I doubt that anyone will ever read the words written within these pages. No friend or family, certainly. And these poor souls that wait with me in our hours of fading life can none of them read. They have treated me as an equal, with such kindness that my heart, weak as it is, still beats painfully to any compassion. If they knew my origins of office, I wonder if they might be so sympathetic, or would there be resentment and cruelty? What comes when a life is condemned to death? It seems that all those poets I once admired can feed nothing to the overwhelming emptiness. Matthew said that each man dies alone, but I still wish there were a familiar face to see before the darkness.

It can be nothing to you, reader, if you exist. These are the ramblings of a dying man and ramblings they must be, for my hand grows tired and my thoughts become blurry, but I will try to explain. Perhaps for my own gratification alone, or perhaps because there is something to be learned by my story. I imagine, as I write, that the words are being read aloud in some distant, cold voice that is not my own. Are we given to premonitions or do we merely make guesses that chance dictates are right or wrong? The question is one I will never answer.

Lionel sat back against his chair, stretching with a groan and snapped forward again, leaning his elbows on the table and staring discontentedly at the crossword puzzle. Beside him, his phone began to buzz.  He wrapped his fingers around the object, lifting it to his bored eyes and read the name "Tarah" without swiping. He set it back down on the table and the call went to voicemail.  Lifting his pencil, he slowly filled in the word Havoc and then the phone began to buzz again. With an aggravated sigh, he dragged his finger across the screen and hit speaker.

"…Lionel?  Hello?" crackled a woman's voice through bad reception.

"Yes.  Hello.  You're on speaker phone," said Lionel.

There was a pause from the other end.

"Is there someone else in the room?" she asked.

"Yes, there's a whole audience all on the edge of their seat, waiting with bated breath over what you'll say next."

"Don't be an asshole," complained the voice on the other end, "Look, I'm calling because…well, you know."

Lionel filled in the words Quid pro quo.

"No, I don't. You could say literally anything.  There's no way for me to know for sure," he replied flippantly.

"You're such a jerk. Do you talk to Erin like this?"

"No."

"Whatever, I bet that's why she went on vacation by herself, she's so sick of you. The reason I called is about the money."

"What money?" asked Lionel, picking up the crossword and holding it close to his face. He set it back down, erasing an earlier filled in clue and replaced Ares with Mars.

"The money that she owes me.  I wouldn't be pestering you guys about this, but I'm kind of strapped right now and you know, with rent almost due, five-hundred bucks is nothing to sneeze at," said the voice on the other line.

"I didn't know she borrowed money from you."

"What do you mean, you didn't know?" demanded the voice, "She told me she needed it fast, and that you didn't get paid until tomorrow, or today, I mean, because she told me yesterday…anyway, I gave it to her because she said you could pay me back right away, she just needed help getting out of town for a bit."

"Ah, yes.  I imagine so. Well, I'm sorry. I'll see if I can find it," he replied, writing down a stitch in time in the small squares.

"Find it?"

"I mean, scrounge it up.  You know what I mean," he corrected hastily.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Is everything ok, Lionel?" asked the voice slowly.

"Everything is fine.  I mean, it's terrible, but that's life, right?" he said, setting the crossword down and fixing his eyes on the phone.  The pencil remained in his right hand, poised in the air.

"I just…hey, I'm sorry about what I said earlier.  I know you and Erin are having a hard time.  She told me a little bit about it when I saw her."

"Yeah, well," he retorted, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling and then back to the phone, but he had nothing else to add.

"So she took off for a bit, huh?"

"Yeah, solo vacation," he replied.

"How's her…um, how's her vacation going?"

"I think she's finding it relaxing."

"Yeah, where did she go?"

Lionel was staring directly across the table and didn't answer, so the caller repeated the question.  He jolted, shaking his head.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Hawaii or somewhere like that.  Where do people normally go on vacations?" he snapped angrily.

"Five hundred bucks isn't gonna get you to Hawaii."

"She didn't tell me.  What does it matter?" he asked.

There was another, longer hesitation on the other end of the line.

"Lionel, if you need someone to talk to…you know you can talk to me, right?"

"Yeah, sure," he muttered.

"No, really.  What are big sisters for?  But, you'd tell me. If she left you, you'd tell me?  You wouldn't just sit in the house and mope?"

"I'm doing a crossword puzzle."

As if to prove it to her unseeing eyes, he bent his head back over it and began filling in the word Watergate.

"You only do crosswords when you're upset.  And you never fill them in correctly."

"Look, this clue was 'Who is the god of war?' and I answered 'Mars.'"

"That's a planet," corrected the voice.

"You're an idiot."

"Ok, thanks.  I'll let you go.  But seriously, if you need to talk about Erin…" the voice on the other end suddenly stopped.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll call you and we'll have a real heart to heart about it and everything," he said distractedly.

"Lionel."

The voice's tone was punctuated with some serious note.

"What now?"

"Erin's purse.  She left it here," said the caller, her voice giving weight to every word.

"So?"

"It's got her wallet.  Her driver's license.  And the money I gave her."

"So what?" he asked, setting the crossword down again.

"Is she missing?"

"No, I told you," he said heatedly, "She went on a vacation."

"Without literally everything she'd need?" inquired the voice on the other end of the line, "I mean, she was only here the other day telling me about…telling me about you guys and thanking me for loaning her the money, maybe she got attacked on the walk home or…"

"Will you just shut up a minute?" he cut in, "I'm telling you, she left, she was fine. She took a bus."

"Somethings wrong. I'm coming over."

"Don't!" he yelled suddenly, but continued calmer, "Don't come over."

There was another silence.

"What happened?" asked the caller slowly.

"Nothing.  Just…everything is fine. Don't come over."

"Lionel, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!  I…that bitch…"

"I'm coming over," interrupted the voice.

The phone beeped as Call Ended flashed over the screen.  Lionel stared miserably at the phone and then lifted his gaze slowly to the body that was seated in the chair across the table from him.  He picked up his pencil, silently erasing his answers on the crossword.