THE LAST HOUR OF SEVEN BELLS
The Sister’s Keeper
The letter arrived on a Monday.
Nora found it in her mailbox, tucked between a bill and a takeout menu, its envelope plain and white. No return address. No postmark. Just her name, written in handwriting she recognized but could not place.
She carried it inside.
She sat at her kitchen table.
She opened it.
Dear Nora,
My name is Sarah. I was Lena’s best friend in high school. We met in freshman English, bonded over our love of bad poetry and terrible movies, and stayed friends until the day she died.
I’m writing to you because I need you to know something. Something I should have told you fifteen years ago. Something I’ve been carrying ever since.
Lena didn’t run away.
She didn’t commit suicide.
She was murdered.
And I know who did it.
Nora’s blood went cold.
She read the letter again.
I was there that night. At the cabin. With Lena and Miles. We were having a party. A small one. Just the three of us.
We were drinking. We were laughing. We were young.
Then a man came to the door.
He was tall, thin, wearing a dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He said he was lost. He asked to use the phone.
Lena let him in.
That was her mistake.
That was her last mistake.
Nora’s hands were shaking.
She read on.
I don’t remember much after that. I think he drugged us. I woke up hours later, on the floor, alone. Lena was gone. Miles was gone. The cabin was empty.
I ran. I didn’t call the police. I didn’t tell anyone. I was scared. I was young. I was stupid.
I’ve regretted it every day for fifteen years.
I know who the man was. I saw his face. I’ve seen it in my nightmares every night since.
His name is Daniel Cross. He was Lena’s ex-boyfriend. He had been stalking her for months. He had threatened to kill her if she ever left him.
She left him.
He killed her.
I know where he lives.
I know where he works.
I know where he hides.
If you want to find him, come to the address below.
I’ll be waiting.
— Sarah
Nora set the letter down.
The room was spinning.
Her heart was pounding.
Her hands were shaking.
She picked up her phone.
She dialed.
Miles answered on the first ring.
“Nora?”
“I got a letter.”
“A letter?”
“From Lena’s best friend. Sarah. She was there that night. She saw the killer.”
“What?”
“She knows who did it. She knows where he is.”
Miles was silent.
The seconds stretched.
“Nora, don’t—”
“I have to.”
“It could be a trap.”
“It could be the truth.”
“It could be both.”
“Then I’ll be careful.”
“Nora—”
“I have to do this, Miles. For Lena. For me. For fifteen years of not knowing.”
She hung up.
She stood.
She walked to the door.
She did not look back.