Lost Indeed

The pungent smell of old beer, wine, soda and milk filled her nostrils. The clatter and jingle of bottles and cans filled her ears. She watched as the tiny lady in the mask and the gloves pulled the slimy containers towards her with awkward hands, tossing them into bins and punching numbers into the calculator, the screen above her reading out each precious penny.

Her children were waiting in the car, happy, oblivious to the fact that this could be the difference between her having enough gas to make it to work for the week. She knew when she took the house it would be a good thing for them but she had no idea that it would make money so snug. She missed her little, shitty apartment on the third floor with the questionable neighbors and the cacophony of smells. She missed the guy that was making it all so easy before he made it all so fucking hard. She missed having some extra cash for a nice latte or a bottle of whiskey, a night out or a way-to-expensive skip-the-dishes order.

She was struggling.

She was grateful that she could sacrifice enough during the weeks they stayed with their father to make their lives still feel full, and comfortable, but it was wearing on her and she felt beaten down, trapped, and always too close to tears.

The lady printed her ticket and she looked at the total. $17.25. Well, that should get her to payday as long as they didn't spend anything extra in between. She smiled and nodded at the lady and made her way over to the automatic payment machine, scanned her ticket and waited for the jingle of coins hitting the metal tray. For just a moment her eyes filled with tears and she felt that familiar pressure of painful sobs rising in her chest. She looked down, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to collect herself. God damnit bitch you're in public, she thought. Get it together. She took a shaky breath, and opened her eyes.

Through the pool of tears that had yet to spill, she noticed, for the first time, a small, black notebook sitting on the little shelf under the payout tray. She blinked, the tears splashing down her cheeks and clearing her vision. It was leather or something like it and bound with a black elastic. It looked brand new and she wasn't sure how she had missed it before.

Curious, she reached out to pick it up and was about to open it when the man behind her made an impatient noise. Suddenly realizing where she was she snatched up the small amount of cash from the tray and stuffed it in her pocket, tucked the notebook under her arm and muttered an apology to the older gentleman as she hurried out the door.

Wiping her eyes on the back of her hand she opened the door of her brand-new vehicle. One of the ill-advised purchases she had made when things were great and she had someone helping out who she thought would never leave. Now each month the payments crippled her and reminded her how stupid she was to think he would stay. To the outside world she was doing great! Nice new place, brand new car, two happy kids, fitness posts on Instagram, but there was nothing left over at the end of the day and she spent most nights alone, bored and sad.

Children's voices poured out of the car. They were playing some ridiculous game, her older boy making the little girl giggle hysterically. She wanted to feel that joy but the stress and loneliness wouldn't let it reach her heart.

"What's that?" her son asked as she tossed the notebook onto the passenger seat.

"Just something I found," she replied, still not entirely sure why she picked it up in the first place.

"Can we get McDonalds for lunch?" chirped her little girl. She flinched slightly before answering.

"Not today, we have lots of food at home."

As she pulled into the driveway the neighbor's cat streaked across her path and she hit the break hard. The notebook slid onto the floor, blending in nicely with the black carpet and was promptly forgotten.

And there it lay, inconspicuous and seemingly benign. Listening.

Three weeks later she stopped for a latte she knew she shouldn't splurge on but it had been a rough day. That fucking guy had called her up and wasted her time, drunk on the phone, saying things she wanted to hear but knew by now she couldn't believe. It was 3am when he finally ended the call...she never could, and a full day after that, with 22 loud and needy grade one students, just demanded a hot, sweet, espresso.

As she exited the drive-through, her phone buzzed. She glanced down for a moment and then gasped as her car started beeping loudly and automatically applied the emergency break. Some moron had nearly backed into her. Her hand instinctively flew to the wheel, dropping the coffee. It fell, hit the console and bounced onto the passenger side floor, lid popping off and fresh coffee pouring everywhere.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" She yelled beating the wheel with her palms. She put the car back in drive and pulled into the newly-vacated parking space. "Uuuaaaggghh," she screamed. Why was everything so fucking hard right now? She gave herself a few minutes to cry and then pulled herself together with a few shaky breaths. She let the tears continue flowing as she groped around for napkins and, when she didn't find any, grabbed her scarf and started mopping up the puddle of coffee and steamed milk.

Under the scarf she felt something small and rectangular. She picked it up and wiped it off. A strange sort of calm came over her. She tossed the scarf on the filthy floor, placed the notebook protectively in her lap and pulled out of the parking lot.

At home she sat in her driveway, engulfed in this strange calm confidence. The air around her felt heavy and warm and a familiar song played softly on the radio, but she couldn't remember turning it on.

"You're lost, little girl. You're lost, little girl. You're lost. Tell me who are you?

The doors. She knew this song, she knew this band. She had fallen in love with Jim Morrison when she had fallen in love with that guy.

She looked down at the notebook. It felt warm, heavy, alive.

She gave her head a shake and turned off the radio. Then, with shaking hands, she peeled the coffee-sticky elastic off the cover and opened the book, leafing through the pages with her thumb and stopping somewhere near the middle.

On the page written in handwriting that looked startlingly similar to her own were four small, neat words.

What do you need?

A short single syllable laugh burst from her lips as her mind tumbled through all the things that were lacking in her life. She rolled her eyes at the audacity of this stupid, lost notebook to ask her such a dumb question and began to turn the pages again. The rest were blank.

"That's odd." She closed the book and leafed through again stopping at a random page.

What do you need?

She closed the notebook, her heartrate increasing, palms sweating. What was happening? She rubbed her sweaty hands on the rough, cloth of her seat, closed her eyes and once more leafed through the book and stopped at a random page.

What do you need?

That strange calm came over her again, no feeling, just hollow and certain.

"Money," she breathed.

The radio whispered back on, the volume slowly increasing.

"Think that you know what to do. Impossible, yes, but it's true. I think that you know what to do, yeah."

She closed the notebook, and put the car in reverse. She wasn't in control anymore. It had been listening. It knew the sacrifice it wanted from her and, without intending to, the contract had been made. She knew where it was taking her. She knew he'd be there and likely asleep at this time of day. She still had her key and she knew where he kept his large hunting knife by the door. And because she knew all this, it did too.

She moved like herself, fully aware but powerless to choose now. It swept her along, to the apartment, through the door, uncasing the knife, taking off her shoes and coat, moving to his side by the couch.

Slowly, she knelt beside him. She took a deep breath and his scent hit her hard. No one else smelled like him, and it always made her weak. She looked down at the knife in her hand and blinked hard, fighting that overpowering feeling of being washed along in a current that she wasn't quite strong enough to swim out of.

"Sure that you know what to do!"

His eyes fluttered open and she registered the look of startled confusion for an instant before one hand flashed out, pushing back his forehead, and the other pulled the knife hard across his throat.

She stood up as the blood flowed and looked down at her hands. The knife was gone and she was holding the notebook again. She tossed it onto his chest, turned in a daze and left the apartment, locking the door on her way out.

In the car, back to her house, sitting in the driveway, she blinked and took out her phone. Punching in her passcode, opening her banking app.

Accounts.

Balance.

Checkings? $214,201.90. The date they began.

Savings? $131,202.10. The date she ended it.

She wasn't struggling anymore.