The Painting by Ryan Casey Page B

here.”
    Reginald’s eyes were closed but he could see his body shaking. Fuck . What did he do? What could he do?
    “Five.” The guard smashed the gun into the side of Reginald’s head. Reginald cried out as blood trickled to the ground upon impact.
    “Four. Three. You’re gonna let this happen? You’re gonna let him die here?”
    Donny took a step from behind the tree.
    “Two.”
    Him or both of them.
    Sara. The novel.
    He needed to get back.
    “One.”
    He turned away from Reginald and ran further into the darkness as quickly as he could. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
    When he heard the bang echoing through the trees and the muffled voice of the guard, he knew it was done.

    He wasn’t sure where he was running to but he just kept on going.
    The sound of the gunshot echoed in his mind. Reginald’s shaking body, frozen to the ground, eyes tightly shut with the inevitability of it all.
    His body shook with adrenaline. He should have saved him. He should have gone back and he should have helped him, after all the help he had given him.
    But what good would that have been? Either Reginald died or they both died. It wasn’t an easy decision to make but it was one he had to. One of them or both of them .
    He panted as he sprinted through the darkness of the forest, the trees closing in on him. Branches scratched at his cheeks like witches’ fingers, desperate to keep him trapped in this world. He looked down at the map, squinting to try and determine his path, but he knew he’d been running for too long to make any comprehensible sense of it. He was on his own, and he’d have to just hope he stumbled upon one of the landmarks.
    Hope .
    He hadn’t heard the guard for quite some time. After the shot, he was running too quickly to make sense of anything. The guard muttered things, shouted out to him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. None of it mattered. He was done with this world.
    After what felt like an eternity sprinting through the forest and stumbling over loose logs, he came to a halt, resting his hands against his knees and leaning forward. He stared up and looked around. He could only make out the trees surrounding him, and they all looked the same. A slight breeze brushed against the leaves, the branches dancing and teasing his eyes. He was lost. He was lost, and he had no idea how to get out.
    He fell to the floor and backed up against a tree, the soft ground underneath him seeping through his trousers. The sun attempted to peer through the thick carpet of leaves above, but it was losing the battle. He pulled the map to his face, Reginald’s red pen twisting upwards and to the left to form a path. The landmarks. A giraffe-shaped tree, an old barn, and Vittoria House. If he found the giraffe-shaped tree—if he could just find any of the landmarks—he could focus on getting back. He could find his way from there.
    He dropped the map to his side and let out a sigh. If he’d just listened to his family and gotten himself a proper job, none of this would have happened. He’d be at home right now, or maybe at work, sat in an office sipping watered-down coffee and over-cold water. Why couldn’t he just be normal?
    But he knew the answer. He couldn’t be normal because that’s not the life he wanted. He wanted adventure—he wanted discovery. He just wanted to prove to everyone who had spent years doubting his ambitions that he really could do it.
    If he got back, he’d have that chance, finally.
    He opened his eyes and took a deep breath in. He wasn’t sure what made it stand out initially, but there was a light peeking through the trees a few hundred yards up ahead, as if there was a passageway for the sun to work its way in. He looked down at the map, squinted for some sign, and saw it in the upper left corner: the picture of the sun, little squiggly arrows symbolising the light. This was it. He was back on the path.
    He pulled himself up from the mushy ground and jogged over to the light,