Bang, bang, suddenly came on the cream-painted front door of Ann’s apartment. She jumped, spilling hot chocolate from the large white teacup onto her hand.

Ann sighed loudly.

“Who are the parents of these children?” she exclaimed, putting down the teacup on the circular oak table in the small dining room near the kitchen.

She turned and rushed to the stainless steel sink in the kitchen, and ran her slightly thrubing hand under cold water. Shortly afterwards, she returned to the dining table, pulled a white tissue from the knitted holder, and wiped her hand. She also wiped the little spillage on the white floor tiles with the tissue. 

Yesterday, around this time, a similar knock came on her door, so she hurried to it, but after using the peephole, she saw no one. So, she called out, but no answer came. However, she was almost certain she heard children laughing.

“They’re at it again,” she quietly said, walking back to the kitchen and shaking her head. “It’s Spring Break from school, and as usual, they’re knocking at doors and running away.”

Ann shook her head at the memory and sat at the dining table after throwing the dirty tissue into the trash. She looked through the glass panel window where the white curtains parted to allow daylight to enter.

Rain was drizzling.

Bang, bang came on the door again as Ann picked up the large teacup, gently blew the light brown liquid, and sipped it.

A sigh of contentment escaped her.

The phone rang, but Ann ignored it, allowing it to go to the answering machine.

A few minutes later, another bang, bang came on the door, and the phone rang again. Ann’s hot chocolate was halfway finished.

Please Lord, Ann quietly prayed, can’t I have a quiet, peaceful day off?

The phone continued to ring.

“Okay, okay,” she said aloud.

She got up, went to the living room, and answered the black and white cordless phone. It was her mom.

Bang, bang, bang came about ten minutes into the phone call.

Ann jumped.

“I think I just heard some gunshots,” Ann said into the phone.

She was quiet for a few minutes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mom, but what if someone needs my help?”

Bang, bang, came on her door.

“Someone’s banging on the door, Mom!” she said. “I’m going to use the peephole, first.”

“Calm down Mom, I’m not going to put myself in danger.”

Bang, bang, came again, but not as forceful as before.

“Let me call you back, Mom. I have to go, Mom, but I’ll call you back.”

Ann was already out of the black leather sofa she sat in after answering the phone.

She ended the call, and with the phone in her hand, she tiptoed to the front door and peeped through the peephole.

She could not tell for sure, but the person lying in the hallway on the grey-carpeted floor, dressed in blue jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt, was her neighbour two doors down on her right.

She opened the door, but with the chain still in place, asked.

“Are you okay?”

“Please, please call 911,” was the laboured reply. “My ex-boyfriend just shot me and ran away.”

Ann made the call, and after rushing into the bathroom and grabbing the clean bath towel she’d put there about an hour ago when cleaning the washroom, she went outside.

No one else was in the hallway.

“The cops and ambulance are on their way, but in the meantime, let’s try and stop the bleeding,” Ann said.

About a month later, Ann sat at the dining table, looking through the window. Spring Break was long over, and school for the day would have started about two hours ago. Her two nieces were by for their annual Spring Break weekend with her before the vacation was over, and as usual, she loved every minute with them.

Bang, bang, came on the front door. 

Ann put down the teacup and after opening the door, her neighbour Michelle, who was shot by her boyfriend, was standing there with a medium-sized fruit basket in her hands.

Michelle, twenty-six years old, moved into the building about three years ago, while Ann lived there for about a year. Throughout their years of sharing the same complex, they’ve exchanged greetings, but they have never entered each other’s apartments. Now, this was the second time Michelle had entered her apartment. The first time was two days after she’d returned home from the hospital. 

Michelle was tall and slender, with shoulder-length black hair, and was always with a smile on her face. She had been dating Ty since grade twelve, and when they moved in together six months ago, not once did Ann think of him as a drug dealer whenever she passed him in the hallways.

When Ann visited Michelle in the hospital, Michelle told her that she found two bags of drugs in the toilet tank and, in anger because her younger brother overdosed last year, flushed it down the toilet. When Ty returned home and found out what she did, he lost it because the drugs were worth over twenty thousand dollars and belonged to someone else.

He shot at her three times as she fled the apartment, but only one bullet hit her. Her boyfriend fled the apartment but turned himself in at the police station the following day.

“This is for you,” Michelle said, entering the apartment with the fruit basket.

“Thanks,” Ann replied, smiling.

The End