Dead Before The Bet

I will never forget that high school reunion three years ago.

It was there that her exthe guy everyone called the Golden Boy back in the dayproposed a bet so twisted it felt like a fever dream. He wanted to test if our marriage was the real thing. He convinced her to fake her own death, cut off every cent of my inheritance, and seize our home.

If I remained unmarried after three years, we would "win."

She had laughed with a chilling confidence, telling him that my love for her was written in my marrow. She said I wouldnt just wait three years; Id wait thirty.

And then, she simply vanished.

The bank accounts were frozen. The locks on our house were changed. I was left on the street with nothing but our young son, Sammy, and the clothes on our backs.

Today, while I was scavenging through a dumpster behind a diner for scraps of food, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb.

She stepped out, looking as radiant and untouched as the day she left, looking down at me with a mixture of triumph and pity.

You didnt let me down, honey, she said, a smile playing on her lips. You passed the test.

She glanced back at the passenger seat where her "Golden Boy" sat, arching a manicured eyebrow in victory.

In my hand, the moldy crust of bread Id just found crumbled into dust. My heart didn't race; it went ice-cold.

She seemed to remember something then, a brief flicker of maternal instinct crossing her face. Wheres Sammy? Ive come to take you both home.

I looked up at her, my voice reaching a level of stillness that was terrifying even to me. Hes dead.

The world seemed to sharpen around us. Three years ago, when you cut off the insurance and the accounts, he needed surgery. We couldn't pay. Hes gone.

Lindsay froze.

She began to scan the desolate alleyway and the trash-strewn lot, as if expecting a six-year-old boy to jump out from behind a dumpster. All she found was the stench of rot and me, clutching my ruined scraps of bread.

I had loved that boy with every fiber of my being. We were a shadow and its light; I never went anywhere without him.

Stop it, Lindsay said, her voice trembling for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure. Im being serious. Im here to take you home.

Home?

I looked up, my eyes stinging with a heat that felt like acid. Three years ago, when you staged your death, the lawyers said you owed a mountain of debt. They took the house to settle the estate. Sammy and I have been breathing the exhaust of this city for three years. We don't have a home.

She hesitated, her mouth working as she searched for a script that hadn't been written yet.

That... that was part of the simulation. The house has always been in my name through a holding company. Its still there. Look, just tell Sammy to stop playing hide-and-seek. Tell him Mommy is sorry, okay?

Then go tell him yourself!

I reached into my tattered jacket and flung a piece of paper at her. It slapped against her expensive silk blouse before fluttering to the pavement.

Go down to the cemetery and apologize to him there!

Her hands shook as she picked up the death certificate.

Sammy...

She stared at the clinical words: Acute Cardiac Arrest. Her eyes welled up instantly. I was only gone for three years. How can he be gone? Youre lying to me, arent you?

She lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders. I know I messed up! Don't use a child to punish me. Call him out here, now!

I just stared at her. My lips curled into a silent, jagged smirk.

Her grip on me faltered. She began to sob, the realityor the fear of itfinally puncturing her bubble.

Lindsay, come on. You really cant see through this?

Dorian stepped out of the car, his movements fluid and arrogant. He snatched the death certificate from her hand.

Look at this, he said, pointing to the paper. Does this look familiar? Its almost an exact replica of the one I forged for you three years ago.

He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Honestly, its not even a good forgery. This seal here? Its all wrong. Were professionals at this, man. Youre trying to play the master at his own game?

Lindsay blinked, the tears drying as she listened to Dorians smooth, persuasive tone.

Look at the signature, Dorian continued, showing her the lines. Its stiff. The paper has been artificially aged. He probably knew you were coming back today and staged this whole 'homeless' act to guilt-trip you into a bigger settlement.

Youre a lying son of a bitch! I lunged for him, my vision blurring red.

Lindsays expression shifted. The grief was replaced by a cold, sharp disdain.

I almost fell for it, she whispered. She threw the death certificate back at me like it was trash. Dorian was right. Youre far more calculating than you look.

Lindsay!

Bring Sammy home by the end of the day, she snapped, turning her back on me. Hes six years old. He shouldn't be learning these sick games from a father like you.

I scrambled to my feet, desperate to stop her, but Dorian blocked my path.

Hey, man, he whispered, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I know the kid is dead.

I froze, the air leaving my lungs.

You want to know why Lindsay doesn't know? He smiled, a slow, predatory thing. Because I made sure every piece of mail, every hospital alert, and every bit of news about that boy never reached her. I scrubbed him from her world.

I clinched my fists so hard my knuckles popped.

Poor little Sammy, Dorian mused, admiring his own reflection in the car window. Born with a bum heart just as his mom 'died.' There was a donor match, wasn't there? But you... you were just a delivery guy working four jobs. You couldn't even afford the deposit to hold the organ. You let that heart slip through your fingers while you were out delivering cold pizza.

My vision went white.

But don't worry, Dorian chuckled. He didn't go to waste. His marrow, his kidneys, his corneas... I made sure the paperwork was signed while you were out on a shift. He was crying for his daddy, you know. Right until the end.

You monster!

I threw myself at him, my fingers locking around his throat. Give him back! Give me back my son!

Enough!

A sharp sting exploded across my face. Lindsay had slapped me with enough force to send me spiraling into the pile of trash.

She pulled Dorian into her arms, shielding him. He began to cough, his eyes watering as he put on a show of frailty.

I was just... I was just asking where Sammy was, Dorian choked out, his voice thick with fake tears. I told him the kid shouldn't be living in a dump... and he tried to kill me!

Youre lying! Lindsay, he just told me

Shut up! Lindsays voice was like a blade. If you have a single shred of decency left as a father, youll bring our son home. If you don't, Im filing for divorce and Ill make sure you never see the light of day again.

She helped Dorian into the car and slammed the door.

Divorce?

I started to laugh, a jagged, broken sound that echoed in the alley.

Fine. But before we get to that, I have one last thing to do.

The next morning, an anonymous whistleblower report landed on the desk of the CEO at Lindsays tech firm.

At the same time, a massive banner appeared across the street from the corporate entrance: [TECH STAR DIANA JONATHAN STAGED HER DEATH WHILE HER SON PERISHED]

I stood there, right in the middle of the morning rush, holding a framed photograph of Sammy.

I didn't say a word. I just knelt on the sidewalk.

I had printed hundreds of pamphlets detailing what Lindsay and Dorian had donethe bet, the frozen accounts, the medical neglect. People started to gather. I saw women reading the flyers, their eyes turning red.

Is this the boy? He was so small. How could she just leave them like that for a game?

It wasn't just a game, it was an execution. She cut off the money for his heart surgery?

The company needs to answer for this! Is this the kind of person they have in the C-suite?

Within the hour, the Head of Human Resources came down personally to escort me upstairs.

Lindsay was standing outside her office, her face unreadable, her eyes like flint.

Once the door was closed, the CEO poured me a cup of tea, his voice smooth and conciliatory. Mr. Miller, I think we can all agree that things have gotten a bit... out of hand. Lets find a way to move past this.

I stared at the tea, my hands shaking. Move past it? They killed my son.

Now, lets not use such heavy words. I know Lindsay was a bit extreme, and Dorian was... well, impulsive. But Lindsay is the backbone of this company. Our investors are here for her name.

I couldn't find my voice.

The CEO leaned in, smiling. Heres what Im prepared to do. Ill issue a formal reprimand to both of them. And for you... we can discuss a very generous 'hardship' settlement. As for the boy... its a tragedy, truly. But you and Lindsay are young. You can have more children. Youre a couple. You should be enjoying the life her success provides.

I let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Youll protect her because shes an asset. But why are you protecting Dorian?

The CEO paused. You don't know? Dorian was hired on her personal recommendation. Hes her protg.

My grip on the tea cup tightened until my knuckles turned white.

I had applied to this company three times over the last three years. Every time, my resume disappeared into a black hole. I had begged Lindsay once, before all this started, just for an interview. I didn't want a handout; I just wanted a chance.

She had told me no. She said it was "unprofessional." She said she had to "avoid the appearance of favoritism."

She had to avoid favoritism for her husband, but she could hand-walk her "Golden Boy" into a senior position.

What if I refuse your settlement? I asked, staring him down.

The CEOs smile didn't reach his eyes. I strongly suggest you don't try to fight the machine, Mr. Miller.

By the time I left the building, the narrative online had already shifted.

The bots were working overtime.

Mentally unstable husband uses sons death to blackmail tech executive.

The tragic downfall of Diana Jonathans marriage.

Did the husbands neglect cause the childs illness? Is he using the boy as a pawn?

The public, who had been sympathetic an hour ago, was now sharpened into a mob. The comments sections were filled with praise for Lindsays resilience and Dorians "professionalism."

I went back to the apartmentthe one wed finally been allowed back into, the one that felt like a tomb. I stroked the glass of Sammys urn.

Im sorry, Sammy. Daddy couldn't protect you.

I placed the divorce papers on the table. Before I could even pick up the urn to leave, the front door was kicked open.

Lindsay marched in, her face contorted with rage, holding Dorian, who had a fresh bandage wrapped around his head.

Where is he? she screamed. Where is Sammy?

I wiped a tear from my eye. What do you want?

What do I want? Lindsay spat. Dorian was attacked this afternoon. You told Sammy to do it, didn't you?

Lindsay, listen to yourself! I yelled. What are you talking about?

Dorian cowered behind her, playing the victim perfectly. Ewan, why lie? I saw him. The kid hit me with a tire iron in the parking lot. He said he was doing it for you. If Lindsay hadn't shown up when she did, he might have killed me!

I grit my teeth so hard I thought theyd shatter.

Lindsay looked at me with pure loathing. I knew it. Hes been with you so long hes learned how to be a liar and a thug. I should have taken him three years ago. Where is he? Im taking him. Dorian and I will raise him properly. We won't let you ruin his life.

Fine!

I pulled the urn out from behind the photo. My eyes were burning. Then go ahead. Take him. Teach him whatever the hell you want!

Lindsay stared at the urn, then at the photo of Sammy.

I was shaking. That urn contained everything I had left of him. It was the only home I could give him.

And a second later, she knocked it out of my hands.

Enough with the theatrics! she screamed as the ceramic shattered against the floor.

I let out a strangled cry and dropped to my knees, trying to gather the ashes.

How many times are you going to play this card? Lindsay grabbed me by the hair, forcing me to look at her.

She reached down and grabbed a handful of the grey dust. Its charcoal and bone-mold mix. You really think I don't know the tricks? Im a scientist, Ewan. I staged a death three years ago; I know what fake remains look like. Youre so desperate for attention youd hex your own son?

No... no...

She shoved a handful of the ash into my mouth. I gagged, retretching as the grit coated my throat.

Eat it! If its your little prop, why are you acting like its poison?

She held my mouth shut until my face turned purple, then threw me aside.

I collapsed on the floor, coughing violently, my tears mixing with the dust and blood in my mouth. I tried to scoop the remains back together with trembling hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Lindsay stood over me, disgusted. Think about Sammy. When he grows up and realizes his father used his 'death' and fake ashes to win an argument... hes going to hate you. Hell never forgive you.

I couldn't even speak.

She knelt down, her voice dropping to a chillingly calm tone. Tell me where he is. If you have any soul left, give him to me so I can undo the damage youve done.

I looked at her through blurred vision and forced a smile.

Fine, I whispered. Ill take you to him.

Dorian flickered with a moment of hesitation. Lindsay, however, looked relieved. She reached out and touched my hand. I knew youd come to your senses.

We drove to the cliffs overlooking the Pacific.

Lindsay saw a small figure standing near the edge, wearing Sammys favorite hooded jacket.

Sammy! she cried, jumping out of the car.

But as she ran forward, she heard Dorians panicked voice from behind her.

Lindsay... wait...

She turned around.

I had a hunting knife pressed against Dorians throat.

The police arrived within minutes, sirens wailing, lights flashing against the dark sea.

I held Dorian tight, my arm locked around his neck, standing inches from the drop. The figure in the hoodie stood silently beside me.

Lindsay was hyperventilating, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Ewan, put the knife down. I won't take him away. I won't fight you for custody. Just let Dorian go. You don't want Sammy to see his father become a murderer!

The news helicopters were hovering now, their spotlights pinning us to the cliffside. The negotiators were screaming through megaphones.

I felt Dorian shaking in my arms. He was whimpering, a pathetic sound.

I looked down at the "child" beside me. The figure looked up at me.

I smiled at Lindsay.

No, I said. Sammy is going to be my witness.

I tightened my grip on Dorian. Sammy! Help Daddy push this man over the edge!

EWAN, NO!

Sir, stop!

In the chaos, Lindsay did the unthinkable. She lunged forward and snatched a service weapon from an officers holster.

She pointed it straight at my chest.

Drop the knife, Ewan! I won't let you destroy him!

BANG.

The bullet bloomed like a red carnation on my shirt.

I stumbled back. I let go of Dorian.

As I fell toward the abyss, I looked at Lindsay one last time and smiled.

Then, I vanished into the dark.

Lindsay stood frozen, the smoking gun in her hand.

In front of the live cameras, the figure in the hoodie reached up and pulled back the hood.

It wasn't Sammy. It was a young girl.

Congratulations, the girl said, her voice trembling but clear. Now youve killed your husband, too.

The police swarmed Lindsay, disarming her. The lead detective looked at the girl, then at Lindsay. Kid... what the hell is going on here?