3:17
*Kayla*
December 24, 2015
My phone alarm goes off, pumping out the lyrics of “Radioactive,” by Imagine Dragons. I groan, rolling over to throw my hand onto my dresser, searching for my phone to answer whoever is calling. There’s only one person who would be calling me so late at night.
“What’s up, Anne?” I mumble into the phone, not caring that I most likely sound as if I am dying.
There is silence at the other end of the phone, apart from ragged breathing. I feel my brows dip as I begin to assume the worst. Is her mom in the hospital? Did Tyler break up with her? Is she dying?
“…Kayla…” I quickly sit up as my heart begins to pound at the shaky voice on the other side of the line.
“Dallas?” I whisper, looking over at my night stand to read my clock. 3:17 AM. “Are you all right?” I ask, already knowing that he isn’t. Why else would he be calling me at this hour? It surely isn’t to talk about this awful weather.
“No. I-I…I had this dream…c-can you—” I am already throwing the covers off of me and swinging my legs off the bed. I bolt toward my closet to grab a sweatshirt and sweatpants. I slip on a pair of Bearpaw boots, pressing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I do so.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I hang up and shove my phone into my sweatpants’ pocket. Without hesitation, I run out of my room and try to be as quiet as possible as I hurry down the stairs. Grabbing my coat, keys, and purse on my way out, I exit the house, shivering at the cold air.
Once I get into my car, I jam the key into the ignition and start the car. I don’t even bother to buckle in as I back out at an unsafe speed and throw my car into drive. I race to Dallas’s home as if I have a time limit. And if I don’t make it, I’ll never see him again.
What happened? What made Dallas so shaky? Why is he crying? My heart tightens. I don’t like it when he cries, because Dallas isn’t the crying type. So when he does, he becomes so vulnerable and insecure.
I pull into his driveway the same moment he runs out of the house. His head is bowed, jogging to the passenger side of the car. He slides in. “Drive,” he whispers. I quickly oblige, backing out and driving us somewhere private.
The park.
Once I park the car, I turn to Dallas to see him staring down at his clasped hands in his lap. I open my mouth to ask what is wrong but then snap it shut.
He’ll talk when he’s ready.
Instead I reach over and gently grab one of his hands. I rub my fingers over his knuckles, just like he’s done to me so many times. I hope I am bringing him comfort through this small action, the same comfort that he always brings me.
After a few minutes, Dallas lifts his head and looks over at me, his eyes watery. “I think Mikey killed Kyle.” My thumb ceases movement as I become stock still. My eyes widen as I suck in a breath, staring at Dallas with complete and utter confusion.
“W-what?” I stutter, my own fear of his accusation taking over. He thinks Mikey killed Kyle? But how? Mikey loved Kyle. He absolutely adored that kid.
Kyle would always tell me about how “awesome Dallas’s friends are” and how “Mikey is another big brother.”
“I saw two people sitting in the car at the cemetery. I didn’t exactly recognize them, since I was so blinded by rage and adrenaline. However, when I was dreaming, my subconscious recognized the person sitting in the passenger seat. The driver was completely blurred out. Kayla…Mikey shot me in the head…” Dallas’s voice catches at the end as a sob wracks through him. I reach over and sink my fingers into his short hair, bringing him close to hug him. Dallas wraps his arms around me, crying into my shoulder.
It is common that dreams shine a light on what we personally can’t perceive. It’s our brain remembering what was right in front of us, something we were just too naïve to register.
“But Dallas…” I cup his face between my hands and lift his head, looking into his beautiful, shimmery blue eyes. “Mikey doesn’t have a tattoo…” I whisper, trying to find a way to clear Mikey’s name. I don’t want Dallas to have to think that his best friend killed his brother. I don’t want that kind of pain for him. There has to be some other reason that Dallas dreamed Mikey was the murderer.
“I thought about that too…” Dallas wipes his tears away. “But remember what Kyle said. We do and we don’t know who the killer is. There were two people in that SUV, Kayla. We know Mikey. Perhaps we don’t know the other man.” Dallas’s logic leaves me silent.
I have nothing to say to deny him. His reasoning makes perfect sense. Everything that Kyle had told us makes absolute sense.
He’s here. Mikey was at Lake Michigan with us.
Yes and no. We know Mikey. We don’t know the second guy.
He’s dark skinned. Perhaps from being in the sun too much. From what I can tell, he’s stocky.
“What did the second male look like? What was his build?” I ask Dallas. He frowns, looking out the windshield as he tries to recollect the memory.
“Broad shouldered. Looked as if he was security for the President of the United States.”
Well, that’s a good way of saying he’s stocky…because Mikey definitely is not stocky.
So Kyle has been telling us about Mikey and this unknown killer the whole time. Does Kyle know who the second man is? Is there a reason why he would want Kyle dead? Is there a reason Mikey would want Kyle dead?
I just don’t get it…It doesn’t make any sense…
“What are you going to do?” I ask Dallas. He just shakes his head and leans it back against the headrest. His eyes droop closed, and I know he’s tired. Crying usually leaves one exhausted.
“He’s been my best friend since elementary school, Kayla. He practically watched Kyle grow up. Why would he kill him?” Dallas turns his head to meet my eyes. I sigh and shake my head. I honestly don’t have an answer for him. I desperately wish I did, though.
There is only one way to find out if Mikey really did kill Kyle. And that is to ask Kyle himself. However, we cannot summon Kyle whenever we want to speak to him. We must wait until he shows up. Who knows how long it will be until his next visit?
I reach over and grab Dallas’s hand again, bringing it up to kiss the inside of his palm. “We’ll figure this out. But we have to be certain before we accuse him. We have no evidence,” I say.
No matter how much I want justice for what had happened to Kyle, we have to be able to prove it was Mikey. We can’t very well say that the ghost of Kyle Perkins told us.
“I know. But I will find the evidence needed. I will make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.” My throat closes at Dallas’s words as tears well in my eyes. I can’t imagine the pain he must be feeling. Mikey was his friend. His brother. And now he’s nothing to him. Nothing but his brother’s murderer.
I dropped Dallas off at his house around five in the morning. We spoke for nearly two hours, trying to find solace in the new information.
How am I going to enjoy the holidays with this new revelation? All I can think about is Mikey and the gun he aimed at Kyle’s chest. How could he pull the trigger? Does he feel any remorse? How could he have continued to act like Dallas’s best friend, knowing he’s the one who brought on his grief?
I growl, gripping my fork tightly in my hand until I feel the metal slightly bend at my force. I am seething.
“Kayla!” I drop the fork and look up to see my mom standing in front of me, her eyebrows arched in concern. “What are you doing?” she asks. I return my attention to my half-eaten pancakes and bent fork.
“Sorry,” I mutter, flicking my eyes to the left to see Katie staring at me with a horrified expression. I bet I’m just a sight right now. I probably have bags under my eyes from the five hours of sleep I got. I haven’t even showered yet. I woke up to the smell of pancakes, and for a moment, everything else was forgotten.
“I was asking if you would mind taking Katie to see the Naper Lights next Thursday. I have to work, and it’s the last day they have them,” my mom says, sitting down at Kyle’s usual spot.
My eyes instantly zero in on the infinity sign carved into the table, and I feel a new set of tears rising. I nod my head to clear my thoughts. “Yeah, sure.” My voice is hoarse with emotion, and I quickly take a bite of my pancakes, desperately trying to get in check.
“Great. Well, it’s Christmas Eve. I invited the Perkins over for dinner again,” my mom says, and I jerk my head in her direction. Why am I just now being told about this?
“You did?” I mumble the same instant my phone buzzes. I look down to see a message from Dallas.
Seems like we’re having Christmas Eve dinner together. I’ll be by early to help set up. Thank you for last night. Love you. XX
A small smile tugs on my lips, and I let out a sigh, telling myself that it will be okay. We can forget about Mikey for the next two days. Christmas is about family, and Mrs. Perkins definitely needs us to be there for her.
“Well, we might as well start getting ready.” I rise to my feet and dump my food in the trash before I set the plate in the sink. I exit the kitchen and head upstairs to get ready for Christmas Eve dinner.
I have exhausted all my choices of clothing. Apparently, I only have three fancy outfits. The rest are casual or down right bum-worthy. I need to go shopping and restock my closet, especially if my mother is going to insist on having more “Perkins-Williams dinners.”
Running a hand through my damp hair, I sigh and exit my closet. I’ll have to raid Katie’s wardrobe. We’re practically the same size…
I find a black and white dress that is two sizes too big for Katie—the perfect size for me. That being my only option, I rip it off the hanger and sulk into my bedroom. This dress is just too fancy for me. I prefer the sweater dresses, not the silk strapless Homecoming-styled dress.
The dress is beautiful, I have to admit. Katie has marvelous taste. The top is two layered and black, the front layer forming a “V” while the back is risen so no cleavage is shown. The waist is narrowed with a sewn-in belt. The skirt is white with black crisscrosses, looking similar to a tic-tac-toe board.
Okay, I’m not doing the dress any justice by describing it. I’m not good with this sort of thing. Dresses typically all look the same to me.
I curl my hair, just as I had for Thanksgiving, and apply light makeup. I put on black flats before I head downstairs, seeing Dallas sitting on the bottom step. His head is placed in his hands, and I feel my heart drop to my stomach.
My sweet, troubled Dallas…
From behind, I can see his hair is perfectly gelled into his usual style, off to the side with a subtle wave. He’s wearing a maroon dress shirt that is tucked into black slacks, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He certainly prefers that style.
I sit next to Dallas on the step and wrap an arm around his waist. He leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder. He silently cries, for I feel him shake against me.
My broken Dallas…I place a kiss on the top of his head and then press my cheek into his slightly stiff hair. Dallas loops an arm around my waist and holds onto me.
This is not how Christmas Eve is supposed to go.
“It’s going to be all right,” I whisper softly into his ear. I try to comfort him. I don’t want my mom or Katie to see him like this. They’ll ask questions, and Dallas isn’t ready for that. How could he be? What would he even say? The truth would lay heavy on his tongue. He’ll want desperately to tell the truth, to throw Mikey into prison.
“I’m sorry that I’m such a mess. I’m ruining the holidays.” Dallas sits up straight and brushes his tears away, looking across the hallway into the living room.
“It’s all right, Dallas. Never apologize for crying.” I rub my hand up and down his back, trying to soothe his hiccupping sobs. No tears are being shed, but he keeps shaking and jerking as if to release another current.
“My mother deserves a carefree Christmas. I just had to cry it out. I’m good now. Everything will be perfect for her. Thank you for being my safe haven, Kayla.”
A sad smile forms on my lips as I lean over to kiss his cheek. “You’re welcome, Dallas.”
Mrs. Perkins got her perfect, carefree Christmas. By the time dinner came along, Dallas had cheered up a bit, and some of his normal self was shining through. Mr. Perkins was silent the whole time, as usual. Katie maintained a conversation with Dallas and me while the two mothers chatted.
It was just like Thanksgiving dinner.
Except Kyle didn’t show up this time.