The Love of My Death

Part 4

   Several times, the doorbell rings, waking me up. I look at the time as it keeps ringing. It's 4 in the morning. Who would be ringing my doorbell this early in the morning? As soon as I get out of bed, I see Anthony is no longer lying next to me. I hope he got home safe.

   When I look through my phone's notifications, I see a text message from Anthony at 2:09 a.m. that reads, "Yes, I got to my apartment safely, don't worry." He knows me too well.

   The doorbell eventually stops ringing as I descend the steps to the front door. The entire party has already left. On the floor, there are streamers, beer bottles, and red cups all over the floor. The windows are covered by something, which kept the sun's light from entering. Those were probably set up for the party in case it lasted long enough till the morning.

   There is nobody there when I peek through the hole in the front door. When I open the door, a book is on the welcome mat. After picking it up, I shut the door behind me.

   Light wood-colored leather that has been pressed and sewn securely around it serves as the cover. "Leya's Story" is indented directly in the center. This must be it. But 4 hours? It only took 4 hours for it to come in?

       I swiftly used my arm to knock some cups off the couch. Before I open the book and begin reading the first page, I first take one last look at the cover. It's gorgeous. I go over my name with my finger. It's wonderfully written in bold letters.

   I turn to the first page, which reads in a tasteful cursive font, "Just for You."

       "Chapter One: Let's Begin" appeared on the following page. I giggle because of how corny it sounds. I flip the page once more. It read,

       Hello, Leya. Welcome to Your Story. The first events that must occur might not be very enjoyable. But if all goes according to plan, you will get what you want.

       If I'm not mistaken, you and your sister Lana have been fighting for a while now.

       I stop. I never told The Author about Lana. I carry on reading anyway.

       She will get in the way if you ever fall in love. She will criticize the type of relationship you choose, disagree with your choices in life, and pray for your demise. You wouldn't want that, I assume. Therefore, she will unfortunately have to go.

       I stop again. What? What does he mean by "go"? She is my sister, so she cannot just "go". I continue.

       I'm sorry for what I am about to do, but she is "Number 1". To get her out of your way, I'll slit her throat.

    I frightenedly dropped the book. Why would he write that? Why?

   I hear a painfully loud scream coming from upstairs before I could have time to continue thinking. Lana. I ran up the stairs while yelling, "Lana!"

   She stops screaming by the time I get to the top of the steps. She is laying lifeless on her bed when I swing open her door. There was blood all over. She had a huge neck gash, spilling out blood. The blood from her neck was used to write the number 1 on her forehead.

   This is not true. This is not happening. Wake up! I give myself a hard slap. I am up. This is not a dream.

       I fall to my knees and start to sob as I can feel everything around me begin to crumble. I crawl to the bed and grab hold of Lana's hand. "Lana," I mutter, "Oh my god, why? How?" I say as I kiss her hand, "My sister, I'm so sorry. I love you." I wipe my tears and get to my feet. "We're not alone," I say to her body, "I need to call 911."