Letters of the Loneliest

"This is what I want you to do," Lily's boss says, leaning across his desk. "Dig into these entries. I want to know everything about these people."

Lily nervously tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She jiggles her foot, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

She clears her throat before sitting up taller. "But I'm not a rep-"

"Your audition is at seven tonight."

Lily's heart jumps into her throat as her eyes bug. Her mouth flaps open and shut, unable to find the words. He had come through for her.

"Thank you, sir!" She launches to her feet, leaning across the desk to vigorously shake his hand. "Thank you so much!"

He waves her back down after a tight smile. "One condition, you have to finish this before I'll let you go."

"Yes, of course! Of course!"

"You're not guaranteed the spot. I only got you a second chance."

"That's perfect!" Lily can't hold back the huge grin. Her fingers tingle with excitement.

"Don't forget our deal," he reminds, a warning hiding beneath his words. "I expect you to use company time to research this now."

Absentmindedly, she nods her head. She'll agree to any conditions after this. Nothing can bring her down.

"Oh, Lily?" She stops, hand on the doorknob. She notes how vibrant a blue the sky appears. "Good luck. You're a beautiful dancer."

Heat consumes her cheeks, and she bites her lip. She's positive he throws the compliment out there to let her know he knows what she's been doing during work hours. However, she nods, grateful for it nonetheless. It's unheard of for him to praise anyone.

Back in her office, she's itching to practice her routine, but refrains. She'll have a couple hours after work to hit the studio.

Right now, she really needs to get started on the journal. So, she does. The next few hours are spent sifting through the internet, perusing anything that might pertain to what she's doing.

It's hard to focus as her eyes continuously dart to the clock, counting down the hours until showtime. She chastises herself, knowing if she gets the part, she'll only have two weeks to finish this before official practices start.

The first entry proves to be fairly easy. The author states her full name, giving Lily the only thing she really needs. An obituary pops up, momentarily catching her off guard. The month of death is stated as July. Poor woman must've died within days of her entry.

A shudder wracks her body, remembering the woman's words about the other side. They sounded so ominous now that her time really had come soon after.

She barely glances at the picture accompanying the tiny article, having a thing about not wanting to look at dead people. She doesn't even look at old pictures of her father. It gives her an eerie feeling.

By the time her work day ends, Lily is jittery and anxious. The fact that she's hardly made headway in her research no longer crosses her mind. Her only focus now is getting to the studio to practice and then the audition. The energy coursing through her threatens to consume her lithe frame.

Hours later, she's on cloud nine while riding the subway home. They had offered her the part, right there on the spot! She couldn't contain the smile as she texted everyone she knew to tell let them know.

A deep clearing of the throat causes her to jump. She whips around to come face to face with a man's crotch. Blushing, her eyes rapidly follow the man's torso until they end on an outrageously good looking face.

It's absurd how handsome he is, just like a model out of those high fashioned magazines. She gulps in the perfectly proportioned nose, flawless messy hair, and jawline so chiseled any sculpture would be jealous.

She's mortified when she realizes those ocean colored eyes are staring right back at her. He appears to be expecting something, and she puts two and two together to realize he's asked her something.

"I-I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" As if he couldn't already tell the effect he had on her, the stammering certainly gave it away.

"I was wondering if this seat is taken?"

"Huh?" She questions, momentarily distracted by the way his lips moved. "Oh, this one? Next to me?"

She mentally face palms at the idiotic question. Of course he had meant that one!

"No, no it's not." She's pretty proud of herself for not stumbling over her words that time, but is again embarrassed when she notices her pile of stuff resting in the seat. "Here, let me move that."

The mound thumps into the floor, and she forces a calm smile, despite feeling like an uncoordinated moron. She slides her bags closer, catching a whiff of her sweaty attire from earlier. Quickly, she shoves it on down, under the seat two spaces away. She prays he didn't smell it.

"Sorry about the smell. I mean stuff!" Oh, god. "I had a thing earlier and yea. That's why I'm lugging my house around."

"Not a problem," he answers, flashing his perfect chiclets again. He leans closer, breath tickling her ear. "You smell lovely, by the way."

A flush erupts up her chest, and she laughs nervously. They sit in silence for the next two stops, Lily fidgeting continuously. She crosses and uncrosses her legs half a dozen times, flattening her skirt after each movement.

"So, your thing?" Lily immediately turns at his voice, leaning back when she realizes how close they are. "Did it go well?"

"Yep." Her lips remain tight, unable to remember what she had had for lunch. Hopefully nothing with onions. "It was great."

He breaks the silence once again. "May I ask what it was?"

"An audition, for Broadway. I got the part."

"Congratulations!" A grin splits his face, conveying complete sincerity. "That's incredible! Why aren't you out celebrating?"

"Oh, my friends are busy tonight. My family lives out of town." She tries to appear nonchalant. "No big deal."

"No, no, no, that won't do." Even when he frowns, he still looks like an angel. "Let me buy you a drink."

Her heart skips a beat, unsure if she heard him correctly. He wants to take her out? He wants to take her out?! She has to be dreaming. The whole day has to be a dream. There's no way Lily ever gets this lucky, but then again, it's about time something good comes her way.

"Are you going to make me beg?"

She laughs a little too loudly. "Okay, why not. Let's go have a drink."

They both stand at the next stop, him offering to carry her bags. She politely declines, not wanting him to smell the laundry if he hadn't already.

A girl about Lily's age steps on as they're about to step off. She stops abruptly, staring at the pair in what looks to be complete horror. Her revealing clothes and caked on make up leaves little doubt on her profession, but Lily adverts her eyes. It isn't her place to judge. She chalks the strange look up to drugs.

"You can't go with him!" The shrill voice has Lily halting in her tracks. She turns back around to see the girl staring at her. "He's not a good man. He's- I know things."

Even more sure than ever of drug use, the words still have Lily eyeing the man with unease. What if she isn't crazy, or high on something?

Lily is about to express her regrets to him when she notices he's vanished. She leans, looking left and right down the terminal, but he's nowhere around. Her stomach churns.

Turning to thank the young woman, Lily freezes when she, too has disappeared. What the?

Lily pulls her bags tighter and scurries up the steps to the city above. There's no way she's going to spend another hour down there waiting for the next train.

Foregoing the wine and jumping straight into a change of clothes and then bed, she cracks the journal. She hopes a little light reading will help her unwind.

December 17 2014

Some would say I do the things I do, because of loneliness. Because of a traumatic childhood. Because of a mental illness. Although all three are extremely logical assumptions, none are correct.

You see, I do the things I do, because I enjoy them. I get a thrill that, as of today, has never been rivaled. The high is unmatched by nothing else.

What is it that provides so much pleasure, you ask? Why murder, of course.

Lily slams the book closed and tosses it to the end of the bed. She curls her knees, wrapping her arms around them in comfort. It provides no comfort. Her entire body shakes, a cold nestling into her bones.

This had to be a sick joke. The entire thing is just some twisted attempt at gaining attention. Whoever wrote the journal is an unstable person.

Chewing her lip, she flips through her options. She could hand over the journal to someone else at the office, and deal with the repercussions. She could rip the page out, making as if it was never there. Or she could just do her job. The entry has to be fake, after all.

Tentatively, she picks it back up. Apprehension spreads as she turns to the abandoned page.

I'm currently chuckling to myself, because I know the look on your face. You're horrified, possibly disbelieving. No, this isn't a game. I'm not that sick.

Even killers have limits.

I am currently the most sought after serial killer in the city. Look it up. You'll find I'm telling the truth. A murderer I am, but a liar I am not.

Funny how our moral compasses work.

Like the earlier assumptions you've made, I know you have made more. You think I'm some lonely, hideous loser hiding in the basement of his mom's house. That I have no money, no charm. That I cannot get women any other way.

Jumping to conclusions once again. All male murderers are not rapists. Not everyone gets a sexual thrill from killing.

Lily's stomach turns incessantly, threatening to out any contents left in it. Everything sounds so real.

I've been told that I am outrageously good looking, charming as they come, and I am filthy rich.

Stereotypes have no room in my world. Everyone is fair game, at any time.