Chapter 10 #3
A heavy ache pressed against her. She had known her mother was on a host of medications, but this many? There was medication for constipation. For diarrhea. For sleep. For pain. So many different pain medications. She picked them up, one by one, reading each label, as thunder boomed outside.
At last, she found the correct one. She crossed over to the fridge, her hand closing around the handle.
Suddenly, a low buzz filled the air, and she was plunged into darkness.
A power outage. Given the storm, it wasn’t shocking. But her mother had mentioned generators. Why hadn’t they kicked in?
Hena reached instinctively for her phone to turn on the flashlight—only to remember she had left her purse at the wedding hall. With the curtains drawn and the dark clouds outside, the room was pitch-black. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.
She opened the refrigerator and ran her fingers along the shelves until they touched a smooth plastic bottle. She grabbed it, hoping it was the right one, and shut the door.
Then she heard it.
A creak. Long and slow.
“Gita?” she called out tentatively.
No reply.
So not Gita. Probably the wind. The building settling against the storm.
She took a cautious step toward the exit—
Another creak. Higher pitched.
Her pulse quickened. She wasn’t afraid of the dark. There was no one else here. There couldn’t be. But this moment mirrored another. From three years ago.
Her hands fumbled along the wall. Her heart pounded.
Another sound. This time nearer. This time not a creak.
Footsteps.
Blood rushed to her head. She pressed her back against the fridge. Fear prickled the base of her neck. She couldn’t see anything, but there was no talking herself down. She knew, as certainly as she knew her own name, she was not alone.
“Stay back,” she demanded, trying to sound commanding despite the unmistakable quiver in her voice.
Silence.
Then another step. Closing in.
Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. This would not go like last time. She would not wait like a sitting duck until it was too late.
She had to go.
Now.
She lunged forward, fleeing for the door. Her hip slammed into the island. Something crashed to the floor with a sickening thud.
A buzzing sound, and suddenly the lights flickered back on. A smoke detector beeped wildly. The clock on the microwave blinked midnight. Breathing heavily, she scanned the room. Her eyes darted to the corners, searching for a shadow. There was no one there.
But there had been someone.
Hadn’t there?
Or had she psyched herself out, cowering from ghosts that no longer existed?
Her gaze dropped to the floor. The wedding cake lay smashed beyond recognition.
The front door swung open. Gita wheeled her mother inside.
“Don’t worry about the Percocet,” Gita called out. “Her coughing is getting worse. I’m going to start a morphine drip now, but we’ll need to make an appointment to get her seen tomorrow.”
Gita didn’t wait for a response before slipping into the bedroom with Ammi. Hena stood motionless, staring at the destroyed cake.
“Lulu has a dress fitting tomorrow,” Gita said, once she emerged from the bedroom. “Do you think you can join us at the doc— Oof.” She pressed a hand to her temples. “How long has the smoke detector been beeping?”
“Did you see anyone on your way up?” Hena asked, trying to steady her voice. “Anyone out of place? Anyone exiting the elevator while you were waiting?”
“No. Why?” Gita walked toward her—then gasped at the mess.
“I—I’m so sorry,” Hena stammered. “When the power went out, I couldn’t see where I was going…”
“The suite lost power?” Gita asked.
“Didn’t the whole resort?”
Gita shook her head. Hena opened her mouth. Then closed it. Because she saw it.
The knife.
It was embedded in the ruined cake.
The one with the glossy reddish-brown handle.
Trembling, Hena knelt and pulled it free. She took in the metal curve of the blade. The hammered finish.
For a moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped.
She knew this knife.
It was a Shun. Lulu had given her a set for her wedding. This particular knife was supposed to be locked away in an evidence bag at the Broward County Sheriff’s Office.
Because three years ago, she had sliced that knife into the abdomen of a man who had tried to kill her.
“What a mess,” Gita said, shaking her head. “It’s all hands on deck with the wedding. I doubt housekeeping will get here anytime soon.”
Hena held up the knife, trying to keep her hands steady.
“Why is this here?”
Gita stared at the blade, then paled. “I’m so sorry. I must have left it on the island. I was cutting up an apple this afternoon. I should have placed it in the sink. It could have really hurt you.”
“This knife was already here?” Hena asked. “In the suite?”
Gita opened the silverware drawer. There they were. Shun knives. Several of them.
See, Hena? An easy enough explanation. A top-end knife for a top-end suite. One of Lulu’s favorite brands, no less.
But no matter how her mind tried to accept this explanation, she couldn’t help how seeing the knife made her feel.
Like it had been left there as a pointed message.
Just for her.