The Letters

As you check your mail, you notice a letter that makes you stop in your tracks. Your hand crumples it up automatically, envelope and all, aware that someone has just entered the mail room with you. Your forehead creases into worry, but you shoot off a smile to reassure. 

“Are you okay?”

You keep smiling to ward off the question, and even though it doesn’t seem to work, you turn back toward the apartment and go in. The door shuts firmly behind you, shutting off prying eyes and allowing yourself to slide behind its frame. 

You smooth the letter back out. It’s mildly damp from the sweat of your palms. You note the lack of return address - just like the last three - and just your name scrawled across the front in blue pen. Your curiosity drives you to wonder what the letter within says, but a bigger part of you wishes you would stop receiving the messages entirely. 

Like ripping off a bandaid, you yank the letter out of the now torn envelope. 

“Dear Angelica,” you read. Your eyes try to skim over it in the fastest way possible, but that doesnt stop you from absorbing every word. 

“By now you’ve recived my previous letters. Everything in them is true. I dont know what other proof to offer you, so this will be my final letter. Please wake up. Wake up, Angelica. Wake up before he stops you.”

The name, signed at the bottom, is Allison. 

You’re not Angelica, and as far as you know, you’ve never been. Your name is Sandrina, age 26, single, lives alone in a studio apartment with a pomeranian named Bex, and eats sushi every Thursday. Ever since you turned 26, almost 6 months ago, you’ve gotten these letters. They come randomly, with enough time in between to think that maybe this one is your last one. And it looks like, finally, this IS your last letter.  So now you can go back to living your life as before. But for some reason, you have saved the letters, and you put this one in the same box that holds the other three, all pleading with Angelica to wake up, wake up soon, my name is Lexi, Aaron, Mandy. 

You wish Angelica would wake up, or better yet, stop invading your mind so thoroughly. The Angelica letters are the first thing you think about as you wake, and the last thing you think about before sleep. It’s pointless to keep asking yourself the same questions: who is Angelica, what is the purpose of these letters, is it just a prank? 

Research is not your thing. You don’t want to ask your neighbors if an Angelica lived here before you. You don’t want to Google 5000 Angelicas in the city of Houston. And you definitely don‘t want to read about any strange letters that other people have received on some online forum. You just want to live your quiet life of desperation like you always have.

That‘s it, you decide. Enough obsessing. Time to take charge. You take the letters and a lighter outside on your balcony and set them on the floor. You’re unable to stop your eyes as they scan the blue sentences one final time. “Angelica, it’s time to be in control”, “It’s time to take back your life.” The letters have always made you uneasy. Your skin itches when you think about them. But now, no longer.

You set fire to the corner of a letter, and wait for it to catch, before setting it gently on its siblings. You think the flame will burn out before it touches the rest, but the second one catches fire. And the third. The fourth - 

And your world melts too.

You open your eyes. Four faces are above yours, smiling. Three women and a man. The man is older, black hair streaked white. He has a huge grin. One girl, blue eyes watching you, looks like she’s about to break into laughter. The other two girls, twins, are holding each other in relief. 

“Angelica,” the man says. You can hear his joy saturating in every word. “You’re awake.”

You don’t react to their words. You seem to be on a bed, but you can’t see much past these four. The man called you Angelica, and you are. You’re Angelica, age 26, lives with her parents and a pomeranian, and you’re going to grad school to become a medical examiner. But somewhere deep inside, an echo of the name Sandrina surfaces. Which question should you ask the four faces, which are slowly losing their smiles?

“Was I in a coma?” you ask. Immediately the four rush to you, patting your arms and shoulders.

“Oh no, no, darling,” one twin says. 

“Well, in a manner of speaking-“ the other corrects.

“Let’s not confuse her,” says the woman with the blue eyes.

“You were not in a medical coma,” the older man confirms. “What do you remember?”

Sandrina, Sandrina, Sandrina, your blood pulses. 

“I’m Angelica,” you say. They nod, huge smiles back.

“I’m 26, and I live with my parents.”

“You do! That‘s true!”

“I have a dog?”

“The cutest baby!” they affirm.

“And I....go to school?”

“To be a DOCTOR. We’re so proud!”

You pause. You’re out of facts. The sum of your life is only 4 sentences long? Something is missing. 

“Did you get our letters?” the man asks.

You think hard. Can you receive mail while lying in bed? Did someone bring it to you? Letters...letters...you take so long that the three women surrounding you exchange looks.

The man focuses solely on you. “Angelica, do you know anything else about yourself?”

You dart a glance at the women’s faces. You dont want to disappoint them, but to be honest, you’re very confused. And their happiness at your every word invites a deep sense of panic. Part of you wants to respond to them, to be happy with them, and the other part wants to run. That part is winning, but you don’t seem to be able TO run. You feel their hands on your arms, your shoulders, but you can’t see your legs, or even too much past tbe bed. This invites fresh alarm. 

“Don’t worry, we’re here,” the twins soothe, sensing your anxiety. 

“We have to fill her in,” blue eyes says.

“Too much too fast could cause a setback,” the man says.

“No, I...I want to be filled in,” you say.

“Our names can’t hurt,” a twin says. The man nods, acquiescing.

“Aaron,” he says.

“Lexi.” Blue eyes.

“Mandy,” says twin one.

“Allison,” says twin two.

A memory floods into you. Angelica, wake up.

”I remember the letters,” you say. You can see them sag in relief. “How did I receive letters while I was asleep?”

“Well, you weren’t asleep entirely,” Aaron says. He opens his mouth to go on - and all four of them vanish.

“Wait!” you cry. You can see the rest of the bed now that they’ve left, though, and your legs are intact. You almost sob at seeing them. But you realize you’re restrained. And the room doesn’t look like a hospital, it looks like a bedroom. There are two doors, one to the right and one straight ahead.  The one to the right suddenly bangs open, and a man wearing scrubs comes in.

“You’re awake!” he says to you. You stay silent. 

“Still not talking, eh? That’s okay. The boss doesnt need you to talk. But we did notice you were quite chatty earlier. Find empty rooms fascinating to converse with, do you?” The man laughs as he comes closer. You notice for the first time an IV in your elbow. He fiddles with the bags hanging from the IV stand.

You can’t help but react to the word “empty”, and the man’s rat eyes - beady and feral - light up. He leaves. You do not relax, as the door is still open. Sure enough, he comes back with a woman in tow. She’s wearing a lab coat.  They whisper in the doorway.  He leaves again, and the woman comes over.

“Welcome back, Angelica. I’m Dr. Lewis, in case you don’t remember. We thought we’d lost you permanently.”

You don‘t react. Dr Lewis isn’t phased, and scrubs man returns with a syringe. He puts it in your IV. After a few minutes of silent staring, you feel relaxed. You’re floating. You’re aware, but serene.

“Who was in here?”

“Four people. Aaron, Lexi, Mandy, and Allison,” you respond immediately.

“Who are they?”

“Unknown.”

“Did they know you?”

“They know I’m Angelica, 26, I have a dog and I’m in grad school.”

“What did they look like?”

You describe them and the questions keep coming. You don’t know everything Dr. Lewis asks but you are compelled to answer. She never once questions your honesty, nor does she write anything down. 

“Thank you,” she says, and leaves. Scrubs man shoots you a rabid grin and turns to leave. As he does, you’re struck with lightning. The peace fizzles out of your veins. That smile. Those eyes. HIM. 

You‘re at school, in the library, studying. You have every medical textbook known to man on your desk. Scrubs man - not in scrubs in this memory - approaches you. Asks, “Do you own a green Honda? The lights are on.” You shoot a glance out the library window but your car’s on the other side. It‘s broad daylight. You leave. You pass between two cars and trip over a wire strung up behind the bumpers. You hit the floor, hard. A man, this man, grabs you before you register anything and tosses you into a car. Your head hits the other door and you grey out. For how long, you don’t know.

You’re driven to a remote area with a huge barn and grain silo attached. It’s not a barn, however, it‘s a lab. Medical equipment and glass and refrigerators are everywhere. Millions of dollars in funding. Not one person looks up. There’s a man, in the far corner. It’s Aaron. But it’s not Aaron. You don’t know him. You pass twins. Mandy and Allison. You don’t know them. You pass Lexi. She‘s the only one who looks up, and you register her bright blue eyes. She gives no indication of recognizing you or caring about you.

You’re led down a hallway that looks like a hotel. Doors go down on both sides with numbers. You‘re tossed into one. More people are waiting, and they strap you to the bed, insert the IV, and you grey out again.

You imagine the four lab workers

you saw come to rescue you, struck by a sudden change of heart. You give them names: Aaron, Lexi, Mandy, and Allison. You tell them all about yourself: My name is Angelica, I’m in grad school, I have a pomeranian, please. Please.  My parents will miss me. Of course they break you out. It takes weeks but they work here. They know what to do. You leave town to be safe; so you don’t lead them to your parents. You move into a studio, alone. You get another dog. You change your name to Sandrina. And then...you get letters.

Now you’re awake, and you remember. It was a fantasy. You deeply immersed yourself into your imagination to escape. But a strong part of you knew it wasn’t real. The fake room had paper and a single blue pen someone must have forgotten in the drawer. And you had to write to yourself, tell yourself: Wake up. Before he stops you.

You’re awake and you understand you’re just a guinea pig. You’re an unwilling volunteer in a major experiment. Funded by someone with deep pockets. As the door shuts and locks behind rat man, you ask yourself: Now what?