Final Destination III (9 page)

Holding up the edges of my gown, I galloped down the five flights of steps that led to the Waldorf’s elegantly appointed lobby and pushed my way through the revolving doors at the hotel’s entrance, straight past a wide-eyed doorman who offered to get me a cab.

Without stopping, I hurried cross-town on Forty-Ninth Street toward my apartment. If people were staring at me in my ball gown and tiara, I was oblivious, blinded by my tears. The wind kicked up and flashes of lightning flickered in the night sky. A loud clap of thunder startled me, and soon after, the sky began to weep with me. By the time I reached my apartment, my beautiful gown was soaked through and through; my hair hung loose like a wet mop, and my face was coated with teardrops and raindrops. My knee throbbing, I hobbled up the steps of the brownstone landing. Chilled to the bone, I couldn’t wait to take off my dress and get under a hot shower… and erase the memory of this horrific night. Only then did I realize I had left the beaded purse with my keys, along with my gloves, behind in the restroom of The Waldorf.

Frantically, I buzzed Mrs. Blumberg’s apartment. Thank goodness, I had given her a spare set of keys in case of an emergency. No answer. The rain kept coming down in buckets. I buzzed again and again and again. I was beginning to fear that Mrs. Blumberg slept with earplugs. Finally, a voice filtered through the intercom.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Sarah. I lost my keys.” I was practically sobbing.

“Hold on.” I let out a loud sigh of relief when she buzzed me in.

My relief gave way to loud, uncontrollable sobs as I trudged up the stairs. I tried hard not to bend my aching right knee. My nose was running, and tears kept streaming down my face. I stopped at the second floor and knocked on Mrs. Blumberg’s door. After peering through the peephole, she unbolted the door and opened it. Wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and a headful of pink curlers, she gazed at me with a mixture of shock and compassion.

“Oy!
Would you like me to make you some nice chicken soup?”

Chicken Soup for the Soul
.
My mother had made me read that book in high school when I was going through a rough time, but there was nothing that could comfort my soul right now. Nothing.

“Thanks, Mrs. Blumberg,” I sniffed, “but I really just want to take a hot shower and call it a night.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind, you know where I am.” She handed me the spare set of keys, and after bidding her good-night, I trekked up the last flight of stairs to my apartment. Every step was an effort.

I jiggled the keys into my lock. With my bandaged hand, soaked and aching, it was not easy. My hand was shaking. I tried again, using my other hand. The damn door wouldn’t open. How could this night get any worse? Finally, the lock gave way, and I staggered into my pitch-black apartment. As a meowing Jo-Jo brushed up against my ankles, something gripped me tight around my neck and—POW!—a gut-wrenching pain stabbed me in my stomach. I doubled over in agony and winced.

“Did you like that, bitch?”

A deep shudder ran through me. I knew that voice. Oh God! It was my assailant from the afternoon. How did he get into my house?

“What do you want?” I whimpered.

A different voice, female, responded. “Sarah, you know what I want.”

I gasped. I was putting two and two together. My bag… my keys… left behind in The Waldorf restroom. She had somehow she gotten here before me.

The lights flicked on, and she was seated on the couch, one long leg folded over the other, her toned arms folded across her Chanel gown. Catherine!

“Give it to her, Spike. And this time I’m going to watch.”

Panic gripped me. Before I could scream, Spike rammed his fist into my gut again, this time with even more force. Clutching my twisted stomach, I coughed up blood and thought I might faint. Catherine laughed wickedly.

“Is that what it feels like when he rams his dick up your pussy?”

The psycho bitch was making me sick. I heaved with pain.

“And does he pay you for your services?” He reached into her clutch and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. Ari’s—the one on which he had written his cell phone number. Crumpling in it her hand, she flung at me. It hit me in the eye and stung.

“Why are you doing this to me, Catherine?” I choked out the words.

“Nobody steals from me. NOBODY! And, FYI, my name is Cassandra.”

She was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

She reapplied her blood-red Chanel lipstick and puckered her lips. “Show her what you’re really made of, Spikey.”

I was frozen with fear, unable to move. But this time instead of socking me, he tightly wrapped an arm around my aching middle and began to squeeze the life out of me.

I gasped for air, fighting for consciousness.
Think, Sarah, think!
Without thinking, I dug the sharp heel of my stiletto into his foot as hard as I could.

“OW! Damn it! You fucking bitch!” He loosened his grip around me, and I fled. But before I could turn the doorknob, he grabbed me from behind and thrust me onto the hardwood floor.

He gave my ribcage a hard, loud kick with his boot. I groaned in pain, positive that he had broken at least one of my ribs. Clutching my stomach, I tried to sit up but it was futile. He slammed his body onto mine, knocking my head back onto the floor. As I thrashed my arms and legs, his wretched eyes clashed with mine and his foul breath heated my cheeks. He cupped his clammy palm over my mouth so that I couldn’t scream. Desperate, I tore off my tiara and raked his face with its sharp edges. Blood oozed from the deep gashes. He winced with pain. With his free hand, he wiped the bloody streaks. “You fucking, fucking bitch!”

“Don’t hold back. She deserves to be punished,” my evil boss said, her tone wicked. The sick chick seemed to be enjoying every minute of this spectacle.

I kept at it with the tiara, digging deeper and deeper. In the background, I heard the intercom buzz. It kept buzzing and buzzing. I let out muffled screams. The buzzing stopped.

Spike’s face contorted in agony as I continued to shred it. He let go of my mouth, and I spit at him.

“That’s it, cunt!” He reached into his jeans, and I gasped. He was holding a pocketknife—a much bigger one than the one he had held to my face earlier in the day. With a flick of his finger, a six-inch razor-sharp blade shot out. I was too paralyzed with fear to let out a scream or close my eyes. With a sharp ripping sound, the cold metal plunged into my chest. At first, as warm blood seeped through my gown, I felt nothing. And then, a horrible, stabbing pain permeated my body. An unbearable throbbing, like none other, circled my heart, coming in waves of intensity, sometimes sharp twinges, sometimes profound pounding. It was much like the feeling of the heartache I felt when I decided to no longer see Ari, but only so many, many times more intense.

With a smarmy grin, my assailant yanked the knife from my flesh. He had finished what he had started this afternoon. His face, and the room around me, became a blur as I drifted in and out of consciousness. The profound aching succumbed to numbness. The image of my mother’s beautiful, once youthful face filled my head and alternated with that of my beautiful Trainman.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I heard Catherine say.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs to my apartment. There was a loud thud at the door. It burst open and then tumbled onto the floor.

“Oy vey iz mir!”
shrieked a familiar voice.

“Call 911!” shouted another as he tackled my assailant. “You mother fucker!”

Ari!

“Kill him!” screamed Catherine.

Her words echoed in my head as my breathing grew haggard and life ebbed out of me.

Spike was no easy prey. He staggered to his feet and charged at Ari, with the knife in his hand. With lightning-quick reflexes, Ari dodged him. Then, with one single flying roundhouse kick—straight out of a
Power Rangers’
episode—he knocked the knife out of Spike’s hand, sending it flying across the living room. Balling his hand into a fist, he plowed into my assailant and sent him crashing to the floor, unconscious.

Ari ran to my side, crouching to the floor. He pulled off his tux jacket and held it firmly against my now numb wound. In his other arm, he gently cradled my head.

I gazed up at him, and my lips curled up into a faint smile. “My Green Ranger,” I managed, my breathing labored.

His eyes burnt into mine. They were watering. “My Princess, stay with me.” His voice was hoarse and tearful. He lifted my limp, bandaged hand to his lips and kissed the fingertips. Though I was numb, the touch of his velvety lips still made me feel alive.

“I’m going to miss you,” I whispered.

“Shh,” he said, smoothing my hair. A tear escaped a sapphire eye and landed on my cheek.

Sirens sounded in the distance outside. They kept on getting louder.

His face leaned into mine. “Please don’t leave me. I love you, Saarah.”

I knew it was the last time I’d ever hear him say my name. Hear that sexy lilt that made me tingle every time I’d heard it roll off his velvety tongue. But I was at peace. My Trainman loved me.

As his lips neared mine, my eyes grew wide. Terror consumed me. Catherine, gripping the knife in her hand, crept up behind him. I tried to warn him, but my lips would not move no matter how hard I willed them. I screamed in silence. With madness flickering in her eyes, she lowered the knife to his back.
Noooooooooo!

An explosion rocked my body… there was a flash of white light… and then everything faded to black.

5

“S
OMEWHERE, THERE’S A PLACE FOR US.”
The words and melody of this beautiful
West Side
Story
song played in the background. We had a found
our
place. Our peace. We were dancing in our heavenly garden of clouds. At last, Ari and I were together, with no one to come between us. Glued together as if we had danced this way forever. As if we were one.

“Oh, Saarah,” he whispered in my ear.

My name. That voice. My eyelids fluttered open. The room was dimly lit, but even the modicum of light hurt my eyes. Slowly, my eyes adjusted. Blurriness gave way to clarity. He was hovering over me, that dazzling dimpled smile spread across his gorgeous face. He was alive!

“Ari!” It took every ounce of my strength to say his name. My throat was sore, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my parched mouth.

He gently took my hand in his. “Oh, baby, it’s so good to have you back.”

His touch brought awareness into my being. I took in my surroundings. I was in a hospital room. A stunning suite. Similar to Lauren’s. Magnificent arrangements of fragrant flowers were everywhere. There were also lots of get-well cards, the largest a charming hand drawn one from Ari’s son, Ben. A gurgling machine with a lot of wires and tubes was hooked up to me. I hurt all over.

The memories of the events that had brought me here bombarded me. I bolted to a sitting position and winced in pain. Tears flooded my eyes.

Ari held me in his arms and slowly lowered me back down to my pillows.

“Water,” I murmured.

Ari grabbed a cup off my nightstand and held it for me as I thirstily sipped its cold, refreshing contents through a straw. When I was done, he tenderly brushed my hair off my forehead. It hung loose, cascading over my shoulders.

“Saarah, you’ve got to stay calm. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How long have I been here?” My voice was weak, but the water had given me the strength to talk.

“Three days. The doctors didn’t think you’d make it. Thank God, my sister Gwen has the same rare blood type as you. They were able to give you a transfusion.”

My heart swelled with emotion. Gwen had saved my life. We were blood-sisters now.

A sudden sharp pain shot through my chest up to my left shoulder. I clamped my hand to the area above my heart. Beneath my hospital gown, I could feel a large, thick bandage. My stab wound. The horrific memory sent a chill through me.

“Thank goodness, she missed your heart by an inch.”

She… Catherine. The image of her wretched face conjured in my mind. A wave of nausea swept over me.

Alarm flickered in Ari’s eyes. “Baby, are you okay?”

Tears trickled down my face. “I don’t know. I hurt and I’m confused.”

“Oh, Saarah. My wounded warrior.” Ari tenderly brushed away my tears. My head throbbed from the questions that were pounding inside it.

“How did you know to come to my apartment?”

“When I returned to my seat after my acceptance speech and you weren’t there, I was concerned. Then Cassandra came up to me. She was agitated. I’d seen her this way before. Thank heavens, Gwen was smart enough to leave early with Ben.”

I listened without interrupting as he continued.

“She showed me the letter.” He paused. “And then she told me that she was your boss.”

I gazed at him with apprehension.

He frowned. “Saarah, why didn’t you tell me that my ex-wife was your boss?”

I bowed my head and then met his eyes again. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t.”

Of course, I knew why. I was afraid of losing him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered through tears.

He stroked my hair. “Saarah, there’s nothing to be sorry about. She was insanely jealous of you. At The Waldorf, she went ballistic, threatening not only to take Ben from me, but also to harm you if I didn’t stop seeing you. Security had to cart her out of the hotel.”

In my head, I tried to imagine the scene. My poor Trainman! His big night ruined by the psycho bitch!

Ari continued. “I had a hunch you went home. As soon as I could stave off my well-wishers, I had Andre take me to your apartment.”

So, he was the one who kept buzzing and buzzing. “How did you get in?”

“Mrs. Blumberg.”

God bless good old Mrs. Blumberg.

“When I heard the sick bitch’s voice inside your apartment, my adrenaline went into overdrive. I kicked down the door.”