When I was little, I had nightmares of being sucked underwater. I can still remember the feeling of the water dragging me down and the way the water pressed into my chest, collapsing my lungs and forcing air out of my mouth. I’d wake up in a panic, shaking and clawing at the mass of blankets and pillows on top of me, tangled in the blankets like some hapless fish stuck in a fishing net, ropes cutting into its gleaming skin. I’d scream and sob, the ocean water choking me and the pressure increasing until I could barely breathe. 

My mother was the one who came to my rescue, soothing me by stroking my hair and meticulously unraveling me from the swaddle of blankets I’d managed to wrap myself in. By the faint, yellow glow of my seashell nightlight, she’d sing to me softly as I lay on top, never underneath, the covers, head slowly sinking back into the pillows. 

I’ve long forgotten the words to the lullabies she would sing, but the sound of her voice and the swaying calmness of the melody still haunts my good dreams. It doesn’t much matter now anyways, because I never knew the words of the lullaby she sang to me. Or at least, I never understood them. It was a relic from her past, something my grandmother must have sung to her back when she lived across the ocean, in a foreign country that I’ll never know as well as she once did. Her lullaby was one of the only memories she had left of her family back in her country, besides the one where her parents sent her on a ship to America, a land far away from everything she’d ever known. 

The lullaby was slow and soft, a delicate piece of silk in my mother’s whispery voice. Even her speaking voice sounded like the wind across a lake, and her singing voice was breeze through wild grass in a field. I couldn’t understand the meaning of the words she would sing, and she’d been away from her home so long that I often wonder if she still remembered their meanings herself. Or if she did, did they still hold the same fondness that they once held when her mother sang it to her? 

One night, when the water crashed down on top of me, I felt myself swirling around in a whirlpool, spinning faster and faster and I could only watch as the night sky got smaller and more far away. I screamed, but the waves swallowed my voice and 4any hope I had left. I usually was able to shake myself out of these nightmares by myself, jerking myself up before my head sank beneath the surface, but no matter how hard I pinched myself, I couldn’t escape. Finally, the water gulped me up, taking me down to its freezing depths.

In the mornings when I thought back on my nightmares, I always wondered what it would look like underwater. I decided it would be a pitch black inferno, like the gaping mouth of the creature that swallowed me whole. But when I couldn’t wake up, I realized that underwater, it was brighter and clearer that I thought. There were no fish of any kind, just sand and long strands of kelp. I heard the waves crashing above my head and could make out the blurry pinpricks of light shining through the water that could have only been stars.

For the first time in all of the nightmares, I felt peaceful. Here I was, underwater, pulled down by treacherous waves, which was the very thing I’d feared and yet I hadn’t drowned. I could still feel the water pressing down on me, threatening to pop my lungs, but I couldn’t be more blissfully unafraid of it. I let myself bob in the water, just like the tiny plastic boats I played with at the pond. 

I floated, just a few feet underwater and a gush of water sent my body spinning into the darkness. My eyes couldn’t, or wouldn’t adjust, no matter how much I blinked or squinted. It was only when I felt a strange movement in the water that I realized this ocean wasn’t completely empty after all. 

A large eye opened, gazing towards me, steady and unblinking. Its milky white pupil was a tiny moon in this vast, dark ocean, obstructed only by its unevenly shaped iris, which was a soft looking black ball with squiggly edges. Irises were my mother’s third favorite flower, just behind chrysanthemums, her second favorite. Her favorite flower was tulips. 

The actual moon sent its light down to the water, illuminating the owner of the eyeball. I could only watch as the form of a giant squid emerged from the dark, making its presence known to me. It was, in a word, humongous. The squid had no expression as far as I could tell, and it seemed to be completely oblivious to the fictional ocean around it. Though its eyes were blank, looking as if there was no life behind them, it was observing me in such an intense way that I suddenly felt very small, very vulnerable, and very much resembling a tasty fish snack. I winced and tried to swim away in a sudden jolt of nervousness and terror, but my legs refused to move. Indeed, it seemed like all the water in this ocean had ceased all movement, its primary goal being the interaction between me and the squid. The ocean was as focused on us as the squid was on me.

Its reddish, slightly pale, sickly looking tentacle raised effortlessly through the water and moved towards me, the tip pointing directly at my face. I tried to scream for help, for my mother, but it seemed all of the water had been successful in compressing my lungs, and therefore, my vocal cords. I was stuck in place, helpless at the mercy of a giant squid. The little suction cups on its tentacle seemed to quiver in anticipation. I tried to ignore a persistent thought in my head- that the squid would wrap its slimy tentacle around my weak body and bite my head off with its sharp beak, killing me in the dream and in real life. 

Oddly enough, the squid didn’t try to eat me. Instead, it stroked my cold cheek with its tentacle, leaving a trail of slime on my cheek. I shivered as the fishy rope of an arm met my face, but the squid didn’t seem to sense my fear. It portrayed no emotion, and yet I felt a soothing effect as the squid petted my cheek. 

When its tentacle wrapped around my ankle, I no longer feared that it would wrap around my whole body and crush me. I was focused on its giant, hypnotizing eyes. A smile and a laugh escaped my lips, since its eye looked so much like a hardboiled egg with a wrong colored yolk. Bubbles fled my mouth and towards the squid, as it pushed me up suddenly and released its grip on my ankle. I shot up to the surface, and as my head broke through to the air, I woke up.

Part Two

SABRINA

When Sabrina watched the lavender envelope disappear into the mailbox, she felt a sense of relief. She’d been dreading sending the card, but she knew it had to be done. Hopefully, Leah would have a couple days of peace, maybe even a week before she got the card. Sabrina wanted to watch her as she opened it. Maybe she could even pay a visit to her. But she shook her head, and took a few deep breaths of the evening air. 

Sabrina fiddled with her phone, which felt heavy in her pocket. Maybe she could call Leah, see how she was holding up. After all, she’d probably be a mess considering she’d received a phone call less than a week ago that her brother had been found with a gunshot to the head. 

Sabrina usually felt little emotion when she pulled the trigger and watch the body fall, but when she killed Sawyer, she’d felt something strange. A different emotion. Guilt? She did feel guilty. It wasn’t easy to masquerade as Fiona Fitzgerald for the past few years and pretend she was Leah’s friend, but she needed an excuse to figure out Sawyer. He’d, of course, suspected nothing, and why would he? Why on earth would he believe that his old friend had hired a hitman to kill him?

Hitman. Sabrina hated that world. It made it sound like people paid her to knock off other people. Which was partially true, by the way, but it didn’t cover it. She moonlighted as a barista most of the time down at Beano’s. Barista’s didn’t get paid much, but hitmen did. And Sawyer’s death had been compensated for handsomely. Enough for her agree to discreetly move the body to an alleyway and take his wallet, watch, his phone and his car keys. Made it look like a mugging. Which happened a lot in the city. 

Sabrina took the bus back to the apartment. Not her apartment, exactly. It was a fake apartment she’d been using for Fiona. She unlocked the door and flopped onto the couch. Then, she pulled out her fake phone and called Leah. She couldn’t help it.

“Fiona. I’m glad you called,” Leah answered. Her voice was shaky. “Hey, Leah. I heard the news. I’m so sorry,” Sabrina said, raising the pitch of her voice slightly. She’d imagined Fiona had a higher voice. “Ah, well, what can you do? It’s good to hear your voice,” Leah said. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “So is there any news? I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to…” Sabrina said, her voice fading. 

“No, no, it’s alright. The police checked it out and they think it was a robbery. Someone shot him and took off with his stuff,” Leah explained. She sniffled. “I just can’t believe it. My brother… he’s just… gone.” She broke down in sobs.

Sabrina bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “I know, hon. You’ll be alright.  I know someone you can talk to, okay?” she tried, but Leah cried into the phone. “Alright, I’ll call you later, Leah. Just… you’ll be alright. Trust me,” Sabrina murmured, gently. She could still hear Leah whimpering as she clicked the phone off.  

Sabrina shoved her phone back into her pocket with a heavy exhale. She’d killed a lot of people in her years as a hitman, enough to lose count. She’d always known what she was getting herself into when she got into this line of work, but she never expected how hard it would be. No, not the killing. The killing was the easy part. The hard part was hearing the pain in the voices and staring into the eyes of the loved ones of the people she killed. The hard part was getting close to someone, only to kill their best friend, their spouse, or in this case, their brother, a few months later. The hard part was creating connections to people and leaving it all behind.

Part One

ADA

It was a chilly Thursday evening when Sabrina Campbell walked into Lady Quill’s bookshop at around 4:30 pm. Clouds had filled the sky since early morning and it felt like rain, but it was possibly only one of those dreary days you only get in the winter. 

Ada had been distracted that day, and had barely noticed the petite young lady with the red beret perched on her head and wrapped in a green sweater enter the shop. Truthfully, she’d barely paid attention to any customers at all that day. Ada had spent most of the day hunched over her phone which she kept hidden behind the cash register where the customers couldn’t see, carefully crafting the perfect message to send to a guy she’d been interested in. She’d been so distracted that she’d gaze off as she rung up the customers and only heard the little bell by the door ring once or twice the entire day.

Of course, Lady Quill’s had been slow on business lately. Ada didn’t own the bookshop, but she’d been nervous about the lack of customers coming in. And she was sure Helen, the owner of Lady Quill’s, was worried too. She’d dropped by much more often recently, just to poke around and make sure Ada wasn’t driving customers away. But she’d never been able to do much and always left with a fading smile that seemed to dim every time she left. 

Besides Helen, Ada was now the only person working at Lady Quill’s. Simon, the tall, glasses wearing one who enjoyed poetry and Ernest Hemingway had worked there but left last month, for reasons that no one explained to Ada. And Paula, the pretty redhead who pressed flowers had taken the other shifts but Helen fired her on account of her pressing flowers into the books she was supposed to be selling. Actually, she was a natural blonde but dyed her hair and spilled hair dye in the single bathroom of the bookshop, which stained the pretty tiles. Helen didn’t like that either. Ada didn’t miss them much, they’d barely worked together and she’d never made efforts to hang out with coworkers. She didn’t see the point.

Ada had noticed Sabrina, now that she thought about it. Mostly, she noticed her purchase; a greeting card with the words “With Sympathy” written in cursive golden letters and lavender colored flowers sprinkled across the cover. Helen had the idea that if Lady Quill’s was a bookshop/stationery shop, they’d attract more customers, so she added a greeting card section complete with cards and envelopes, but no one ever perused that section. Ada had tried on several occasions to persuade Helen that the section was useless, but all her attempts had been unsuccessful. And so the cards remained, gathering dust. Ada could almost see them turning yellow with age. 

Sabrina had slid the card across the desk to Ada, who looked at it, and then up to Sabrina. Sabrina’s expression didn’t change as Ada rung up the purchase, nor when she gave Ada exact change, down to the last coin. 

Sabrina had those sort of piercing eyes, the ones that made you look a second time. Her eyes were intense, yet calming, like an ocean wave crashing on top of you, then pulling away from the shore, leaving you in the sand. Ada couldn’t keep from glancing back up to Sabrina, and then back down to the register. 

“No one’s ever bought one of these cards before. Guess you’re the first person who’s ever needed one,” Ada said, trying to break the silence, which permeated the room and bounced back to her. She hated awkward silences and didn’t want to drink in the silence with this girl much longer. 

Sabrina regarded her for a moment, but said nothing. Ada swallowed and slid the greeting card back to her. “Right, so did you want your receipt?” Ada asked, hoping that the girl would leave and she could curl back up into the safe glow of her phone. 

Sabrina nodded and Ada printed the receipt and handed it to Sabrina, who tucked it into her pocket. She picked up the greeting card gingerly and made to leave, before pausing and thinking for a moment.

“Do you have a pen?” Sabrina asked, turning back towards Ada, who’d already grabbed her phone. “Oh, yeah,” Ada said, putting her phone in her lap and placing a ballpoint pen on the desk. Sabrina walked back to the desk, removed the plastic covering of the card and began writing in a rushed handwriting that spilled across the paper. Ada was never good at reading upside down, so she didn’t snoop, but she did watch Sabrina as she wrote quickly, pausing only to adjust her beret, which kept slipping down towards her forehead. 

Sabrina finished writing and put the card in the envelope, sealing it closed by licking it. Ada unconsciously winced when she remembered the sharp taste of envelope glue. Sabrina addressed the envelope and capped the pen, putting it back on the desk. 

Ada watched her go, lavender envelope in hand. She peered through the window as Sabrina placed a stamp from her purse onto the envelope and slipped it through the opening of the blue postal mailbox on the sidewalk. She then took the receipt from her pocket, examined it, and crumpled it, dropping it into the large garbage bin near the mailbox as she left, her shoes clicking on the sidewalk.

Part One

I hear bells all the time. It used to be only at night as I lay in the dark, but now they ring constantly. I mention it to Hope and she gives me a look and pokes my nose. She does believe me, I’m sure of it, but I can’t read her expression. She’s the one who swears the lights that go across the walls at night are ships going. She doesn’t say where their destination is, only that they are on their way.

The apartment we live in is temporary. We were clear about this to Josie, our landlord and good friend. She owns the building and has owned it for six years now. It was crumbling, bursting at the seams when she bought it and now it’s cleaner, comfy. Better to live in. Better to try than not at all.

Our apartment is one of three in the whole building. Josie lives part time in the largest one and the other one is occupied by someone who’s name and face I can’t seem to remember. No one stays for very long so I tried not to worry over names. A smile when we pass in the halls should suffice, but no more than that. Anything else means we’re friends, at least in my book. I talked to Josie one two many times and now she stays up late at night, smoking on our balcony while I play guitar and Hope sings.

The window in our bedroom faces the street below so all the ships Hope sees come from passing cars obstructing streetlights and the moon. I close my eyes tightly and I can’t see the ships, but Hope watches for them. She stares at the walls and the ceilings when she thinks I’m asleep. If I was awake, we’d talk and she’d point out constellations that we can barely see because of all the headlights. But I sleep deeply, deeply enough that it muffles the bells. But they’re still there, ringing, echoing, singing?

I started hearing the bells a few months ago. It was early in the morning, so early it was still nighttime. The comforter slipped off the mattress and we were covered in sheets. A sliver of light cut through the curtains and onto Hope’s face. She was glowing in the night and I was the only one who would ever see it. And in the distance, as I stared at the light, the bells were ringing. They were so quiet I thought I was dreaming. The bells echoed Hope’s breathing and the sounds filled up the silence of the room. I couldn’t help but be reminded of nights on our balcony, hovering above the city streets, breathing in the night air, and the city’s breath, and smoke from Josie’s cigarettes and the burning of Hope’s incense. The tambourine’s soft sound hummed with my guitar and Hope’s quiet voice got lost in the cries of the cars beneath us.  

The bells rang until sunlight began to stream through the windows and sneak in through cracks in the wispy curtains. When Hope woke up, they were gone and when we ate breakfast with Josie, I was certain I dreamt them. So I let myself forget about them.

I heard them again when Hope turned out the light so we could go to sleep. And when they rang the next night after that, I decided it wasn’t a dream. The bells were real. They were ringing, a sound for me, one that only I was allowed to hear. The bells were pretty, admittedly, but they tortured me. I used to sleep so deeply and now, not so much.