titled the masterpiece, in looping scrawl, "Drowning." That had become like her signature, titling each one of her artworks with a singular word starting with the first letter of her own name; D. It was a game by now, leaving hints as to who the vandalist was, but still staying perfectly anonymous.

Satisfied, Dallas capped her paint cans and started off towards the Corvette. The car chirped in response to pressing the unlock button on the key fob Dallas held. She'd taken the liberty of having her own set made after nicking Mr. Shumway's original keys at the beginning of sophomore year and had been taking the car out for a spin ever since.

Blindingly bright light burst into existence. Dallas stumbled backwards, squinting against the burning glare.

"Hey!" A voice shouted from the porch of the apartment Dallas had parked in front of. The man was nothing more than a dark silhouette burned into the searchlight. "What are you doing?"