The Golden Ticket

She couldn’t believe it. She had spent the last of her paycheck on enough bread, meat and cheese for the week and had $2 remaining. She was feeling lucky, or maybe desperate, so she scanned the store for the lottery machine. The green machine sparkled with hundreds of tiny lights, attracting its prey to take a chance on winning a jackpot. She stopped on one of the five options, the one promising a “$20,000 Golden Ticket” to one lucky winner. The ticket was gold and shiny, it was calling her name. Without a second thought, she pushed the button and grabbed her ticket. She grabbed her stuff and walked the 10 blocks back to her apartment.

“You’re late on your rent,” her landlord shouted at her as she walked by.

“I promise I will get it to you by the weekend,” she pleaded.

“Get it to me, or you’re out. I’m not messin’ around this time, kid.”

She scurried her way into her apartment, locked the door, slid her body down the length of the doorway, and took a deep breath. She grabbed her bag of food, which she flopped beside her, went to grab a piece of cheese when her fingers ribbed hard against lottery ticket and got a paper cut.

“Damn it,” she cursed while bringing her wounded finger up to lips. She sucked the cut until the bleeding stopped and looked down at the ticket. She took another deep breath, grabbed her keys because she didn’t have a coin, and started to scratch. There were 20 scratch off areas, and as she scratched each one it left her feeling defeated. She got to number 19 and another loser.

“Come on,” she prayed. “God, I could really use the break.”

She lightly scratched the last spot. The word “WINNER” appeared. She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant so she quickly flipped the ticket over and read the rules:

The winning ticket will contain the word “WINNER”.

This is the golden ticket holder.

Please bring it into the lottery office immediately if you have won.

She couldn’t believe it.

“I won,” she whispered. “I freaking won.”

She made her way down to the lottery office, 15 blocks away. She took her time, not wanting to lose the ticket. As soon as she walked into the building, a man in a black trench coat was waiting.

“Hello, Mindy. You’re the winner,” he stated, somehow knowing that she held the winning ticket.

“Um, yes, yes I am,” she responded quietly.

She couldn’t understand how the man knew her and that she was the ticket holder. Before she could blink, let alone think, the man asked her for her ticket. She was hesitant and wanted answers. She looked around the building for anyone else that might be around, but they were alone.

“I promise you will get your $20,000,” he stated.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a desk or a scanner, or something?”

“I am the only person here,” he said sternly.

“How do you know my name?” she asked again.

The man stood silent, staring into her with dark, beady eyes. She reluctantly handed over the ticket. In return the man handed her $20,000 in cash and a little black book. She was once again confused by the process.

“Am I supposed to get a check or a receipt or something? What’s this book for?”

“You get the cash, outright, no questions, no taxes. The book, Mindy, will show you everything you need to know. Good luck and congratulations,” the man said, walking out of the front door into the night.

She stood there dumbfounded. Was this some kind of trick? Did the man con her with fake bills only to take the winning ticket for himself? The only thing left to do was to open this little black book up and see what it was that the man said she needed to know.

She was overcome with nerves and anxiety. Was this supposed to happen to her on purpose? She didn’t know, but she sprinted her way back to her apartment. Once she got back in, she counted each $100 bill twice. She marked the bills with a magic marker to see if they were counterfeit or not.

“They’re all real,” she said, astonished.

With that, she found herself to her bedroom, flopped herself down on her bed, and opened up the book.

On the first page there was a note, personally written out for her.

Mindy,

We knew it would be you all along. In fact, nobody else would be able to win on that ticket but you. This was all set up, by your late father’s family, one of the wealthiest in the world. When your mother found out she was pregnant, your father turned her away, knowing that if he accepted both of you, he would forever be disowned and disinherited. We are sorry that it had to be this way, but you are entitled to your father’s entire fortune which is well over 100 million dollars. If you are unable to complete the tasks at hand, you can keep the $20,000 and the rest will be donated to charities of his choice. We know that you didn’t have the easiest life, but these were the rules set forth by the family over 7 generations ago and this is how it has to be carried out. Good luck.

-The Whittington Family

In shock, she dropped the book to the floor. $100 million dollars? A family she never knew of? She would never know the truth because her mother died when she was 4. She stared down at the book for what felt like an eternity, examining the thick, black leather that bound it all together. It wasn’t a very large or thick book, but it contained many pages that she feared were completely full. The anxiety was eating her alive now as she picked up the book off of the floor and flipped past the first page where the message had been addressed to her. She flipped silently through the pages, each containing a name, address, and instructions.

“Instructions for what. And why?” she questioned out loud as she read them.

Brandon Abbot

987 Lovers Lane, Apartment 152, Milwaukee, WI

Works graveyard shift from 9pm to 6pm Tuesday through Saturday

Large man, at least 250 lbs., easiest to take out while asleep or when back is turned.

“Easiest to take out?” she nearly shouted. “What the fuck is this? The Hunger Games?”

Before she knew it a man with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes crashed through the window of her apartment, wielding a knife in one hand and what looked like rope in the other.

“Brandon?” she screamed at the man.

“How do you know who I am?”

“The little black book. It told me the easiest way to take you out.”

Brandon stalled for a second and then put the knife down that he had been holding close to her throat.

“Your father died, left you $100 million dollars and a little black book with instructions on how to more or less win that money?”

“Yup.” Is all that she could reply with, tears starting to form in her eyes. “If it means anything to you, I will gladly take my $20,000 and walk away. I don’t need all the money, even though it would be nice. It’s not worth killing you over.”

“Well unfortunately, possible sister, the rules are that everyone in the book must die before the winner gets their prize.”

“How many of us are there?”

“You mean were there?” he asked back snidely.

“Fine, how many were there?”

“20 total.”

“When did you get your golden ticket?” she inquired.

“A week ago,” he said, grabbing a slice of cheese from the bag she had forgotten she left out .

“So are there some of us who don’t even know about this?”

“Yeah. I took out 5 myself who had no clue. Kill or be killed, and if they don’t know you’re coming, it’s better that way.”

“So are you going to kill me?” she asked, looking up at him.

He was easily twice her weight and had an easy 6 inches on her.

“Like I said, kill or be killed.”

In a split second Brandon flipped open his pocket knife. Without hesitation, she grabbed a glass vase that was sitting on the table, jumped on a chair and crashed it over his head. He came tumbling down like a ton of bricks and the knife went flying into the air and landed with a thud. Instinctually, she grabbed the knife. He was still trying to gain his composure when she jumped on his chest and slit his throat, slicing fast and deep. She thought he would die instantly, instead he clutched his hands to his throat, gasping for air, looking to her as if she would somehow save him. It took a few minutes, a few minutes that felt like a lifetime, but he eventually lay there dead.

“It was me or him,” she reassured herself. “It was me or him,” she repeated over and over.

Knowing she would have to act fast, she threw the money, some clothes, the pocket knife and an array of utensils from the kitchen.

“The meat tenderizer will have to do,” she sighed out loud.

How did her day go from starting her job wiping asses at the senior center to amateur assassin? She almost forgot the black book as she was leaving, grabbed it off the floor. She skimmed through it, matching the names she had within hers. As he stated, he took out five: each with their name, address, description and weaknesses. Under each one of their names there was at least 1 kill, the total number of dead was 17, now 18 with Brandon dead.

“2 left,” she mustered under her breath.

She thumbed through her book, matching the names. The last name didn’t make any sense. It was her name, twice over in the book, but with different information.

“Her family is her weakness,” she said quietly. She never knew her family. Before she could think again, a silhouette of a woman walked in through the window. As she approached, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

“Who are you?” she yelled out.

“I’m Mindy, and you are too,” the woman responded nonchalantly.

“Are you here to kill me?” she questioned. This woman clearly knew more than she.

“No, Mindy. You technically do not exist. I am Mindy Singleton. The only Mindy Singleton.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Thanks for taking Brandon out for me by the way, he was the toughest competitor.”

“So, what are you going to do with me?” she asked, her voice clearly shaking.

“You are going to be me, and live my life. I am going to take the money and run. You get a family. Win, win.”

“But, wont they know? And no offense, I don’t want your family.”

“I mean, it’s just as easy to kill you.”

She didn’t know what to do. Rather than ponder the possibility of having a twin and a family, she instinctively grabbed the knife she killed Brandon with, and started stabbing as hard as she could. As the other Mindy fell to the ground, she fell as well, bleeding from the same wounds that she had just stabbed into her alleged twin.

“You see, Mindy,” the other woman said, “I am you, and you are me. You failed the test. Now you’re going to die.”

She crawled her way to the bathroom, leaving a large pool of blood. She and Brandon were the only ones in the room. There was no other Mindy. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lay there and slowly bled out.

The man from the lottery office quietly entered the apartment, took the $20,000 and little black books and left, never to be heard from or seen again.