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The Truth, But Also A Lie

By Kyla S.

By Kyla SylversPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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I woke up and I started running.

As I ran, I felt my feet sink deeper into the moving ground beneath me. This wasn’t concrete and I was sure of it. But I couldn’t look down.

I ran and ran and ran.

As I ran, it felt like I was moving closer and closer to the Sun.

Before I knew it, the Sun began piercing my face. I struggled to continuously move toward it as it began to take hold of my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I had to stop and take a breath, but my mind didn’t want to. Why didn’t I want to stop?

I kept running for a little while.

After about two minutes, I finally looked down at my feet and noticed where I was… sand. In a desert. Why was I in a desert?

I panicked -- looking around for an answer. Some answer. Any answer. I yelled, but no one could hear me. I yelled again, loudly. But still, no one could hear me. I yelled again, even louder. But this time my yell turned into a croak and before I knew it... I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in my own fear -- afraid of something I didn’t understand.

Then I woke up.

I stared at the book. The little black book you gave me right before…

It had all of your notes in it. It had what you wanted to do with your belongings…with your money. Why would you make that decision?

But, before I could process what it said all over again, I was interrupted by a knock on my hotel door. It surprised me a little at first. I looked at the door for a few seconds, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer for some reason. I was staying in L.A. for the weekend near Manhattan Beach. I was there to tell your parents what happened to you -- well to us -- and how you just vanished without a trace. But as I looked out through my hotel room window at the water, avoiding the knock at my door that seemed to be getting louder and louder, I realized that I couldn’t tell them what happened to you. Because then I would have to explain the decision you made about your money. And I, quite frankly, didn’t understand your decision.

So, I just stared out the window. But the banging just increased.

“OPEN THE DOOR I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” A loud, unrecognizable voice jolted me out of my trance. I had been sure it was the chauffeur your family had sent to pick me up. But now I knew that it wasn’t. Who was this loud force at the door? Did they know you? Did they know me? Me now or the old me? No, that wasn’t possible for them to know the old me. That wasn’t possible… I covered my tracks.

This time he tried to take the knob off the hinges as the banging increased…

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!!!! I KNOW HE GAVE YOU THE MONEY, BUT IT’S NOT YOURS, IT’S MINE! YOU OWE ME!”

Owe him?

“THIS ISN’T OVER!”

The banging stopped.

Who did I owe? What was going on??

Startled, I was now frozen in bed. Unable to move.

Unable to do much else, I stared at your book again and there were the words.

“I leave the $20,000 that I have in the large black duffle bag to you, Kayla Johnson.”

Me? You were leaving $20,000 to me? This whole time I thought you were some down on his luck musician struggling to make ends meet and it turns out that you had $20,000 just lying around. And from the looks of where your family lived, you probably had more.

I looked at the book and read the rest of what you said, “everything I told you was the truth, but also a lie. I’m sorry about that. Forgive me. Here’s my parent’s home number, find them and tell them what you know. The truth. But, also a lie. 323-455-6789.”

If only you’d known that I told you the same. Maybe you wouldn’t have left the money to me.

I sat the book down. Then I did the thing I hadn’t brought myself to do since I arrived at the hotel room.

I looked at the black bag. It was sitting on a chair next to the nightstand in my hotel room. It was only about 6 feet away, but it felt so far at the same time. I remember its weight from carrying it all of those miles. It was so heavy. So many bills. I started to reach for it… trying to touch it again. But, suddenly my heart started racing. I was being pulled back in...

To the sand.

This time I struggled to walk as the sun blinded me. My shirt was ripped. My pants had holes in them. But, I spotted people! I spotted a town. And, a car? An American car? Was it black? No, maybe silver. I needed to stop and catch my breath, but I didn’t stop.

Why wouldn't I stop?

I saw someone get into the car. A… man.. Did I know him?.. I couldn’t tell.

“STOP!” I yell. “STOP!” That time it’s more of a squeal. I was trying to move faster towards the car to tell them to stop. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why wouldn’t I stop? I needed to stop. I needed to stop walking. I couldn’t breathe.

Then, the town started to disappear. Suddenly, I couldn’t see. Where did everyone go? Why couldn’t I see?

It’s pitch black.

Nothing.

Darkness.

Then, I’m jolted awake.

And, I’m still in my hotel room. But I look out the window and it’s nighttime. Just like that.

Another knock at the door.

This one is softer. Calmer. Friendlier. I can tell.

“Kayla?” A soft voice calls out to me. “Kayla, it’s me. Michelle. Brandon’s mom.”

I smile. I know that name. I check the book. Albert and Michelle McIntosh. Those are your parent’s names.

I started to get up to answer the door. I put one foot on the floor, but that did not go well. Everything was hazy. Blurry. The room was spinning. I put down another foot. That made it worse. I grab onto the nightstand then…

Another knock.

“Kayla. It’s me Michelle. Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Her voice seems to fill with worry.

“Yes. I’m alright.” Words I barely manage to gather together. “Coming.”

“Oh alright.” She calmly responds.

I gathered myself and managed to stand without falling. I started to walk towards the door as my vision began to clear. As I neared the door, I stopped and gathered myself. I stood up straight. I only knew you a month, but they are your parents after all. I’m meeting my boyfriend’s parents. My missing… or dead boyfriend’s parents. I looked through the peephole just to be safe. I see another face. I get worried.

“Who’s with you?”

“Oh. It’s just my husband, Albert. Brandon’s father. He doesn’t say much.”

A tall stern man stared at the door and it was almost like he was looking at me directly through the peephole. Next to him was a tiny woman with a long straight weave in her hair. They both looked rich. I unlocked the door and let them in.

They shuffled in quickly.

“We’ll be fast,” your mom says.

“Okay.”

I grabbed your bag.

“Here’s the --”

“Oh, no. Keep it. He left it for you.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told us,” she said matter of factly.

“You talked to him? When?” My body temperature changed, but I couldn’t tell if I was frustrated, sad, or relieved. But your dad sighs, loudly, clearly irritated.

“We do not wish to have the bag. We know who you are. And, we want you to have it.” -- your mom calmly elaborated as she placed a hand on your father’s shoulder.

My body temperature rose immediately.

How the hell do they know who I am? I started panicking. Sweating, but trying to keep my cool.

“Huh.. you know what? What about me?”

“It doesn’t matter. We just know and we know that you need the money more than we do. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with us.”

My hands shook. I was hot and cold at once. What -- How-- How did they know who I am? Did you know? If so, how?

I quickly tried to get on with it. I rushed to grab your black book.

“At least take this… it explains some things--,” I say as I shakily hand them the book.

“For you. It explains things for you. We already know who our son was and what he was doing with his life. And, we are proud of him. Wherever he may be.”

I lose my words. Who were you exactly?

“Well, we just came here to say that. We’ll go now. We’ll have you on the first flight to Guatemala in the A.M.”

“Guatemala?”

“Yes. Guatemala. Then Brazil. Then your final destination. Which, you’ll know when you arrive.”

Your father hands me passports and says nothing.

“Your new name.”

I whispered to her… “But, I already had a new identity made when I initially left the country.”

“We know, but this is your new one. You’ll get a final one when you arrive. You must go now.”

I pause. Unsure of what to do. Your father’s face showed clear frustration with me. So, I quickly grabbed the book, the bag full of $20,000, and walked towards your parents who were still standing near the door… clearly with a few more things to say. Your mother calmly grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes.

“Did someone arrive here before we did?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Wait here an hour then. We’ll take care of it.

Also…. Whatever you do… try not to draw any more attention to yourself. No more whistleblowing, no more meeting seemingly starving musicians with double lives as vigilantes-for-hire in bars. Just live a simple life. Attract a simple man and do a simple thing. Also, Brandon wanted you to know that this money was given to him as a pre-payment to capture you at the bar that night you two met. He was supposed to deliver you back to the company you betrayed. But, he liked you. The problem is, the guy who paid him expected you and when he never got you, he went after both you and Brandon. So, Brandon separated from you to save you. But obviously, that wasn’t enough. Don’t worry, though. We’ll handle him and your former company.”

-

Sometime later. I was on the floor.

My mind had drifted back to the sand. I could see clearly now. You were leaving me. You got into a car and left me in a small town in the desert. You didn’t even say goodbye. I barely opened my eyes before I saw you leave.

I woke up again. Your parents were gone. I was curled into a ball on the floor. A bag was on top of me. I opened it. Wigs. I went into the bathroom, opened my passport, and picked the wig color that matched the picture. I proceeded to change myself into Whitney Taylor, my new name. And, I looked at my phone. Sixty-five minutes had passed. I picked up the bag off the floor and your little black book and I left that hotel room and never looked back.

I’m writing this to you from my final destination. I thank you for saving my life. For saving me. I don’t know when or if you’ll ever resurface, but I’m going to find a way to get this book to a place I think you’ll find it. I’ll find a way to thank you for the $20,000 boost one day.

Sincerely,

The whistleblower you met in the bar and whose life you re-invigorated.

fiction
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