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.