The last chapter. I knew I wanted it to end this way from the beginning. But yeah, something about Puerto Rico or Scotland with the possible epilogue? Little crazy but damn – with all of the literary refs, it isn't too far fetched. Oh, and a possible forgotten chapter posted separately because my girl Mixz loved T&M as much as I did if not more. Haha...
I went to Molly's hostel the day after the showdown with Jude on the off chance that I would be able to catch either one. I prayed to see Molly, tell her that no matter what, I wouldn't stop checking hotel ledgers for all of the Andrews and Harrison and Haze pseudonyms that I was certain would be used to try and throw me off the trail. I brought with me a couple of copies of her demo in case I ran into her mother, maybe get her to listen to what I was trying to tell her between threats of imprisonment and attacks on my morality. I was told in the most accusing of tones that Molly Andrews was no longer part of the summer internship program by the director and that her party had left the previous evening by the gentlemen behind the check-in desk. Downtrodden and crushed by the news, I pocketed the thin jewel cases I fidgeted with and could almost hear the book of "Molly and Me" closing for good. Pulling the rusty-hinged oak door closed behind me, I ran my hands down the banister of the outside steps and bid a madman's farewell to my girl.
I mailed the two discs the same day and they came back to me two weeks later, Jude's handwriting scrawled across the front: "RETURN TO SENDER". I made sure to take them and everything that screamed Molly and lock them in my safe for history's sake. It took a lot out of me doing it, to shut out the need to keep the songs in repetitive rotation on my mp3 player and still the voice that nagged at me to try and reconsider my initial plan of stealing Molly and running off with her. I was afraid that I was really losing my sanity during that time, that maybe I'd finally cracked. I vowed I wouldn't let it be my downfall, throwing myself back into my work full-force and racking up a hit for Ginger Blue and being featured in one of the celerity rags I never read. Anything was better than thinking and rethinking everything over and over again.
I began this story, readers, after doing the piece for that magazine. They sent me a chatty, overly stylized guy who asked the quintessential interview questions about work and how I felt as an accomplished producer and if there was anything going on in my love life or if I had a special someone. I grit my teeth and smiled and told them things were great, I was both proud and humbled by my experiences, and that no, there was no one I was romantically involved with at the moment except for music. Having lied my way through the whole thing but with Molly constantly on my mind, I felt that I needed to write this for posterity. For all I knew I would write my memoirs in a decade or two and this could end up being one of the many chapters of my life.
It's edging on late and packing up my things for the day, tying up the battery cable for my laptop and gathering all of the loose bits and pieces strewn across my office, I really can't decide how I feel about getting all of this off of my chest. It's strange in an on-the-fence sort of way. I'm never one to publicize my incriminating evidence but I heard something once from one of my childhood therapists that it's better to get it out then keep it in. Of course, I don't take stock in what most people who aren't me say but writing this hasn't been too bad save for my incessant need to assure my non-existent readers – you – that I'm not half bad. Still, catharsis is catharsis regardless of the form.
I can hear the settling quiet descending onto the lobby only being pierced by one of the many artists screaming out that it's time for a coffee run and another all nighter. I wish I had Molly here for an all nighter. She would probably be in the middle of producing her first album and I'd order late dinner of Thai and... whatever. I have accepted that this is yet again something for my past. I'm not okay with it but I have to move on.
Passing the new receptionist I hired's desk, she stops me to tell me that the delivery man had run late and that there's a letter for me labeled "important". I take the square blue envelope and thank her as I make my way out of the building. I scan the streets before putting my computer bag on the ground and tearing off one of the ends. Unfolding the tiny sheet of paper, a small coin falls from between the pages. Picking it up and scanning over the words, I can say without doubt that I know what it's like to die and resurrect simultaneously.
I hope that this reaches you safely. I had to walk across town to another post office because I was afraid that Mom would find me out and take it. Sorry that it's taken so long to get in touch.
It's weird here. Mom and Dad talk a lot and I get a lot of questions thrown my way. I saw that you sent the demo to me but Mom just sent it back. I did manage to burn it to my computer before she shipped it off, tho. It's amazing. You did really good. Thank you.
I know you tried to get Mom to let me stay but it's okay. Maybe it's better for us this way. I don't know.
I guess I'm really writing to tell you that I miss you. I sent you one of the tokens I saved from that day on the subway. I have another one and I keep it in my wallet. It helps to remind me of you.
I hope you know that I love you. It's stupid but I do. You're really great and not at all the bad you say you are. I love you so much. I couldn't have asked for anything better than this summer.
I guess I'll end this by saying that I won't be gone forever. As soon as I can, I'll find you. I'll be there. We'll run off or something. Who knows?
I don't expect for you to write back and I don't want you too. I'm sure Mom or Dad would get it before I did anyway. I'll write again soon, though. Try not to forget me. We can use the tokens when I get back.
My Molly loves me. My heart's beating a mile and minute and I can't really think coherently but she loves me and is going to come back. She's even going to write again. It's too much to ask for. Hell, I don't even deserve something like that with someone like her. With her few words, though, I don't have to wonder forever. I'll have her back with me soon enough. I know what that sounds like and if admitting that I feel the exact same way and am truly happy about it makes me a bad person, so be it. This was Molly, after all. And while I didn't mean for anything to happen then, I'll mean every damn thing that happens in the future. Even Humbert didn't get that.