Chapter 5 - The Inheritance of Dust
At 6:00 PM,
the elevator pinged.
I heard the familiar heavy footsteps in the hallway.
The front door opened,
and the sound of laughter spilled into the foyer.
"God,
it smells like a hospital in here,"
Tiffany's voice rang out,
tinged with a nervous edge.
"Don't be morbid,
Tiff,"
Brenda snapped.
"Garrett,
did you call the coroner from the car?"
"No,"
Garrett's voice was low,
authoritative.
"I want to check the safe first.
The death certificate can wait an hour."
I lay perfectly still on the bed,
my eyes closed,
my breathing so shallow it wouldn't move the sheets.
The bedroom door creaked open.
I could hear Garrett's shoes on the hardwood—
the same polished black shoes.
He walked to the foot of the bed.
I felt him standing there,
staring at me.
There was a long silence.
I expected him to cry,
or perhaps to sigh with relief.
Instead,
he let out a small,
satisfied grunt.
"Finally,"
he whispered.
He walked over to the dresser and picked up the empty glass.
"You didn't even make it halfway,
did you,
Elara?"
He turned toward the closet,
his mind already on the safe and the money.
"Garrett,"
I said,
my voice clear and resonant.
He froze.
The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor,
adding to the shards I had already placed there.
He spun around,
his face turning a ghostly shade of white.
I sat up slowly,
the blankets falling away.
I looked at him,
not with anger,
but with a cold,
piercing pity.
"You're late,"
I said.
"The doctor said I'd be dead in ten days.
You gave it seventy-four.
That's quite a margin of error."
He tried to speak,
but his throat seemed to have seized.
"Elara...
you...
how?"
Brenda and Tiffany rushed into the room,
stopping dead when they saw me.
Brenda dropped her Chanel shopping bag,
the expensive perfume inside shattering.
"You're alive?"
Tiffany shrieked,
her voice cracking.
"I'm more than alive,"
I said,
standing up from the bed.
I walked toward them,
each step firm and steady.
"I'm the owner of this penthouse.
I'm the owner of the bank accounts you just found were frozen.
And I'm the woman who called the police."
Garrett lunged for his bag,
perhaps looking for the key or a weapon,
but the closet door flew open.
Four detectives stepped out,
their badges gleaming under the bedroom lights.
"Garrett Vance,"
the lead detective said,
"you are under arrest for attempted murder,
grand larceny,
and fraud."
The handcuffs clicked into place with a finality that made Brenda scream.
"This is a mistake!"
she wailed.
"We were on vacation!"
"With her money,"
the detective added,
motioning for his partners to take Brenda and Tiffany into custody as accomplices.
As they were led out of the bedroom,
Garrett stopped and looked at me.
The mask of the handsome,
loving husband had completely disintegrated,
leaving behind a hollow,
terrified shell of a man.
"You'll never prove it,"
he hissed.
I smiled,
a slow,
dangerous smile.
"I don't have to prove anything,
Garrett.
The cameras in the safe recorded everything.
The doctors have the blood tests showing the missing doses.
And the banks have the logs of your IP address in Paris."
I walked over to the light switch.
I looked at him one last time,
remembering the darkness he had left me in.
"By the way,"
I said.
"The tickets for your next trip are nonrefundable."
I flipped the switch.
The detectives led them away into the hallway,
their protests fading as the elevator doors closed.
I stood in the center of my room,
surrounded by the quiet.
I walked to the dresser,
picked up a fresh glass of water,
and drank it all.
It was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted.
I was no longer a victim.
I was no longer a ghost.
I was the woman who had survived the seventy-four days,
and the world was finally bright again.
I sat by the window,
May you like
watching the sun begin to rise over the city,
ready to live the life I had fought so hard to keep.
