“Why did I let them talk me into this?”
She considers to herself, fixing her attention to the peeling label of the same beer she has been nursing for the better part of an hour, rubbing the bits of glue; she glances up periodically to try to catch a glimpse of one of her companions, who are amongst the swaying bodies packing the dance floor of the club she allowed them to take her.
“Paisley!” The sound of her friend’s voice jolting her out of her train of thought,
“Hey Tricia!” she yells back to be heard above the nonsensical noise surrounding them.
Tricia slides into the booth next to her. “Come dance with me.” She demands
Paisley sighs, “No I’m probably just going to head out”
“What why!”
The two girls stare at each other for a moment, before Tricia relents with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes, knowing it was a miracle getting the other to come out in the first place. She embraces Paisley and simply asks her to text when she got home safe. Paisley of course agrees to the request and heads for the door.
The moment she steps out the door she feels more at ease, stopping to take a few deep breaths of the perfect aroma of a world, washed cleaned by a driving rainstorm, the usual scent of exhaust fumes and trash, momentarily absent from the cool crisp night air. She spends longer than she probably should have to take in her surroundings.
The remains of what once must have been a bustling industrial neighborhood, but now the club being the only business and the only reason she finds herself on this abandoned stretch of waterfront.
The rest of the buildings boarded up and dilapidating into time, inhabited by squatters, in a slum that every politician swore to clean out, but in typical political practice, everyone ignored. If this questionable haven went away, the homeless would find somewhere else to go or spread unchecked. Here at least they were contained, their location is known, they could safely and quietly be forgotten by all.
She is about to hail a cab, to put an end to her elaborate overly exhausting evening when a flapping sound stops her cold in her tracks. Her vivid imagination has her ducking down to avoid an invisible bird or worse a bat. She eyes the empty sky above her head franticly searching.
The flapping begins again, telling her the source of the noise was actually real and near the street drain in front of her. Curiosity getting the best of her, she cautiously leans forward to see what it was.
“A book…? She laughs to herself as she picks up the still half-wet and worn object to examine it further.
“Hmm” Paisleythinks curiously to herself. Finally, when she is satisfied that the crazy noise was really just a little book, she can’t believe that it had scared her and to her horror caused her to gather the attention of the people still waiting in line behind the velvet rope for the club; at which point she was so ready to leave. If only her friend’s favorite pass-times were curling up on the couch binge-watching Netflix like her. Oh well, she will just have to try and convincingly force them to do what she wants next time, she shrugged to herself as she got into a taxi; pushing the small tattered book into her overloaded bag.
She muttered the directions home to the driver and before she knew it, she was dropping everything on the table by the front door, with a sigh, happy to be home; her own calming safe haven.
The next few days pass by uneventful as per usual for her solitary life. Sunday was spent at the laundry mat, Monday work then meeting the girls for dinner, Tuesday Paisley is rushing to meet her friend Zach for coffee before work, when she knocked her bag over, spilling it into the floor, seeing what she had almost forgotten she had found. As she scrambled to scoop everything back up, the cockled book grabbed her attention. She picks it up and carefully places the book on the counter next to her; wondering to herself why she even has it; when she hurries and finishes cleaning up the mess and heads out the door.
Throughout the day her mind keeps going back to the book. By the time she is heading back home, she had already decided what her plans for the evening would be, which would be centralized around investigating her random and curious find from the wake of a thunderstorm.
After dinner, she curls up on her sofa in her pajamas with a fresh glass of red wine and the book in hand. Fully prepared for it to be nothing more than her imagination of something great; thinking if it was she could just switch on Netflix and continue her Supergirl binge.
Investigating the cover she notices the initials D.J written on the inside cover, presumably in permanent marker since it was still readable. The bindings were stiff and the papers made crackling sounds as she flipped through them. Some pages so water damaged that whatever was on them was just a blur of smudged ink. She gets about a dozen pages in when she finally comes across something legible.
It was clear right away that the book was a journal and she considered not diving any deeper. Not wanting to invade someone’s privacy, even if she didn’t know them, but she quickly decided to push forward. Telling herself, maybe by reading it she could find who it belonged to and return it to them; but mostly because she can’t help but let her curiosity get the best of her.
“Jan 12th
What do I even write…
Jan 31st
I imagine if anyone were to read this. (As if someone would) They would think that I am troubled by the solidarity I have found my life in. However, to the contrary, I am quite adjusted and comfortable being alone.
Feb 2nd
My life has evolved into something that some may find to be unnerving or unbearable, with the world's devotion to social media and the incessant need to seek others' approval for each and every aspect of their lives. Ha! I do not, and I imagine most people would think I'm mad, for not only do I not participate in social media but when I say that though I am surrounded by people every day; I haven't had more than a two-word conversation with a single person in over a year. Well… I would say it to someone if anyone cared to ask.
Mar 7th I am beginning to consider myself a collector, but not in the usual sense I suppose. I am collecting things others cannot see or the more likely option, they don't want to see.
I find myself collecting the individual moments of peace, the moments that fall between the incessant clatter of the world beyond my door.
Mar 8th
Like this one: Just a moment when it's quiet enough to hear the drops of rain rapping on the pane of the window. If only time would slow and allow me even a second longer to bask in the simplicity of the calm amongst the storm that is life in the city.
Mar 20th
I’ve come to the conclusion, that if I were, to be honest, I've never really been enough for anyone here, not even myself.
Mar 20th
Not strong enough, not smart enough, and sadly not pretty enough for anyone to notice me.
Apr 3rd
Another quiet day in paradise, invisible to those around me.
Apr 28th
She is gone!
June 10th
The death of someone close to us has pervasive consequences in many areas of our lives. Grief creates a ripple effect, generating multiple losses, affecting our connections to the people around us and ourselves. There is not a single thing that isn't affected by the experience of death and you can't be prepared for the intense reaction that engulfs you when you have suffered a great personal loss. It changes your life forever, it will follow you always. Ideas that once trickled through your mind before are now evolved and form into a dark emotional torment and during this transition, you accept what happened was real and it cannot be forgotten.”
Paisley’s cheeks feel moist, she can’t help herself, the person that the journal belonged to was in so much pain with the loss of their loved one. She assumed that the person who had passed must have been their mother, sister, or someone of similar significance and importance.
“Poor D.J.,” she says to an empty room.
June 17th
I am officially and entirely alone.
June 30th
Alone
July 4th
No one sees, no one cares, you wouldn’t believe that when they breathe, I breathe the same air.
July 15th
My skin feels tight, another offering of my wicked flesh.
July 29th
You deserve this!!!!
Aug 4th
She’s really gone!!!
Aug 5th
It’s your fault!!!
Aug 13th
My life is what I’m fighting for and worse I’m fighting myself.
Sept 1st
The voices are keeping me awake at night. During the day I can stay busy, keep them at bay, but at night when the world is so still; they are the only sounds I hear anymore.
Sept 4th
Do it! End it! Waste of space!
Sept 10th I can't tune them out. I am at their mercy.
Sept 14th
I’m not sure if I can even lift myself up to take in my own reflection. My eyes seem to immediately fall to the scars making jagged lines, tracing every visible inch of my skin in angry engravings, the marking is a part of me now, a permanent feature literally carved into my skin, a radiant reminder to myself and all those who look upon me of my internal failures.
Paisley feels as if she is on the edge of her seat. She quickly turns to the next page to find it blank, she frantically flips through the book page by page trying to find any more entries, unable to settle the rising feeling of panic inside her chest.
It’s nearly the end of the thin book when she finally finds another date at the top of the page.
Sept 29th
My sin is my own, my own choice.
Oct. 1st
These battle scars will never fade, I’ve been at war with myself and I relent.
Oct 3rd
I’m tired, worn down all the way through what armor I had left. I have spent too long hoping wounds would heal, but they never will. I surrender, I’m done because I am human and I am afraid.
No one will notice, no one but her has.
Oct 19th
Nothing left but a final drop, a sacrifice for my soul, to take it all away.
Oct. 30th
For a long time, I ran away from the places that brought me both pain and solace. I couldn't face people, I can’t face myself anymore. The decision is made, no more masks to face the world, no more hiding or running.
Nov. 1st
Lord, please forgive me for I have sinned and I’m about to sin again. Oh Lord please grant me peace and allow me to come home.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my Soul to Keep; For I shall die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
Amen
Delilah Jones
Trembling, Paisley sits staring at the last entry. She flips through the remainder of the diary finding only blank pages, her heart starts in her chest, slowly increasing as she begins to tear through the book, cover to cover searching for anything she may have missed, anything that would say what she had read was not true or even some kind of sick joke. To no avail.
She thinks she can hear the throbbing of her heart in her ears stop cold when she reads the date over the last bit of script.
“The First” she breathed franticly attempting to pick up her phone to check the date, only to confirm what she already knew. The night that this journal found its way to her was November first.
The slight ache in her chest is more like a stabbing pain, with the force of a blunt blade into her heart. Paisley began to pant, feeling as though the air had been knocked right out of her.
She had no idea how much time had passed, as she sat there trying to catch her breath. Was this real, had she just read someone’s last prayer? Not someone…
“Delilah Jones…” she whispered in the empty room
Now that she knew her name, she felt compelled to use it. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t linger on the thought either. Coming back to herself a bit, she begins to dial 911 but stops finger hovering overcall. What would she even tell them?
“Please help, someone somewhere might be hurt.” She mocked
It sounded even more ridiculous saying it out loud. Paisley laid her phone down on the cushion beside her.
She realized that she had very little information to go on. For all, she knew there was a chance that the book was just some kind of sadistic joke or a script or something. She momentarily attempted to convince herself, but she quickly disregarded the notion.
Though the book had no address or form of identification other than a name.
Something inside her told her that it wasn’t a work of fiction, but even if what she had read was true how did such a clandestine book end up in the middle of the street?
Paisley sat quietly, weighing her options, she couldn’t contact the authorities, not really. Simply putting the book down and forgetting about it was not even on the table. She needed to do something, she needed to find Delilah, if simply to show her that she is not alone in the world. That someone sees her.
She decides that she would try and look her up on google. After about an hour of searching, she gave up, finding nothing useful.
She takes a long look at the book beside her. Attempting to think of another option, ultimately deciding there really was no other way, but to settle her own soul she would have to try and find this broken one and do whatever she could to help her.
Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she jumped up and slid on her shoes and jacket. With her purse in one hand and the book in the other she walked out her front door, down the four flights of stairs, and out onto the sidewalk. Paisley realized she had no idea where she was going.
Where does she even start… she stood in the cool night air, a breeze ruffling her mass of untamed hair.
After a long moment, Paisley realized at some point she had started to shiver, it wasn’t clear if it was due to the chill of the Autumn air or due to exasperation, for her only choice was to go back to where Delilah came into her thoughts. Which was not a place one should go exploring at night alone. With a frustrated huff, she turned back into the apartment building to wait for the morning.
She spent the remainder of the night rereading Delilah’s words, before finally falling into a fitful sleep, only a few hours before dawn broke the horizon.
Paisley went through her morning ritual as quickly as she could. She sent off a quick text to Ally, her assistant, to reschedule her appointments, and to forward all her emails, she would be working from home today.
“It's good to be the boss sometimes” she mused.
She was prepared for the day to belong, even if all of this wound up being nothing, part of her wished it would; prayed it would.
The traffic was particularly bad today, or at least it appeared to be. Paisley was sure it was just her nerves. The driver of the taxi she had waved down to start her expedition had to have been getting annoyed by the persistent tapping of her pen against the handle of the door. But he wouldn’t dare say anything for fear of losing his tip.
Paisley huffed a laugh to herself; she would tip well even if he asked her to stop.
After nearly an hour of stop and go, they seemed to be stuck bumper to bumper. She realized that they were within walking distance from where she wanted to start her search. She leaned forward and paid with a generous tip and thanked the driver. He smiled at her and returned the gratitude. She could feel the sun on her skin as it began to warm the morning air around her.
There was still a crispness in the wind, reminding her of the fateful night when she had wandered out into the breaking storm. As she walked, the sound of waves breaking against the rocky shore a few miles away reached her ears over the busy sounds of the city.
She found this area of the metropolitan oddly peaceful. She always did, having been in this area a few times to visit Tricia’s favorite club, on those rare weekend nights she allowed such frivolity. Paisley secretly knew that she would sometimes decline Tricia’s invitation to simply irritate her, maybe she knew it too.
Either way, when she did go out, it was always calming to spend part of her night out in the stillness of the rather highly populated area. Unlike right now in the daylight, late into the night, when all these restless souls are at rest. There is solace here, like the deep heavy breaths of the masses fall into the sink with the waves of the nearby sea. A dull rhythm in the seemingly infinite darkness.
Paisley stood in front of the club, which looked incredibly plain without all the lights highlighting the business against its surroundings, eyes searching everywhere. Not really sure what she was looking for after a few minutes she let out a frustrated sigh.
She walked over to inspect the drain she had found the book in; it was just a drain with what looked like pieces of newspaper caught in it. She looked over to the large encampment of vagrants and considered asking some of them a few questions but figured to even the more eccentric she would sound crazy.
She looked up at the abandoned buildings across the street, seeing that nearly all the windows had been knocked out. Her eyes followed the line of empty holes in the old brick. Her eyes widened with realization and she turned around quick enough to make her head spin.
The building that had the club in it was much taller than the club itself, she looked around and saw a small doorway, that in all the times she had been here she had never noticed. Paisley all but ran up to the alcove, so delighted to see a call box with names next to the door. She looked over the directory and she didn’t Delilah Jones. She looked it over again just to make sure but not even D.J. She stepped out to see if there was another entrance that she might have missed but this wasn’t it.
Paisley stopped back at the door determined, refusing to accept that this was it. Her only lead to finding Delilah lead to nothing. She felt as if she were so close, as if she were to call out her name, she would answer.
She studied each name on the list carefully. Paisley stepped back until her back hit the opposite wall. She let her head fall back against it with a thud and an inevitable groan of pain. Rubbing her hand on the back of her head, she saw a woman approaching with her arms full of what seemed to be groceries. She began to struggle with bags as she attempted to get her key out for presumably the apartment building door. Paisley reached over and caught some tumbling fruit without a second thought.
“Whoa! Do you need a hand?” Paisley asked
The older woman regarded her for a moment and must have decided that Paisley's intentions were genuine because she laughed and nodded.
“Yeah, thanks”
Once the woman had the door propped open with her body Paisley handed her back she produces. She was about to ask her if she knew Delilah or D.J or even just a person with a name anywhere similar to it when the woman asked who she was there to see.
Caught off guard, Paisley had to clear her throat before she spoke. ‘Um…Delilah ma’am…”
“Oh, Number 24, third floor off from the stairs dear” she stated after a moment of thought.
Could it really be that easy? Paisley thanked her as she passed, heading unsteadily towards the stairs. Heart hammering in her ears. So lost in thought she jumped when the woman spoke again.
“Are you a relative or something?”
Paisley tried to collect herself before she answered. She didn’t want to lie but the truth was not something she wanted to share. “No… I’m a… um, friend” she offered.
“Hmmm” the woman huffed
Paisley just waited, which the woman noticed and paused her ascent up the stairs, handing one of her bags to Paisley. A silent request that was understood. The two walked the stairs together.
“I have lived here for ten years, that girl moved in here a few years later down the hall from me, and in all these years we haven’t had a full conversation, not ever” the woman explained as they did.
They stopped at the top of the stairs a second before finishing the short walk down the hall to her door. Paisley spared a glance back to the aforementioned door while the woman unlocked the door and Paisley handed her back her bag.
“I’m glad you’re here miss” the woman divulged “I have never seen anyone visit her either. I worried that she was all alone.” She concluded before walking into her apartment
Paisley felt affirmation, for what she already knew, the journal was not a work of fiction. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Paisley began to run back towards what she now knew was the source of all this but stopped dead at the top of the stairs.
Her fingers spread over the chipped paint on the banister, she had to will her body to move again. Paisley approached the door to Number 24 like it was a skittish animal. Instead of knocking, she leans forward placing her ear just on the wood, and listens.
And nothing…
Her blood felt cold under her skin.
She pressed her whole head against the door. Trying to catch the sound of anything footsteps, a T.V, a cat… something. But nothing, the apartment was eerily quiet. Paisley stepped back and considered that she may just be at work, like a normal person. But her gut told her that wasn’t the reality.
She decided to try the door, it, of course, was locked. With that she only had two options wait like any sane person would do, or… the latter.
Paisley sank down the wooden barrier, all the adrenaline stopped dead. She knelt there shaking, eyes swelled up with tears not yet unleashed.
If she did what she was considering and Delilah was fine, then she would have just broken into some strangers’ house for no reason. How would she explain herself to the police, what would she even say to Delilah or all the people that will see her here waiting for however long?
The longer she sat there, the more she felt exposed. The more aggressive the idea that sat in the back of her head grew. If she jimmied the lock with a pin or a card and got inside, then it would be two birds with one stone. She wouldn’t be sitting out here for prying eyes to see, and she can finally see that everything in the apartment was copesetic. She could go home and come back another day, to catch Delilah after work or something.
It didn’t take long for the ridiculous idea to be seen as the only option, because leaving now without that peace of mind will haunt her. Paisley’s resolve finally cracks and she pulls an old rewards card from her wallet to jimmy the lock. It only takes a moment for the door to click open, almost like magic. She didn’t hesitate to slip through the opening before anyone noticed her. She took a moment to simply breathe while she took in her surroundings. Not wanting to really think about what she was doing. The apartment was simple, a few knickknacks placed meticulously throughout the rooms.
She walks to the kitchen, a massive oil painting stops her dead in her tracks, leaning against a nearly hidden wall of the dining room that seemed to be being used as a makeshift art studio. At first glance, it was a simple black and white painting of a girl in a large black hat. But as Paisley looked at it, her heart began to ache. What had at first looked like a rouge brush of paint, now shows to be a run of her makeup. The girl in the painting was crying, a barely noticeable emotion, a silent cry.
Paisley let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and stepped forward and tentatively ran her fingers down the cheek of the girl in the painting.
“My dear Delilah” she whispered
She quickly withdrew her hand shaking her head, as if to pull herself from the trance she felt she was in. Purposely averting her eyes from the painting, she made her way to the kitchen. Finding it to be very much like the rest of the house, simple and clean. She stopped to study a calendar on the refrigerator. Paisley couldn’t help notice the little note left for today to return her books to the library.
Moving back through the house she spares only a glance at the painting as she passes not wanting to lose focus again.
Before she has the chance to open the door to what Paisley assumed was the bedroom a distinctive smell catches her senses. Her eyes clenched shut, instantly overflowing with tears as she withdrew her hand from the handle. She already knew what was waiting on the other side of the door.
She already knew that she was too late… Delilah was already gone.
A year later...
Paisley sits in her living room just about to go to bed. She looks around the room at the new Knickknacks she decided to keep from Delilah’s belongings, along with the journal, Paisley had decided to keep Delilah’s painting as a reminder of how fragile life really can be, and how easily it can end.
After finding out that Delilah had no family at the time of her death. Paisley decided to volunteer to take care of all Delilah left behind. It was weird at first, but as the months went by, she realized it was where she was supposed to be. Though she was too late to be there for her in life, she could be there for her now, by not letting her be forgotten into nothingness. As she lays down for bed, closing her eyes.
“I pray every day that you have been able to heal in the ways that you needed to. I pray that you feel love as you deserve. I pray for you, My Dear Delilah.”