The Misguided

Unordinary Mail

CHAPTER 2 - Unordinary Mail

Lilian sat down in her office chair and turned on the computer. She promised herself she would be productive today, logging into her blog page titled: "love in philosophy" and began brainstorming for a discussion post on the topic for the upcoming week, while she took small sips of her morning Harold's coffee. Lilian started this blog shortly after losing her job, hoping to earn some pocket change but experienced immense success through her exponential growth of admirers. However, she couldn't help but occupy her mind with the mysterious letters persistently showing up on her porch without a trace of origin.

The day before, she received an identical package. She tore off the bubble-wrapped packaging until a rigid cardstock alongside a scorching metallic smell was disseminated. In the center of the cardstock, it had a sentence written in bold red letters,

"Do not go swimming at Burgess Park Lake today."

It has been her prestige tradition to swim in Burgess Park every Saturday since her freshman year of high school. Whoever was sending these letters must be close to her, she thought, immediately assuming it was some twisted prank that was played on her, being a test subject - probably a new act her little nephew learned in a horror movie as a devoted prankster. This wasn't the first time he had done it; he had snuck sticky notes into her purse daily with horrific facts for a month when his family stayed for vacation.

Lilian decided to head to the lake with lingering paranoia, unable to let a letter dictate her fate. She felt her tension subsided the second her foot touched the mellow water. The short interval of peace was disrupted by the bright, sunny sky quickly becoming occupied with clouds as a roaring storm struck the lake. Lilian struggled to swim to the shore from the very center of the lake. She quickly lost control as increasingly large waves swept with complete control of her fragile body, abducting her further away from the destination. Barely able to retain her head above the water, she screamed vociferously for help. A duty officer spotted her on a patrol boat and tossed the last lifebuoy he had on board after navigating towards her direction and offered her a ride to the shore. On her way back, Lilian felt a chill run down her spine- and not because of her close interaction with hypothermia. Surely, it was a coincidence.

Lilian fiddled with her pen while staring at the empty blank paper when the question: "How far would we go in the perusal of love," popped into her head. She took another sip of her beverage and immediately spat it out, dropping the cup on the floor. Lilian rummaged through her pocket in a panic, suddenly remembering the letter telling her not to drink Harold's coffee today. Abruptly, she felt her body temperature rising as her churning stomach acid soared her throat. The last thing she remembered was her body feeling like a 200 kg weight bashing as her vision began to fray.

Lilian strenuously opened her eyes halfway, squinting to accommodate the blinding hospital lights. She saw her husband sitting in the corner beside her bed, wavy hair shadowing his closed eyes with his head leaning against the wall.

Who's sending her these letters? What do they want from her?

She never felt more gratitude, rummaging her hands across her face, realizing it was solid. She was alive and breathing, despite the buzz of a cicada in her head and an ache of piercing needles. Loud chatters and speculation surrounded her, discussing the news related to the hundred million lawsuits filed against Harold's for the alleged traces of a mutated virus in their beverages due to a nugatory inspection, causing five deaths in London alone since this morning and over a hundred hospitalized.

"It was a setup; someone did it on purpose!"

"I heard it was a population control tactic!"

"Your wife is fortunate," a nurse said, checking the vitals on the breathing machine. "This variant has an eighty percent mortality rate, but luckily you were able to get her assistance right away."

"I never trusted their coffees, but my wife loves them," Daniel chuckled, "And look who's awake after five hours."

"You know you didn't have to come," Lilian grunted, attempting to sit up. " I would've been fine."

"Well... they called me in." Daniel murmured," A man called an ambulance after seeing you passed out through the front door, which you left open, by the way."

"Well... Thank you for being here."

Their eyes locked for a swift second before they both looked away. Daniel then turned around and slowly slid his hand onto Lilian's and caressed it gently. Lilian couldn't help but feel like a fifteen-year-old girl again, mesmerized by his eyes of jade emeralds with his wavy hair cast over, tinting her face with sunset. She began to feel gratitude for these letters, for this precious moment that no longer made Daniel seem like a passerby stranger. Maybe he did love her after all, but it was only in spite of loss that made him realize it. She let go of his hand and dug into the pockets of her shirt below the quilt, but it was empty. She could've sworn she stuffed it in her pocket. Did it accidentally fall out while she was transported here? It must've been since it was not on the surrounding floor, but a loiter angst remained.

Chaos arose when a tall, curvy yet slim, olive-skinned woman with glistening waist-length hair barged through the door like a lion. She wrapped her arms around Lilian's abdomen, almost suffocating her while smudging bright red lipstick across her neck. It was Camila Lopez, Lilian's neighbour and a close friend.

"Oh my gosh, sweetie, I'm so glad you are okay. I came here as soon as I could." Camila suddenly pulled away from her, resting her left arm on her shoulders while she held up three fingers, somehow increasing the intensity of her peony-scented perfume.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"That's enough, Cam." Lilian giggled and reluctantly brushed her arm off her, "I'm functioning just fine."

"Hey, you irresponsible freak!"

Camila squealed while exuberantly smacking Daniel on the arm, then sliding her palm down to his hands. "Lily could've died! I told you- you should've divorced your loser husband!"

"Hey Cam," Lilian whimpered softly," It's not his fault, okay," an abiding pause followed, "I need to get some rest. How about I see you later this week?"

"Oh yeah, for sure!" Camila's lips tensely curved up before crisp high heels clacks accompanied her jogs out of the room. Her waist-length hair swung back and forth across her tight-knit skirt.

Camila was the president of the Lilac Dove neighbourhood council and also Lilian's first and only friend since moving to rural London four years ago. She's bubbly, outgoing and confident, with radiant looks that freeze people in time to admire. Lilian always thought of how lucky she was to have her through the ebb and flow. Yet, whenever she thought of her, she couldn't help but let bittersweet jealousy flourish. She's twenty-five, with premature wrinkles already casting her cheeks.

Daniel and Camila never got along. She's too volatile, and he's absent-minded- they are like water and oil that can't mix. Peace is absent when they are in the same house. Camila always told her to divorce her husband and that he was up to no good, reminding her she deserved much better than to settle.

"Anyways, listen," Daniel announced while tugging on Lilian's shirt, "I know I've been absent in our marriage; things have been... hard lately."

"I understand. You know you can always talk to me."

"I want us to work on it together. How about we go to couple's therapy?"

"I've been waiting for you to say this," Lilian exclaimed while nodding, "of course."

"Also, Daniel," Lilian's face immediately bewildered, "have you seen a folded cardstock around here?"

Daniel's face drained of blood.

"What card stock? do you need it?" He hesitated, abrading his forehead.

"Oh, I was just wondering if you have seen it. It's very important."

"No, of course, I haven't!" He protested, "You don't believe me?"

"That's not what I meant, Daniel."

"Oh shoot," He stood up slowly, his eyes locked on the phone screen. "M-my boss just called me, asking for me to come in. I will see you later."

And he bolted out the door.