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Dear Beatrice,
You once told me that saying sorry indicates regret. That people who regret tend to take care not to repeat their mistake.
So, Bea, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied. I’m sorry that I had to trick you, trick everyone. I hated lying to you. I never wanted to, but there was no other way. No other way to keep you safe, keep you all safe. I hope you’ll understand one day why I did what I did. Though I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.
But I want you to know that I will never regret the decision I made. It’s the choice I would make every single time. I can never regret it, I can’t. Because I got my second chance at life, Bea. And now, with Adriel gone, you can have yours.
___________________
The drive back to Jillian’s feels like a funeral procession. Where she should feel happiness at Adriel’s defeat, Beatrice only feels numbness and pain. She had forced her emotions behind a ten-foot-thick wall all her life. If they were hidden, if they were forgotten about, nothing could hurt her. She could be the perfect daughter, perfect warrior that she needed to be. But Ava, her own personal resurrected savior, crashed into her life and took that wall down brick by brick. For a moment Beatrice could see the light on the other side. Could feel Ava’s effect on her soul.
But now, with her salvation gone, Beatrice wishes nothing more than to rip her traitorous heart straight from her chest for making her feel this deep aching pain. An ache so painful it’s almost physical, like she can feel her heart splitting into two.
Camila had found her at the base of the Arc asking where Ava was. Her words had no meaning, barely slugging their way through the unending wall of silence in Beatrice’s mind. She could find no words to tell Camila what had happened. What Ava had done. Because Ava was gone. And it was suddenly like all the light, all the color had been drained from the world. Sucked right into the Arc along with Ava, the source of it all.
She doesn’t remember the trip back to the compound. She doesn’t remember walking the halls back to her and Ava’s shared room but standing on the threshold strikes another blow. The room is just as they had left it. Ava’s sneakers by the door, her hat on the foot of the bed, dirty clothes tossed beside the dresser. It’s as if the room is expecting Ava to come trotting through the door at any moment, just waiting for her to return.
It would seem that Beatrice is the only one privy to what the world has just lost.
She makes her way to the bed - body and mind exhausted and hurting and in pain. There is a split moment where she wavers on which side to lay down on. Afraid that she’ll taint whatever memory of Ava still graces the sheets, but the need to be close to her, in whatever way, wins out.
The pillow is soft and smells of her. She aches, a hollowness she’d never wish on anyone compressing her lungs, her heart. The sheets barely make a sound as she tucks her knees to her chest in an attempt to shrink herself and shrink the pain. It doesn’t work.
The tears return, breaching the dam she had bravely put up when Camila had found her. She doesn’t try to stop them this time, instead turning her face into the pillow and letting herself feel every last one. When a sob has her pushing deeper into the pillow the sound of a crinkle beneath her ear catches her attention.
Leaning up on an elbow, she reaches beneath the pillow and pulls out a neatly folded letter. Her name written out in clean black script on top.
Beatrice would recognize the handwriting anywhere. They’d spent hours working on it after all.
“Dear Beatrice,” she reads and the world stops turning.
____________________
I don’t want you to feel guilty about it. I don’t want you to feel like you aren’t worthy of it. Because you deserve this, Bea. I got to live my life. I got to live my life because you took a chance and showed the world to me. Rome, Madrid, our home in Switzerland. I got to see the world and I got to live life with you. You showed me kindness. You showed me respect. You showed me love.
____________________
She finds herself packing what little belongings she and Ava had brought to Jillian’s to head back to Cat’s Cradle. Picking her way carefully through Ava’s things, she tries to ignore the feeling scratching at the back of her mind that she’s hiding away from this. That she’s packing away Ava’s things and the memory of Ava with it. Ava had told her to go live her life and here she is going back to what she’s always known. Solitude and loneliness.
Beatrice has never felt this hopeless before, never felt this deep type of agony. She had a brief glimpse of what the world could be like and it was so cruelly ripped away from her. The worst part is that it’s not even something that she can tamper down, something that she can smash into the pit of her stomach and never think about again. It filters and flows and seeks each cavity of her brain, making sure she is always thinking of it. Every moment and object and action a reminder of Ava. It seeps its way into her body like a virus rendering her incapacitated at the worst moments.
She drops the shirt in her hands, the colorful button-down Ava had preferred in Switzerland, her knees wobbling and her breath coming up short. The back of her thighs hit the bed and she slides down to the floor taking part of the bed’s comforter with her. She shouldn’t be leaving. She shouldn’t be giving up like this. She should be waiting for Ava to come back or trying to figure out a way to get Ava back.
Leaning further into the floor for support her fingers brush against something solid under the bed. It’s partially covered by the heap of bedding, but once it’s free from the folds her breath catches in her chest.
The Warrior Nun Journal.
The book is heavy- not just physically, but with the weight of hundreds of sister’s thoughts and words. Beatrice spreads her palm on the worn leather, letting out a heavy breath, before flipping to the last couple of pages. She had read through it multiple times while they planned their mission to the Vatican. Each entry and Warrior Nun familiar to her now.
It surprises her though when she flips past Shannon and finds Ava’s handwriting. Tears immediately flood to her eyes. Blurring the beautiful writing before her. There are at least a dozen or so pages filled with her words, tiny doodles in the margins, pictures from the cheap disposable camera Han’s had given Ava tucked between pages, postcards of various cities and countries.
Beatrice’s hands shake as she devours each word, her finger tracing along the delicate swirls of Ava’s writing. She details every moment of her so called second life. Starting from the exact moment she awoke in the morgue to the night before the final battle with Adriel. No moment is too small or unimportant. She journals it all. What she liked and didn’t like, what she was thinking, what frustrated her or scared her. What made her happy. How she knew she was on borrowed time.
A small spark of warmth blooms in Beatrice’s chest when she finds that she features heavily in the last few pages. Ava’s words overflowing with joy and happiness as she talks about finding their apartment, filling it with knickknacks, the days where Ava would come home late from a shift at the bar and find Beatrice asleep on the couch, waiting for her to come home. The way she couldn’t sleep before the final mission. Thoughts too swirled with emotion of knowing what she was going to do, what she had to do. So, she preoccupied herself with tracking the moon’s movement across the sky. Watching how it’s beams settled across Beatrice’s face, how it made her skin glow and bring her freckles to life in a constellation she could touch.
It's beautiful and heartbreaking and Beatrice realizes that there is no hiding. Not like before. Not like when she was younger.
Beatrice stares at the blank page after Ava’s final notes. 6 months. That was all she had gotten in her second life. But Ava has given her a blessing like no other. A treasure like no other. And it’s now Beatrice’s duty to continue living on. To live this life to its fullest like Ava would.
____________________
Every new place that she goes, Beatrice flips through Ava’s portion of the journal and tries to see the world as she did. Experience each new moment as she did.
Greece is her first stop. Staying on the small island of Syros. The weather is warm, the sun kissing her cheeks causing a new spattering of freckles to pop up.
Jillian had given her a sleek black credit card, murmuring something about not needing the money anymore, something about saving it for when Michael returned. Beatrice takes the card from her, reaching out to brush her fingers against her wrist in a show of small comfort. She supposes the unexpected gift has more to do with the solemn comradery that they have in their shared grief. Something that no one else can claim.
She had pulled the Greece postcard at random from the Journal but saw it as a sign from Ava herself. So, she took Jillian’s card and booked the first flight out. Hugging Camila goodbye and giving a respectful nod to Mother Superion.
The home she rents is spectacular. Nestled on the hillside with sweeping views of the Mediterranean for miles. She wakes up each morning, early as Ava would to savor the day, and watches the sunrise from the balcony. She stays in her over large shirt and sleeping shorts, lounging as the sun’s first rays peak above the horizon.
She sips her tea, and brings the Journal out, reading Ava’s thoughts when she watched the sunrise in Ronda with Mary. This was the moment when Ava realized that for as much as she was enjoying her second chance at life, she could help others fully live their first. Ensure that they could see their life to the end and could experience every little moment in between.
On her tenth sunrise there, Beatrice begins to understand appreciating the little things. Appreciating each sunrise because the next is never guaranteed. Watching the sunrise with those you love is never guaranteed.
____________________
I will never know why I got a second chance. It always felt so random, and I don’t know if I believe that God chose me, despite what everyone says. Maybe everything happens for a reason. I don’t know. But I know that I’ve never been more grateful in my life. Because it led me to you.
____________________
Indonesia comes next. She tries Jakarta first. The hustle of the city overwhelms, but as she’s exploring the night markets, she meets an elderly gentleman selling a variety of fruits. The area around his stall moving at a slower pace. It draws Beatrice in. His smile is kind and warm and he tells her that she reminds him of his own daughter. “So serious,” he mock-whispers behind his hand.
Beatrice can only smile.
He has Beatrice try every one of his fruits. Pulling an ancient machete from behind his back he cuts open a beautifully orange papaya. Tossing a lime into the air he slices into it midair and snatches the slices before they fall. “This is how a papaya should be enjoyed,” he says as he drizzles lime juice onto each half. The first bite is an explosion of flavor. Beatrice looks up at him with wide eyes, mid-chew, and the man throws his head back, hand on his stomach, in a full belly laugh.
It's so strikingly Ava that Beatrice must blink a few times to clear her vision.
The man chats with Beatrice for a while longer, before he ropes her into visiting his home the next day for a home cooked meal. She tries to politely decline, but he is insistent, and Beatrice finds herself taking winding roads on her rental scooter the next day.
She hesitates for just a moment, terrified of tainting such a precious moment, but steels herself and sets up the path to the home. The door opens immediately, not even allowing her to knock once, the man pulling her inside. It’s loud and bursting to the seams with his family. He had cooked enough food to feed the entire Madrid chapter of the OCS, and for a moment laughing at the antics of the man’s grandson she lets the light feeling fill her up, lets her cheeks blush red with laughter, and enjoys the moment.
After eating her fill, thanking the man for his hospitality, Beatrice takes the long route back to her hotel. The night is still warm, only a slight breeze breaking up the humidity. It’s late, but instead of going to her room she slips off her shoes and walks down to the beach. The moon is bright and ocean calm. There is no one else out there, nothing but her and her thoughts.
Digging her toes into the sand she closes her eyes and just breathes. A small part of her heart seemingly finding it’s place again.
____________________
Because I woke up in a morgue and suddenly had superpowers. And it was like every nerve ending was a livewire. I could walk, run! Look at the stars in the night sky, instead of that damn ceiling. Dance in a random bar with a stranger, no cares in the world. Feel the ocean breeze on my face and dig my hands into the sand and feel every grain as they fell between my fingers. I was living life, truly living it, for the first time. Grateful for the simple truth of just being alive. And none of it. None of it compared to meeting you. How I felt when I was with you.
____________________
Lilith finds her in Iceland. The Northern Lights have always been something she’s wished to see and with all the time in the world, she makes the flight.
It’s just as spectacular as she knew they would be, if not more. Logically, she knows the science behind how they are formed. But she likes to think there is a little bit of Ava Silva magic behind it all. It feels particularly potent as she flips through the journal and tucks Ava’s Northern Lights post card as her placeholder.
She’s not the Warrior Nun, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like treason as she writes her own travels just after Ava’s. It feels right.
The growl of Lilith’s portal opening doesn’t startle her. She figured this moment would happen sooner or later. In fact, a part of her had been waiting for it, hoping for it. With the numbness gone she feels ready to face Lilith head on. Her throwing knife is released from her hand before Lilith even fully walks through the portal.
She barely dodges it, the blade sailing centimeters from her face before it digs into the wall behind her with a deep thud.
Beatrice doesn’t let her breathe before she is on her, grabbing the front of the robes and slamming her back against the wall. “What’re you doing here?” she growls.
Lilith’s fingers wrap gently around Beatrice’s wrist, “I’ve come to make amends.” She lowers her head slightly when Beatrice just slams her back into the wall again, “Beatrice.”
Beatrice hates how her lower lip trembles as the next words tumble out, “I hate you. I hate you.” A traitorous tear slips from her steel-clad willpower’s grasp. “You’re the reason she’s not here. Make amends?” she scoffs, “Lilith you wanted Ava gone. You always have. And now you’ve come to me to try and clear your conscience.” Her grip tightens, knuckles white, “You can go fuck yourself. You have no idea what you took from me. I’m trying to heal. To heal myself and you have the audacity to come here.”
She has no idea she’s even crying until Lilith’s fingers slide slowly down Beatrice’s arms, her elbows, until they are wrapped fully around her. There is not a single sane thought that goes through Beatrice’s mind that can convince her why she is allowing Lilith to hug her. But perhaps it’s the familiarity of her. The warmth of her.
Beatrice breaks and Lilith lets her.
“I was having a really fucking good day, before you showed up,” she sniffs. Lilith’s whole-body shakes with her laugh.
____________________
Because as alive as those things made me feel. Being with you Bea, felt like my heart was on fire. In all the best ways. Our life together in Switzerland was all I ever wished for, dreamed for when I was paralyzed. And I’m so grateful that I got to live out my dream with you.
So please, please Bea. Please go find what makes you feel alive. What makes you grateful for the incredible life that we live. Go live your life, go love your life. Not for me or anyone else. Not because I said so or someone asked. Live it for yourself.
Travel the world. Eat good food, get lost in a city and just let yourself feel the energy of it. Visit museums, not just the big ones. Wake up at the crack of dawn and go hike a mountain just for the sunrise. Experience new things and meet new people. Put yourself out there. Take risks. Fall in love.
Just live Bea. Live.
Forever yours,
Ava
____________________
It takes a lot of strength to go back to Switzerland. This is where she found her home, where she built her home. Where she learned the holiness that is Ava Silva. She is eight months into her travels. She’s visited each of the locations that Ava had postcards of. Even added a few of her own.
But it feels right to head back to Switzerland now. As much as she doesn’t want to believe it, as much as her heart protests it, her brain knows that after this much time Ava likely isn’t going to return to her. So Beatrice decides that if she cannot have Ava she will go to the last place that she did.
The proprietor of the flower shop, Luca, where their flat sat above almost doesn’t let her rent it out again. Grumbling something about the place being destroyed and leaving without notice. With her most charming smile Beatrice promises to fix the place up if she’s allowed to stay. Luca agrees. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly.
The door to the flat is split down the center, the handle punched through. Clearly the FBC had raided shortly after the interrogation incident and cared little for leaving no trace. Ava’s posters are ripped from the walls, the stuffing from the couch cushions sliced open, the bookshelf turned over. Even the mirror where Bea had walked in on Ava chopping her hair off with a gleeful grin smashed to pieces.
Fiery anger burns deep in her chest at the destruction. Ava’s soul had touched this place and it was evident with every knick-knack and decoration. How dare Adriel send his demons to defile their home. Beatrice’s own holy land.
She channels the anger into constructive work. Something that comes to her naturally, drilled into her from a young age. Cleaning first and then because she has been and will always be an overachiever begins to remodel the place. She refinishes the wood floors, paints the walls. Her landlord stops by one night, grumbling all the while, but seems to be pleased with the changes. Beatrice risks asking if she could do something a bit grander. If she could take out one of the walls and replace it with windows. The view of the Alps is something that should be appreciated every day, she argues.
Luca seems to agree.
The wall comes down easily, despite the weeks Beatrice spent learning about load bearing walls and window installments It’s long, tedious work, but Beatrice thrives with the labor. She loves the way her muscles ache at the end of the day, how she wipes the sweat and the sawdust from her brow. It’s such different work from the OCS and while she keeps the heart of their home, Beatrice brings the place into the modern age.
Each detail added or changed is and ode to something she knows that Ava would like. The floor to ceiling windows that open fully to allow the crisp Swiss breeze in, the brightly colored walls and the polka-dot rug. Of course, Beatrice had replaced the couch because “it’s like a freaking brick Bea, you can’t sleep on that. The bed is big enough for the both of us!”
It’s still home. It’s still Ava’s home. But it’s also a tribute of Beatrice’s love.
Her next project is the small bathroom. She’s thinking of replacing the vanity and tiling the shower but needs a new set of tools. Plus, she knows nothing about plumbing and needs to do her research on how to replace the sink without causing the whole place to flood. The owner of the small hardware store in town, Myla, knows her by name now and greets her with a large smile, “What’s your project now, Beatrice?” she teases.
“Plumbing,” Beatrice laughs, turning down an aisle to look for a pipe cutter. Myla follows after her asking about what type of plumbing and what she wants to do. She offers recommendations and gives hints on the best way to tile a shower floor. Beatrice nods along, taking mental notes of everything that Myla says. But it comes to halt when Myla rests her hand on Beatrice’s bicep and leans in close, laughing at some off handed dry remark she had made. For a moment Beatrice let’s herself think. Perhaps, she could. Ava has been gone a long time, closing in on 10 months, and had even said Bea should find love. Myla is kind. She has a warm smile and beautiful green eyes. And Beatrice allows herself a moment to think. But no. No.
Beatrice found her one true love. She’d wait an eternity to be reunited with Ava. She doesn’t believe in soul mates, but Ava came pretty damn close and no one, no one could ever come close to Ava.
She makes her selections and thanks Myla, wishing her a good night and walks back to the apartment. She had spent much longer at the store than she had intended, the day having turned long into dusk by the time she returns.
The door creaks open when she unlocks it, still protesting its rough treatment despite Beatrice’s best attempts to fix it and shucks her supplies on the tiny island cart she had purchased for the kitchen. She leans back against the counter, tilting her face to the ceiling and pulling her hair tie out with a shake to let her hair fall loose behind her back.
There are hard days and there are easier days. But still at night in the silence of it all, Beatrice finds herself feeling lonely. Finds herself wishing for what was. She has plenty of friends now. Connecting with the people of the town, opening herself up and allowing more people in. Camila checks in weekly. But even with all that, there is still a blatant hole in her life. With a sigh she pushes off the counter and turns to go turn the small TV on in the living space to fill the apartment with some background noise. Something to drown out the silence she is feeling particularly fiercely tonight.
When she turns, she is blessed with a sight that nearly drops her to her knees. The room is filled with the holy glow of the Halo. And Beatrice knows that her salvation has returned.
"Hi Bea.”