11.

Susan let her warm, rich alto float through the final refrain of the Recessional hymn that signalled the end of Mass. As the last chord finished resounding inside the Cathedral, she remembered that as a child growing up in Larchmont, she had really enjoyed singing and wanted to join a girls' choir. Even as a nine-year-old her voice had a deeper timbre than most of the girls her age. After a small audition with a group, the choir director had rejected Susan, since he felt her voice would be too much of a contrast to the high, soprano voices of the other members.

"She should come back when she's a teenager," the director had told Emily, "we've got an excellent young women's choir. A voice like hers would be more welcome then."

Susan exited the pew, genuflected and then started scanning the departing members of the congregation for Neeve Kearny. I'm glad I didn't lose heart as a disappointed nine-year-old who was told she couldn't join the choir, Susan thought to herself. Going back when I was fourteen was one of the most rewarding experiences I ever had in an artistic and creative sense.

Feeling an arm on her shoulder, Susan turned, expecting to see Neeve. She was instead greeted by a stranger.

"You're Susan, aren't you?" asked the stranger, who looked to Susan to perhaps be in her mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind, placid look to her otherwise plain features.

"Yes, I am," Susan replied, with some hesitation.

"Forgive me," the other woman said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay," Susan said to her, "It's just that I was actually expecting you to be someone else."

"Well, my name's Claire," the woman introduced herself, "and there is actually something rather important I have to tell you…"

"Oh?"

"Some people don't quite know how to react when I approach them like this," Claire continued tentatively, "so it is entirely up to you if you want to listen to what I have to say."

Susan nodded and said: "Please, go ahead."

"Please don't think I'm crazy, or delusional…But God has given me a gift, you could say, and the other day in prayer, I got the feeling that I should give someone named 'Susan' a particular message."

"Don't worry – I know and absolutely respect the kind of 'gift' you're talking about," Susan reassured her.

"As I said, all I knew was that it concerned someone named 'Susan'. It wasn't until I saw you today at Mass that I knew you were the one I was supposed to tell. It was almost like I heard an audible voice tell me it was you…and you need to know that you're in danger."

"How – what?" Susan's brow  wrinkled in confusion.

"Something terrible happened to you some time ago," Claire closed her eyes in concentration. "I get the feeling that the danger you're in stems from whatever it was that happened in the past…Someone cursed you – yes, a dying man cursed you."   

"A 'dying man'?!" Susan exclaimed in a hushed tone, clearly shocked. "Who?!"

"I don't know," the woman responded, "but this curse has been following you ever since, like a predator stalking you, and I'm supposed warn you."

"What should I do?"

"Do you pray?" Claire asked.

"Sure, sometimes," Susan said.

"You need to pray more," came Claire's stern advice, "especially for protection. That whatever this curse is will be removed, because you're in very grave danger as it is."

"Susan, there you are!" Susan turned around swiftly at the sound of her name. Neeve Kearny was a little ways behind her, waving a hand.

"Hello, Neeve!" she called back, returning the wave. Susan turned back, politely considering introducing Claire to Neeve. A small gasp escaped her that Neeve managed to hear.

"What is it?" she asked as she came to a stop next to Susan.

"I was just speaking to someone – a woman – named Claire. Did you see where she went?" Susan began angling her neck to see over the heads of the departing parishioners. Try as she might, she could not spot the salt-and-pepper head that belonged to the older woman.

Neeve shrugged. "Sorry, Susan, I didn't see…She must have left in a hurry."

"Perhaps," Susan said doubtfully.

"Is something wrong?" Neeve asked, looking closely at Susan with concern in her voice.

"No, it's nothing," she replied, but knew she sounded unconvincing. She was relieved that Neeve did not press the matter. Indeed, what the stranger, Claire, had said to her was somewhat unsettling. The words spoken by her grandmother in the recent dream rose to the surface of her consciousness then, especially the part warning her to be careful…

Shaking her head as if to clear it of those troubling thoughts, Susan said brightly: "So! Are we still up for jogging through knee-high snow?"

***

In spite of the large dump of snow the city received, the jogging paths were still surprisingly busy, due in part to the brilliant sunshine that makes winter mornings so attractive. The day before, city workers had been out in full force clearing the public paths. Other areas had been tramped down by joggers and strollers alike, so when the two couples met up for their usual excursion, it was not as difficult as was expected.

The very first time they had met together for a jog occurred a few weeks after the Givvons & Marks  Christmas function. Don and Susan had let J.C. and Neeve take the lead, as they were the ones who had invited them. Both had noticed a deviation in the route they were taking when they approached the area behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but ignored it and followed without hesitation.

            When they had returned home, Susan had asked Don if he thought the digression was odd…

"I did," Don had responded. "I was wondering about it, and now I think I know why. Isn't Neeve's father Myles Kearny? I can't remember if she said so at the Christmas party…"

            "That's right, he is," Susan had said. "'The Legend', one of the best Commissioners this city has ever seen. He retired around the time I entered law school, I think, maybe a little earlier."

            "Then you must know what happened to his wife – Neeve's mother," Don had said.

            "Neeve hasn't spoken about her mother."

            "You were probably too young to remember. Neeve's mother Renata was murdered right there behind the museum when Neeve was a child. I remember, because Dad made Mother promise not to go strolling in the Park unescorted after it happened. They were both very uneasy around that time…and so was I. I kept thinking how sorry I was for this poor little girl. I couldn't imagine what I'd have done if the same thing had happened to Mother at that time."

            "Wait, I think I remember something about this," Susan had said. "Didn't they finally catch the killer some years ago?"

"Yes, I think they did."

"I can't believe we never made this connection about Neeve earlier. They all thought that crime boss, Nicki Sepetti was behind it, didn't they? But it turned out to be the fashion designer, Anthony della Salva. It got a lot of press. O God, poor Neeve."

"If she hasn't mentioned it, we probably shouldn't let on that we know unless she volunteers that information," Don said.

"Of course…"

Now as they jogged near the museum, the change in route so customary, Don and Susan hardly thought of it. For Neeve, it would be a place she could never erase from her memory. She divulged to Susan what had happened to her mother Renata – how her father's supposed friend from childhood, 'Uncle Sal', had slashed Renata's throat in order to claim her brilliant fashion designs as his own. 'Uncle Sal' had also ordered a hit on Neeve, and had himself held her at gunpoint, threatening to kill her in an attempt to make sure his previous dark deeds were not uncovered.

That explanation made Susan understand Neeve's wistful comment made regarding siblings at the Christmas party. The loss of her mother meant no brothers or sisters, as her father, Myles, would not re-marry until Neeve was an adult. But at least she now has a step-brother, Susan told herself, and it seems like they get along well.

When Neeve had opened up on the subject of her mother's murder and her own life-threatening situation, Susan also shared her deadly encounter with Alex Wright. Both women were able to identify with each other's brushes with death, and that allowed them to support each other on a level other friends and family members could not.

As they sat in a café they often frequented following their jog, Susan found herself unable to stay focused on the conversation at the table. Claire's words would not leave her mind. The woman claimed to have a 'gift'- something Susan was certain existed – and she had assured Claire that she believed in the validity of such a thing.

Susan shifted in her seat as she recalled the last person she had spoken those same words to – a woman named Pamela Hastings. Pamela's sense that there was evil and death surrounding a ring belonging to a gravely injured friend, a ring engraved with the words 'You belong to me', turned out to be quite true.

Those damned rings, Susan thought with revulsion. A sick joke of Alex Wright's. It came out in the murder trial that he had purchased a number of the same rings, and had given them to all the women he killed on cruises.

Giving credence to Claire's 'gift' was to give credence to her unsolicited warning. And that means something is not right, Susan thought, but what? She saw Neeve eyeing her questioningly from across the table. She knows something's bothering me, Susan thought, but I'm not ready to tell anyone about this, at least not yet. Instead she tried to refocus her attention on what the others were talking about.

"So, the changes are a bit of a gamble, but I think it's something I needed to do," Don was saying to J.C. "It means much less travel – which means more time at home, and with my practice, I'll be helping people with grief issues more than criminal issues. I think I have a certain insight into that. Besides, this last trip made me realise that my heart just isn't in it anymore."

Susan knew he was talking about a recent shift in focus with regard to his psychiatric practice, as well as his role as a jet-set expert witness.

"After Kathy died," Don continued, "I was a wreck. I know I threw myself into my work. I took on a lot of cases that took me away from the apartment for weeks at a time."

"That's understandable," J.C. said nodding. "It sounds like you just couldn't stand to be in the same place you shared with her. Too many memories."

"Maybe," Don said. "I actually kept a lot of Kathy's things around the apartment for a good while. But back then, I'd be testifying in England one month, then make it back in time for another trial in Canada – craziness like that. It went on like that for nearly three years. I took some time off to write Vanishing Women, and did the book tour thing. Then I met Susan. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Don had come to a decision that he would limit his court cases to a few domestic ones, with the rare jaunt into closer Canadian cities like Toronto. He also felt that he could use his experience of personal loss for the better, which meant he began to place more of an emphasis on grief counselling rather than analysing criminal behaviour in his patients.

"Well, I have a bit of news," Susan finally felt compelled to participate. "Dee and Russ have decided to get married."

"Hey, that's great! Tell her I say 'congratulations'," Neeve said smiling.

"I will," Susan responded. "She hasn't sounded this happy in a long time. It's kind of a relief, actually. It says to me that she's finally over Jack's death."

"Good for her," Neeve said. "From what you've told me, Russ seems like a great guy."

"Yes, by all appearances, he's been really good to Dee."

When they finally parted company, Don reminded J.C. and Neeve of Susan's upcoming birthday the next Saturday, the 24th of November. "I know it's the weekend just after Thanksgiving, but we're not planning anything overly fancy, just some close friends and family." he said to them. "So keep that night free for us."

"We'll be there," J.C. said.

"Yes, we'll be in touch," Neeve affirmed.

As they made their way home, J.C. said to Neeve: "Is it just me, or did Susan seem a little distracted today?"

"Yes, but something happened in church earlier, just before I met up with her. She said she was talking to some woman, and that as soon as I said 'hi' to her, the woman took off. She seemed downright flustered about it."

"You didn't see who she was talking to?"

"No. To hear Susan tell it though, she made it sound like the woman simply vanished. She tried to make light of it, so I let it drop. I know something about the encounter must have upset her. But I just figure the other woman was in a hurry to leave and didn't have time to say goodbye."

J.C. shrugged. "Maybe it's nothing at all, but Susan doesn't strike me as the kind of person who gets 'flustered' easily."

"No, she doesn't."

"Penny for your thoughts?" Don asked Susan when they returned home. They had said nothing to each other on the way, and Don was anxious to break the silence.

"What?"

"You were off in your own little world at the café today," he said, "at least until you came 'round and told them about Dee and Russ. Something the matter?"

"Sorry, I didn't intend to ignore everyone," Susan said, hoping her answer would be sufficient to curb his curiosity, but noticed he was peering at her intently, expecting more of an answer. "It's nothing, really…"

"Okay," Don said finally, making a mental note to himself that while he knew something was clearly on her mind, Susan would tell him what was bothering her when she was good and ready. It wasn't like her to be secretive, but Don decided that Susan was allowed to have the space to deal with whatever had her on edge.

That night, preparing for bed, Don saw Susan rummaging in an old jewellery box on her dresser. Finding what she was looking for, she climbed into bed next to him.

"What's that?" He asked her, seeing that she was holding something in her hands.

"A rosary. It was Gran Susie's," Susan said. "She brought it back from a trip she made to Ireland."

Don examined the hand-crafted beads she held out and shook his head with a small smile.

"What?" Susan asked.

"You know, when we were married, Mother said that Dad was probably turning in his grave."

"Why?"

"Dad was Presbyterian to the core. Wouldn't have anything to do with Catholicism. He regarded it with a lot of suspicion."

"Well then, I'm glad it's not a case of 'like father, like son'," Susan said.

"So am I," Don said. "Imagine not getting married over something as petty as religion... Anyway, I'm turning in. I'll let you get on with your prayers. Good night."

"Good night," Susan said, and tried to recall the last time she had recited the prayers that had been so familiar in her childhood.

Don was being led down a long, dimly-lit hall. He sensed that he was being guided by a police officer or detective towards a door that was opened a crack at the end of the hall. Gripped by a feeling of dread and apprehension, he fought the feeling to flee and continued on. After what seemed an eternity, he finally reached the door. As it swung open, his first impression was that he was in an office as he took in the room's surroundings. Desk, window, lamp… Then he was met with a terrifying scene. A body lay on the ground, covered with a blood-soaked sheet.

They want me to identify the body, Don told himself, noting the presence of plainclothes detectives and forensic personnel snapping photographs and dusting for fingerprints. Before the sheet was raised to reveal the victim's face, Don could see the soles of the shoes extending beyond the cover of the sheet, and knew why they were so familiar…

His moans awakened him. Susan rolled over and put her arm around his chest. "What's'matter?" she asked sleepily.

"Nothing…bad dream," he whispered, still gripped by the awful fear that the nightmare had produced in him.

"Wanna tell me 'bout it?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she said, removing her arm from him as she rolled back.

Immediately missing the sensation of her touch, Don in near-panic snuggled closer to her and gently rested his arm around her waist. He nuzzled the back of her neck, and sighed heavily, trying to dispel the terror he still felt.

That's the second time in three nights you've dreamt about Susan getting hurt, he thought to himself, great move, Don. And no way in hell I'm telling her about those nightmares!