Delivery men brought furniture into Christine’s condo.
Later, Christine shopped at a local department store for kitchenware and bathroom accessories. At the grocery market, she bought items of necessity and picked up a copy of On Screen magazine at the checkout counter. She scanned the back pages for the classifieds and saw several ads with boldfaced headlines. Some offered typing and word-processing services for treatments, manuscripts, screenplays, résumés, and so forth. Later, she stopped at an electronics store where she bought an all-in-one computer and an all-in-one printer.
Christine returned to the condo and turned on the TV as she put the groceries away. A talk show ended as credits rolled and whimsical music played while audience members clapped. A commercial break came on followed by a news brief.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Patricia Vargas and coming up, we’ll have a shocking report of a legendary actress who had been presumed dead for more than twenty years and is now in the process of recuperating from a devastating hurricane that tore through parts of the Caribbean more than a week ago. Also, we’ll have more stories and an update of a bank heist gone awry, plus all the news, traffic, weather, and sports in a moment.”
The phrase “a legendary actress who had been presumed dead for more than twenty years” repeated in her head a few times. Christine wondered who it could have been, then shrugged indifferently, as if she cared. She went into the living room and sat on the couch, then skimmed through the pages of On Screen magazine.
“Good afternoon, I’m Bruce McGuire,” said the anchorman.
“And I’m Patricia Vargas. We have a shocking report of a legendary Hollywood actress and former magazine model. It begins on the island of Antigua where Rose Hutchins—” Christine’s head snapped up “—also known as Julia Windom, survived devastating blows from Hurricane Aidan, which tore through the Caribbean some time last week.”
“What?” Christine’s eyes were riveted to the screen.
“We have this report from Teri Atherton who’s standing by in the newsroom with details. Teri?”
“Patricia, this incredible story of deceit, selfishness, and survival merely boggles the mind. Rose Hutchins had been purportedly killed in a plane crash at Heathrow Airport twenty-two years ago on October 12, 1992.
“As recent as a few days ago,” Teri continued, “she was discovered lying unconscious in a private resort in Antigua where she is presumed to have lived all these years. She is currently at a hospital in St. John’s where she has recovered consciousness and is listed in critical condition. Doctors say her condition eventually will improve within time. Security personnel have been posted outside her room to prevent visitors—”
Christine stopped listening. Her heart palpitated and her world spun. She felt dissociated from her body. She had assumed Rose had been in the house during the explosion. Fury rapidly replaced shock and disbelief. Blood rushed to her face.
“I don’t believe it,” Christine said. “I don’t believe it!” Her chest heaved as she hyperventilated for a few moments. She seethed with unbridled rage. “You mean to tell me she’s back from the dead—again? She’s still alive, damn it! She should’ve been in the house! Why wasn’t she in the house?”
She hurled the magazine at the TV and threw two sofa pillows across the room. Tears streamed down her ruddy cheeks.
Moments later, Christine was pacing the living room. “Damn!” she said.
She called Universal Airways. “I would like to reserve a one-person round-trip flight from New York City to St. John’s, Antigua. I don’t care about the day or time. I want the next available flight.”
“One moment, please. This would be a chartered flight—”
“I don’t care!” Christine said. “I just want the next available flight as soon as possible!”