Lacrymosa

The weather mirrored my mood perfectly, no longer the glaring sun and perfect blue skies of late, but an ominous grey. On days like this I found myself sitting at the window seat. An empty amber bottle lay on its side next to a steaming mug of coffee. My coffee didn't just start the day, it sanded down the sharp edges of pain.

Little taps on the window of my high rise apartment caught my attention. Rain fell from the sky like millions of silver tears, distorting the view of snaking traffic some 38 stories below. The water created webs as tears fell from both sides of the glass, my own as well as the sky's.

There is a certain unspoken poetry in sadness, but after four months alone and a blossoming acting career, what do you suppose I could be so damn depressed about? A lot of things, as it turns out. When one is perpetually by themselves, one has time to reflect on how much one misses their other half.

A knock at the door sounded, loud enough to echo. I held in a girlish yelp of surprise and stood, mentally promising anyone thoughtless enough to disturb me a fall down the stairs.

"Hold on a minute!"

I looked out the peephole, saw no one and hoped they had left. Three steps after turning, my ears tuned to a hissing. I swore then spun on my heel before wrenching open the door to my apartment. It probably looked quite comical. Imagine a girl with wildly mussed hair peering out in her grotty pink bathrobe and fuzzy blue slippers. I backed into my room again, when I heard a crinkling from under my right foot. Moving aside, I saw a thick envelope lying on the floor near the door frame.

It wasn't the appearance of the letter itself that surprised me, but the name written in nearly illegible archaic calligraphy on it. Last time I checked I didn't know anyone from eighteenth century England. It was addressed to:

Uh.. "I think the big squiggly is an 'e'..." I muttered. Thinking out loud makes me seem just like all the other crazies wandering the streets of New York. But hey. My apartment, therefore I can let the insanity flourish.

"Followed by- A 'v'? Ever? Evergreen? Eva..." It took quite a few minutes puzzling over this before the letters finally seemed to shift into something that made sense. It was akin to a brain teaser: Is it a duck or a bunny? As it turns out, the word was neither. It spelled my Christian name,

'Evangelina'

I'm an "angel," right? Ha.

No.

No one calls me Evangelina anymore. It just wasn't my name. My name is Evan, dammit. I shook my head and opened the envelope with my thumbnail while walking over to my window seat. I wrestled the paper out and held it up to the silver light from the window.

Four days ago, my great uncle, Ulysses Prescott, died of natural causes. He was a multimillionaire thanks to a hotel chain he started in the 1920's. Because I am the oldest and closest living relative, he wrote me into his will to have the first, largest, and grandest hotel. It's situated 28 miles outside of Aspen, Colorado and now it's all mine. But what does a New Yorker do with a closed resort three timezones away? Nothing.

Oh yay. Rotting real estate.

I reread the letter. Where was the fine print, the 'Just kidding, you idiot," all good offers have? Fate has a way of hating me... My parents and younger brother died (in a skiing accident) when I was thirteen. As the report went, there was a blizzard. Guess who got to ID the frozen remains? It was written in my father's will that custody of myself was to be given to my godparents. My high school years were fine and dandy except for the nightmares of my popsicle family.

I looked at the letter, running my fingers over the paper to feel the texture of it, putting it further to the light to study it. A silhouette of something small and dark flew past the edge of my vision accompanied by a whoosh of air. I jumped, my eyes fixed to where there had been.. A falling book? A ghost? More of my flourishing insanity? The nearly untouched cup of coffee on the seat called to me to drink it before it got too cold.

I drained the cup and went back to staring at the letter. Ah-HA! The fine print is on the back. I shook my head, for my vision had gone blurry for a second. The blurriness did not leave my sight so I compromised and brought the paper closer to my face.

'Enjoy yourself in hell.'

I snorted at the message, putting the paper down and rubbing my eyes.

The black flash caught my bleary eyes again.

"What the-?" I turned to watch it, wobbling a little in my seat. A small cat sat idly in the middle of my fake Persian rug, unnatural fuchsia eyes staring back at me. 'Is there such a thing as cat contacts?' I cooed, "Hey, kitty-kitty. How did you get in here?" The cat meowed forlornly at me while padding toward the hand I reached out. The letter was still clutched in it, wrinkling under my grasp. My vision blurred a little more and I almost fell off the window seat as I called the cat again, the knuckles of my other hand turning bone white against the fabric of the cushion.

"C'mere, kitty..." Little grey spots were spinning in my eyes, making it hard to see the kitten sitting only a few yards away. Only a few more seconds passed before my vision worsened to blacken at the edges and close off completely. I lost my seat and fell to the floor.

The last thing I heard before going dead to the world was the sad meowing of that lost little cat. Maybe it was the drugs or whatever setting in, but I swear on my life the meow began to sound more like a soft chuckle...