Dewy jerked awake like he had been shocked by a doorknob at 8am, on the nose. The warm, welcoming sunlight slowly swallowed Dewy’s thin body in delightful rays, like a fresh cup of coffee held in cold hands. A slow groan escaped his chapped lips. Gone were the visions, in its place the unfinished article. His vest was wrinkled, his tie was stained with his drool which he quickly wiped from the corners of his mouth, and his hair was anything but neat. 

“What I do for this job,” He sighed. Another clunk! as he stood up out of his chair and took position behind it, stretching his legs in front of him. It wasn’t really obvious why he chose to be such a life risking moron. He put his own life on the line for a single picture. That was his goal today. He straightened his vest out, put his hat on top of his head, and took a box off of his desk. Out of it, he produced a camera. It was a light blue, the numbers “18356” printed on the side.  It was made from scrap metal from the car shop his dad worked at. In fact, his dad was the person who gave it to him. Dewy had named it “Lady.” She was beautiful, Dewy had loved her for the longest time. Ever since laying eyes on her, he had always said that Lady would be the only girl for him. That she was made for him. Lady was his soulmate. He wrapped her vinyl strap around his neck then took his pocket knife from his desk before he left, shutting the office door silently. 

The rest of the building was completely silent. As he walked, his heels clicked against the cold, lonely linoleum. Lady bounced softly against his chest as he wandered out of the building and into the street. The silence turned to a roar as cars sped by, people yelled and talked on the sidewalk and Dewy was swept into the crowd down the sidewalk, into the tsunami of people. He knew where he needed to go. 

An old shoe factory that he visited for another story was being used as a distribution spot for the mafia and it was heard from the grapevine that they were selling illegal ammunition to the police force and hunting club. The bullets were designed to explode when leaving the barrel. But they had disguised themselves as a separate company so they wouldn’t catch the rap for what they had done. But Dewy was determined to expose them. All he needed was one picture and that's what Lady was for.

“You can do this,” Dewy sighed, taking in a deep breath. He wandered to the left of the building, trying to find an entrance that wouldn’t get him killed. Looking up, Dewy found a broken window at the top of the building, at the top of the fire escape. He grabbed onto the rusty metal above him, seeing that a lot of it had melted away in the fires. A grunt escaped his lips as he pulled himself up onto the grate, the metal creaked and groaned, adjusting to his weight. He started to climb up, his eyes on the window. He was able to see into the windows and saw large wooden boxes and barrels stacked on top of each other, blocking any other opening into the building. Dewy’s stomach turned as he got near the top. The wind whipped his hair slightly, his hate inching closer to falling. But when he reached the top, he held his hat down firmly against his head.

At the top, Dewy looked around. An open vent where an AC unit would be was in the middle, beckoning for Dewy to crawl in. So he did, dropping silently into the metal tube. He had no idea where he would end up at but he hoped it was a good vantage point, a great place to get the perfect picture. He held Lady in the crook of his arm, worrying more about her than himself. He was so worried about her that he didn’t spot the weak, dented spot of the ventilation system. As he crawled over it, it creaked and groaned before giving way. Dewy cursed as his legs swung, dragging him out of the vent. Out of what seemed to be divine intervention, Dewy’s ankle got caught in a rope that was tied to the ceiling by a rig, catching him before he hit the concrete floor. His hat fell off, settling on the concrete floor. 

“No!” 

Lady tumbled out of Dewy’s arms, a sharp gasp followed. Dewy grabbed her strap, she bounced as she stopped. Dewy let out his breath, realizing he was holding it. A soft hum resonated through the factory, along with hushed voices. He was adjacent to the room where it all happened. A door opened. The voices got louder. Dewy pulled Lady to his chest and tried to spin to find the source of the voices, using his arm to swing to face the opposite way. 

“Listen, we got a new “client.” I need’ja to show ‘em the goods.”

Dewy raised his brows, holding up Lady. Click! The flash lit up his small hiding spot. Kachunk! The rig started to fall as it came undone from its bolts, too old and too fragile to hold up Dewy. The photographer gasped as he suddenly fell, hitting the concrete shoulder first. 

“Hey! Who’s there?”

Dewy wrapped Lady around his neck, reaching into his pocket for the knife. He started to cut the rope, trying to free himself. As he was distracted by the rope around his ankle, he was oblivious to his surroundings. The person who came in first grabbed Lady, tugging on her strap and using his own knife to cut the strap, taking her from Dewy. 

“Look who it is. Dewy Decimal, ain’t it? I remember ya.”

Dewy whipped around, “W-wait, no, give her back!! I need-”
He stared down at the knife tip that was pushed against his chin, “One more word and yer camera gets it. We’ll meet at the bridge.” he hissed. Dewy gulped, watching the man walk away, Lady in his hands. He wasn’t worried about the picture, he needed Lady back. She was all he had. 

1:00pm. Dewy was slouched against the bridge post, hands in his pockets. It had begun to rain and the wind began to blow, dark clouds rolled overhead, lightning lighting them up like nightlights in a dark room. A dark car rolled up. The man stepped out, holding Lady up. 

“Let’s make a deal, eh? You get the camera, we get the picture, the article, and any other dirt you got on us. Then we’ll leave ya alone.”

Dewy looked up. Listening to the offer, he was... conflicted. He owed it to himself to publish this article. This would protect the public. His eyes floated over to Lady. She looked beautiful. She always did, to him. But he needed that picture. 

“No. You are doing something wrong, dangerous, and you could kill someone!”

“That’s the point, ya moron!” the man retorted. He leaned into Dewy’s face, pressing Dewy’s back against the bridge post, “I ain’t telling you again. We get the picture, the article, and the dirt, you get your camera and privacy.”

Dewy spat into the man’s face. He flinched, using his sleeve to wipe off the spit. Dewy’s eyes widened. What a mistake. Dewy cried out as he was shoved aside, watching the man hold Lady by her strap over the river. The rain began to beat down, thunder booming overhead, “One more chance.” 

Dewy looked up, rain splattering on his cheeks and face, droplets on his hair. He gulped, getting back onto his feet,“Don’t you dare,” he panted, “don’t drop her.”

Thunder clapped again. Shock took over as Lady dropped into the river. Dewy’s eyes widened as the world seemed to slow to the pace of cold molasses. The light that flashed from above seemed to caress her metal box frame. The numbers on the side lit up before disappearing, plunging into the white capped water below, “I told ya.” The man growled. Dewy spluttered, he couldn’t get any words out. All he could feel was a pit in his stomach that filled with rage, panic, even sadness. Tears pricked his eyes, burning them, but the rain hid that. Using the railing of the bridge, Dewy flung himself over the edge, following Lady feet first. The man got back into the car, the splash Dewy made as he collided with the ice cold waves was barely heard over the thunder. Dewy fell into the roaring river, underwater for a minute or so before he resurfaced with a gasp. He was being carried away, rocks ripping up his shirt and pants. He could see Lady in front of him, bobbing up and down before sinking permanently. He screamed, trying to find her among the rocks. His hands sunk into the water only to meet dirt that lodged itself under his fingernails. Dewy’s head was buzzing as the cold water soaked his shirt and vest, crawling up his chest to his neck. But his panic blocked out the frozen feeling that soaked him to the bone. His hand brushed over Lady, he could feel the strap and tried to hold on to it but to no avail. Instead, he collided with an edged rock, a soft red tint was quickly washed away by the water, he knew he had cut his arm open. As he was pulled into calmer waters and he crawled onto the bank, he sobbed. He let out an agonized wail, his chest hurt as it heaved, trying to catch his breath. He shivered violently, his lips blue and his fingertips white. The wind swept away his cries, letting him fall silently to his knees. Dewy swore he could feel his heart break, similar to the way it was shattered when he found out his father died. He pulled himself onto his feet, limping back into the city. 

“Mornin’ Dewy,” his boss mumbled as Dewy walked into the office. He had to have his arm stitched up and placed into a sling for a few weeks while it healed, not to mention being unable to walk for very long because of how he hurt his back. But what hurt the most was the fact that he wouldn’t have Lady anymore, and knowing that no camera could replace her. The only woman he loved.

“Mhm.” Dewy grunted, sitting down in his chair. He looked at his typewriter. Still unfinished. Still half done. Dewy used his free hand and pulled the sheet out of the typewriter. He tossed it away and threw his head down. Ding! The typewriter chimed as his forehead laid into the keys. He looked down as his boss walked up to his desk, setting something down. Upon looking up, Dewy saw a box. He used his other hand to pick it up and open it. A light blue camera with the numbers ‘18356’ written in marker on the side. 

“It ain’t yer wife, y’know, that stupid camera you had, but I can’t have ya mopin in the office, you’re one of the best photographers I got,” his boss explained before going back to his own office, the door closing silently. Dewy rolled the camera in his one hand and examined it. No, it wasn’t the same model. The buttons were in different places and there were a few new bells and whistles. But it was a camera. Dewy smiled softly, salty tears dared to run down his cheek but he wiped them away.  On the strap of the camera it had one word. ‘Missus.’. He nodded, “I’ll call you Missus.”