دلیلا گری

DELILAH GREY

5:00 a.m.

Death-Cast called Delilah Grey at 2:52 a.m. to tell her she’s going to die today, but she’s sure it’s not true. Delilah isn’t in some denial stage of grief. This has to be a cruel prank from her ex, a Death-Cast employee trying to scare her since she called off their yearlong engagement last night.

Toying with someone like this is incredibly illegal. This degree of fraud can have him thrown in jail for a minimum of twenty years and blacklisted from working pretty much anywhere ever again. Screwing around on the job at Death-Cast is, well, killer.

Delilah can’t believe Victor would abuse his power like this.

She deletes the email with the time-stamp receipt of her call with the herald, Mickey, whom she cursed out before hanging up. She picks up her phone, tempted to call Victor. She shakes her head and places her phone back by the pillow on the side of the bed that was Victor’s whenever he stayed over. Delilah refuses to give Victor the satisfaction of thinking she’s paranoid, which she isn’t. If he’s waiting on her to log on to death-cast.com to see if her name is actually registered on the site as a Decker or to call him and threaten him with a lawsuit until he admits Mickey is a friend at work he recruited to scare her, he’s going to be waiting a very long time—time she has plenty of.

Delilah is moving on with her day because just as she didn’t second-guess her decision to call off the engagement, she will not second-guess that bullshit call.

She goes to the bathroom and brushes her teeth while admiring her hair in the mirror. Her hair is vibrant—too vibrant, according to her boss. In the past few weeks, Delilah needed a change, ignoring the voice in her head urging her to end things with Victor. Dyeing her hair was simpler. Fewer tears involved. When asked by the hairdresser what she wanted, Delilah asked for the aurora borealis treatment. The combination of pink, purple, green, and blue needs some touch-ups, but that can wait until next week after she catches up on assignments.

She returns to bed and opens her laptop. Breaking up with Victor last night before his shift pulled her away from her own work, a season premiere recap she’s writing for Infinite Weekly, where she’s been working as an editorial assistant since graduating from college this spring. She’s not a Hipster House fan, but those hipsters are more clickbait-y than the Jersey Shore crew, and someone has to write the pieces because the editors are busy covering the respected franchises. Delilah is well aware how lucky she is to be given the grunt work, and to have a job at all considering she’s the new hire who missed several deadlines because she was preoccupied planning a wedding with someone she’s only known for fourteen months.

Delilah turns on her TV to re-watch the painfully absurd premiere—a challenge in a crowded Brooklyn coffee shop where the hipsters have to cowrite short stories on a typewriter—and before she can switch to her DVR, a Fox 5 anchor shares something truly newsworthy, given her interests.

“. . . and we’ve reached out to his agents for word. The twenty-five-year-old actor may have played the young antagonist of the blockbuster Scorpius Hawthorne films about the demonic boy wizard, but fans all over the world have been sharing nothing but love online for Howie Maldonado. Follow us on Twitter and Facebook for immediate updates on this developing story. . . .” Delilah jumps out of bed, her heart pounding.

She isn’t waiting around for this developing story.

Delilah will be the writer who reports the story.