Saturday, November 24th

The evening of Susan's 36th birthday was raw and chilly with blowing of snow. Still, the handful of close friends and family that were invited all arrived rather punctually.

Among the invitees were old friends Bobby Lake and his wife, Jenny; Mark and Betsy Greenberg; J.C. and Neeve; Nedda Harding; Dee and Russell, and both mothers, Elizabeth and Emily.

Susan reflected that she was glad that her father, Charles, and step-mother Binky had once again opted to spend Thanksgiving in St. Martin. He had made the obligatory birthday call earlier in the day, and insisted on putting his second wife on the line to do the same.

Why do you even bother, Dad, Susan thought to herself at the time, you must know by now she doesn't really mean it when she wishes me a 'Happy Birthday', or any other compliment for that matter. Still, Susan had been gracious about it, but was definitely relieved when she was able to hang up. A couple years earlier, Emily had confirmed what Susan already suspected: that Binky hated her. That Charles hadn't yet figured it out caused Susan to shake her head.

If a trip to St. Martin in the past few years had become a Thanksgiving tradition for Charles and Binky, it was fast becoming the tradition for Susan, Don, Dee and Elizabeth to celebrate at Emily's place in Rye. This year, Russell Schuster had of course, been accompanying Dee.

The drive up to Rye that afternoon, given the holiday traffic, seemed to be taking forever and the silence between Don and Susan had made the length that much more noticeable.

Susan had broken the silence. "You're thinking about whether or not we should tell them about the flowers and the threat, aren't you?" Don nodded wordlessly.

"Me, too," Susan said. Don had continued to stare at the road ahead.

"Look," Susan continued, "we both know our families will be more than alarmed at what's happened. But you have to admit, there have been no further developments; no further threats. In fact, I'm honestly not worried about it."

Don looked carefully at her from the corner of his eyes. "Just because nothing further has happened since Monday doesn't mean a thing. What it means is we've got a very patient perpetrator who is working by his own twisted time-table. That's what it means."

Susan had been a little taken aback by his curt response. Not wanting to further worsen the situation, she decided to leave the topic alone until he was in a more relaxed state.

***

Mark Greenberg, long time friend of Don's and a fellow psychiatrist, was sitting across from the fire in the living room, sipping chardonnay. In spite of the festive mood of Susan's birthday party, he found himself wondering why Don appeared so reserved. Clearly something was bothering him. Still, Mark had to admit to himself with a mental shrug, Don was putting up a good front. Maybe I'll ask him if he'd like to talk if I get the chance. Mark had been the one Don had professionally seen for a while after Kathy's drowning, so he knew there was a trust that went beyond the simple bond of friendship. He drained his glass and casually joined one of the conversations around the coffee table, while contemplating a way to get Don to talk to him.

"Nedda, you're not serious!" Susan was saying to her former mentor. "You're actually retiring?"

The older woman nodded soberly. "I'm going to be 72 next year," she said. "And the firm is going to be good hands…It would have been in better hands if you'd decided on criminal law, Susan. You know, I still think 'Harding and Chandler' would have made a formidable team."

"And I still have the highest respect for your side of the court room, Nedda. You taught me a lot about the law process. I know a lot of prosecutors are going to be relieved that they won't have to oppose you ever again. So who's taking over from you, then?"

"Well, this is all un-official of course, but I plan to announce my retirement next month, and then hand the reigns over to Sam Ingram. Most capable fellow."

"I remember him," Susan said. "What are you going to do with your new-found freedom?"

"Relax! Take a vacation... Something fun. We'll see."

"So why is it you chose the District Attorney's office over a firm like Nedda's?" Mark asked.

"I guess I was young and idealistic," she replied. "I felt that I was best serving my fellow countrymen by putting dangerous offenders in prison. Of course, I left after two years to pursue psychology – but that's another story."

The various conversations drifted over a variety of topics. Not once was the subject of the flowers and the accompanying threat raised, for the only people to have any knowledge of them attending the party were still Don and Susan. By unspoken decision, it would be kept quiet from family and friends.

Neeve Kearny had wanted on several occasions to ask about the supposed encounter with the strange woman the previous Sunday. Seeing that Susan was obviously in high spirits and possibly over the weird events served to ease Neeve's apprehension. If Susan had gotten over it, there was obviously no reason to bring it up.

As the night wore on and the party wound down, guests started leaving.

"I've got to get this girl home," Russell said of Dee, as he collected their coats. "It was very nice meeting all of you this evening...Where's my future sister-in-law? Come over here, Susan." Susan accepted the peck on the cheek and the friendly embrace he offered. "I had a great time. Happy birthday once again, and I hope to see all you folks at our wedding!"

"'Bye, Susie," Dee hugged her younger sister, then whispered, "isn't he great?"

Susan stole a peek at Russell as he pulled on his gloves and winked in agreement. "He's a doll," she whispered back. It was a compliment she sincerely meant as she saw the two of them depart. He had been charming and highly attentive to Dee the entire evening without seeming like he was excluding the rest of the members of the party. Plus, he was very good-looking.

"We're taking off too," J.C. said, taking Neeve's hand in his. "Susan; Don, we had a wonderful time. Good night."

"See you at mass tomorrow, Susan," Neeve said.

"Of course."

It was then that Nedda decided it was time to leave as well, noting that the weather wasn't going to get any better, and that meant that taxi service due to bad road conditions wouldn't be obliging. Bobby and Jennifer Lake; Emily and Elizabeth took that opportunity to say their farewells.

"Susan, my dear, take care of that son of mine." Elizabeth said affectionately.

"I'll do my best Mother," Susan promised.

"Give your mother and father my love when you speak to them," Emily said to Bobby.

"I will," he smiled. Nan and Dan Lake, his parents, had just departed for a few months in Florida.

In the shuffle of bodies putting on winter wear and shoes, Mark made his move to Don while his wife Betsy took her cue and retrieved their belongings.

"I guess we're going to call it a night too," Mark said to Don. "Listen," he said, lowering his voice so as not to attract attention, "let's meet for lunch sometime next week, and you can tell me all about what's been eating at you."

Don looked surprised, but quickly recovered. "I'll call you," he said simply.

"Good. You never were good at keeping things from me for long."

"Here's your jacket, darling," Betsy held it out for Mark.

"Thanks, honey. Good night, you two."

The door closed behind them, and suddenly the house felt empty without the chatter of the several guests. The fire was burning down to the last few embers, and it crossed Don's mind to stoke it up again, but reconsidered after noticing the look of tiredness on Susan's face.

"You look worn out," Don said

"Thanks," Susan said, making a face.

"Tell you what. Why don't you go upstairs, have a nice long soak, and then I'll give you a massage. It's been a difficult and busy week."

"I think I just might take you up on that offer," Susan smiled, and slipped off to the master bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Don was gently kneading her shoulders and neck. Slowly and cautiously he slipped the caftan she was wearing down over her shoulders, and ran his fingers over the scars on her back.

"Mmmm…what are you doing?" Susan asked.

"These scars are really starting to fade," he observed.

"Really?"

"Yes…They're getting smooth now, not as noticeable..."

That night three years ago…the terrible pain that hit her as she used the razor sharp shards of broken crystal to cut through the heavy plastic bag Alex Wright had sealed her in…Feeling the sudden hot rush of blood from her shoulders and back, knowing she'd sliced herself open badly, but comforted by the fact that air was also seeping through, allowing her shallow breaths.

Then Don had arrived, taken stock of the situation and released her from that plastic prison. He'd called an ambulance immediately after seeing how much blood she'd lost as it had pooled on the office floor. He'd applied pressure to the wounds as best he could while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive.

Susan was absolutely adamant that she reach Dee right away to tell her that Alex was a murderer and that she was his next target. The paramedics and the police that finally came persuaded her to get treatment first, that she wasn't doing anyone any favours if she keeled over. The bruised temple – a relatively minor injury was attended to, as well as the multiple lacerations that required stitches. Doctors at the hospital were concerned about the blood loss, and she was given a blood transfusion. She was then told she should just take it easy for the next few days. Susan knew she wouldn't be able to take it easy until she knew Dee was safe and Alex Wright was in custody. Frantic as she contacted Dee on the cruise, Susan somehow managed to convince her that Alex was a deranged murderer.

When the call came in the next day that Dee had positively identified Alex trying to board the ship and had been arrested, Susan had been greatly relieved, and drifted off into a very satisfying sleep.

"If you hadn't been there," Susan murmured to Don.

"Shhh…I know," Don said, not wanting at that moment to consider the alternative.

The office desk key in that had been in her pocket then...

"I've often wondered what I might have done if I hadn't knocked that vase over."

"It was a 'happy accident'," Don said.

"You know, I had the key to my desk in my pocket…I didn't put it back on the key ring like I normally did…Sometimes I think I might have been able to snake my hand in there, pull the key out, and then used it to puncture holes in the bag."

"Let's not think about that now," Don said, kissing the back of her neck.

"I have something I want to tell you," she said suddenly.

"What is it?"

"It's about what happened last Sunday, when you said I was so out of it."

"What happened?"

"There was this woman in church. Older lady. I've never seen her before, but she called me by name, and said she had a message for me."

"What kind of message?" An edge of distress was creeping into Don's voice.

"She said that I was in grave danger."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Don demanded. "Further, why didn't you tell Detective Monahan about this woman? Susan, don't you realize that this woman could be the same person who sent the threat?!"

"I really don't think-"

"Oh come on, Susan…a woman you've never seen before comes and tells you you're in danger, and then the next day you're threatened. What is she, some kind of psychic? No, I'll tell you what – you were right. The sender - this woman - is a crazy attention-seeker – the kind that will go to any lengths to get noticed. How are you to know her next step isn't to act out on her 'prediction'?!"

"Don! Really, I think you're overreacting."

"Am I? Susan, you know nothing about this woman. It can't be a coincidence that you were sent a threatening note after she warned you. Make no mistake: we've found the sender. And when next she makes contact with you, it will be the last, because a minute later I'll see to it that she's arrested! I'm calling Detective Monahan first thing in the morning, and you're going to tell him every detail of your encounter with that woman."

Susan initially felt hurt and disappointed at Don's blow-up. But as she tried to fall asleep that night, doubts about Claire began to eat at her. Was the woman truly a danger, or had she just sensed danger? Truly, the advice she'd received about prayer had had a positive effect. It was the only reason she hadn't been totally and completely distressed by the flowers and the threat. She'd been calmed by silently meditating. It was Don who continued to be haunted by Monday's events. And now this new revelation about Claire had gone over very badly.

Susan silently hoped that Don would be able to find some peace as he slept; the past week had been restless enough for the two of them, due to his tossing and turning. She wondered if there were some things he, too, needed to get off his chest, or if he had gotten it all out in his earlier outburst.

She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard soft moaning coming from a slumbering Don. The sting of his angry words now subsided, she drew closer to him and asked softly: "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Oh Susan," he choked, not fully awake and in a sad, subdued voice, "you died."