Thursday Nov. 22 – early Thanksgiving Day
Don's alarm over the threat directed at Susan had not yet passed. The past three nights had been restless and uncomfortable, spent in unpleasantly shallow bouts of sleep that only produced more disturbing visions.
He shot bolt-upright with a sudden yelp early Thursday morning awakening Susan, who in an uncommonly exasperated tone asked curtly: "Don, what is it?!"
"Sorry," he murmured softly, squinting against the glare of the bedside light Susan snapped on.
"You've been like this for the past three nights – tossing and turning…Something's wrong," she said, now with a little more concern than annoyance in her voice.
Another nightmare, Don thought to himself, disgusted with his inability to shake its grip of terror on him. It was similar to the dream that had first presented itself on Sunday night. The same body lay on the floor, covered by a blood-soaked sheet. This time, the sheet was being slowly raised to reveal the face of a blonde-haired woman - a woman he knew with sickening certainty would be Susan. The dark-blonde locks of hair, trailing out from under the sheet had in fact had been a giveaway. From the moment he saw them, Don knew he wouldn't need to see the face to confirm the identity of the body.
"Don," Susan looked at her husband questioningly.
"I'm – I'm not sure what's wrong," he lied.
"Look, if that threat that anonymous loony sent to me is bugging you still, it's okay to admit it."
"You're right," he said, looking at her, "it is bothering me…I think perhaps I just need to let it go."
"Good," Susan said, giving his arm a pat. "You know the police are going to do all they can to determine who sent it. I'm willing to let it go, too. Maybe this way we can both get a decent nights' worth of sleep."
Don watched her settle back down under the comforter, relieved she had found an excuse for him. Being upset about the threat was indeed truthful, but he knew it wasn't the only thing behind his night terrors. He tried to fall asleep again, but found his mind kept turning over the details of Monday afternoon again and again.
After Don contacted the police on Monday afternoon, he'd marched up the hall to Susan's office and had a look at the flowers and card. When the police arrived, it was agreed upon by both parties that no details would be leaked to the press. The lilies and accompanying card had been taken as evidence by the detectives of the 22nd Precinct.
Dana Brodie was questioned, and was asked to give a physical description of the person who made the delivery. Unfortunately, she was not able to recall any specific details. Quite simply, a man had arrived; said the flowers were for Dr. Susan Chandler; accepted the proffered tip, and went on his way. There was nothing about his manner, Dana insisted, that could have been interpreted as abnormal, suspicious or criminal.
"We'll check the card for prints of course," Detective Sean Monahan said to Don and Susan. "These lilies had to have come from somewhere. I promise you we'll check out local floral shops. Can't imagine too many street vendors would be selling frail little flowers with the weather we've been having."
The question that raised Don's heart rate a notch was when Det. Monahan asked Susan if she could think of anyone who would possibly want to harm her.
"I was an Assistant D.A. before this psychology practice, Detective," she answered. "I did put away my share of scum bags. However, none of them ever swore in front of all the world to hear that they'd 'get' me." Susan shrugged. "An act of revenge? It doesn't feel right to me, but I suppose it's worth checking out if anyone I helped convict has been paroled."
"Duly noted," Det. Monahan said, flipping his notebook closed.
They had asked Dana to cancel and reschedule their appointments for the rest of the afternoon, and let her know she had the remainder of the day off. She silently complied and went through the list of patients, mechanically informing them of the changes that had to be made. Sensing that she was upset, Susan quietly asked the secretary if anything was wrong.
"I'm so sorry, Dr. Susan," she replied miserably. "If I had only gotten a better look at the guy, or paid more attention, I might have been more helpful. Now that creep is still out there, and the police have no clue what to look for."
"Look, Dana," Susan said soothingly, "it's okay. You had no way of knowing. And after all, this may just turn out to be a stupid prank." Don had found himself choking back a rebuttal.
Now as he lay next to Susan, he knew the hopeful answer was that the threat was the product of a harmless attention-seeker. But his gut was telling him there was something – or someone – far more dangerous behind it.