Final Destination 3, page 10
part #1 of Final Destination Series
"Why don't you use that phone?" Ashlyn suggested helpfully, pointing to the salon's hard line that sat on the counter, surrounded by fliers and tropical drink umbrellas.
"I would, but…" He pointed to his cell phone like it was a malicious living thing. "Tanya, my girlfriend, she thinks I am cheating every minute. She is always checking up on me and then she wants to ask a million questions. The boss gives me shit for the phone bills if I use his hard line."
As if it had heard him, the cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and cringed. "Myrma," he muttered. "I told her…"
"It's okay," Ashley said, waving him toward the door. "Just take it. Go on out. We know the drill. We can take care of ourselves."
Yuri frowned, considering then nodded. "Okay, thanks," he said, giving them a grateful thumbs up. He hurried toward the back door, flipping open his phone.
"Tanya?" he said. "I told you…"
He broke into agitated Russian and then paused, looking back toward the girls. "Hey, no drinks in the room this time, okay?" he told them.
"Sure," Ashlyn replied, and she and Ashley nodded and obediently dropped their half-full Big Gulps into the trashcan. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."
"No, no, no," Yuri was saying into the cell phone. "Tanyosha, baby, she's just a client, I swear to you…"
When he reached the back door, Yuri realized that he had left his impromptu doorstop back on the counter, but going back to the counter would mean he would lose his signal. He looked around desperately. Next to the door was a cardboard box full of tubes of tanning lotion. He grabbed a tube, stepped outside, set it between the door and the jam, and let the door swing to. Satisfied that the fat tube would keep the door from closing, he returned his attention to his phone. Over his head, thunder cracked and the rain began to fall a little harder.
As soon as he was out of the door, Ashley retrieved her Big Gulp from the trash, sticking her tongue out in the direction of the back door. Together, she and Ashlyn crossed to a glass canister that was full of rubber tanning goggles floating in a blue liquid. The sign over the canister read "Sterilized Goggles –Caution. Alcohol is Flammable."
"Every time we come here," Ashley said as she picked a pair of goggles out of the alcohol.
"I know," Ashlyn said, selecting a pair for herself. "That girl must be the best lay in the world."
Ashley turned on her, frowning archly. "What? Lyn, what are you saying?" She made a dismissive noise. "Third best. Tops."
Ashlyn laughed and raised her hand for a high five. "No doubt," she crowed. "First and second are already taken."
The girls slapped hands, bumped hips, and then turned to the towels on a long, wall-mounted towel rack to wipe the goggles dry. Ashley turned to the hall that led to the tanning rooms, but Ashlyn looked at the front door and paused.
"Hold on a sec, okay?" she said.
She crossed to the desk and picked up a flier and a sharpie.
"What are you doing?" Ashley asked.
Ashlyn scrawled on the back of the flier, then found some tape. "No one's walking in and seeing me naked," she said.
"Not for free anyway," Ashley replied, and both girls giggled.
Ashlyn put tape on top of the flier and slapped it on the front door, then turned the deadbolt, locking it.
The note read: "Back in thirty minutes." She turned to Ashley.
"Yuri can take it down when he comes back," she said.
Ashley nodded. "Good plan." She stretched, cat like, up on her tiptoes. "I was thinking of doing twenty minutes in the Müller," she said. "We did that for the funerals and it turned out totally amazing."
Ashlyn frowned, unsure. "That was only a week ago, though," she said. "We're still pretty bronzed. Maybe only, like, a ten minute touch up? I don't want to wind up with some sort of gross cancer or anything."
Ashley nodded, considering this very seriously. "Maybe so," she replied. "I just want to make sure we totally look our best, you know, as a tribute to all those kids who died that night, and…" She swallowed, suddenly overcome with emotion. "And who will never get a graduation."
Ashlyn bit her lip, holding back tears of her own.
"Yeah," she said. "We, like, owe it to them, totally."
They touched fists and put their hands over their hearts.
"Come on," Ashley said as she threw her pack over her shoulder and turned toward the hallway that led to the tanning rooms. "Let's get to it."
Ashlyn fell in step and they walked bravely down the hall.
"Straight up," she said.
At the back door, unnoticed by the girls or Yuri, the cap of the tube of suntan lotion popped open under the steady pressure of the emergency door, and tanning cream began to slowly ooze from the tub.
9
The Enigma of the Photos
Steam boiled around the peach, marble and cream tile of the bathroom that Wendy and Julie shared as Wendy pushed the door open. The sound of the shower hissed softly, underscored by singing, a slow, melancholy tune Wendy didn't recognize. The outline of her sister's body, elbows up and twisting at the waist as she shampooed her hair, was barely visible through the steam up glass door of the shower stall.
Julie, always the social butterfly, was probably getting ready to go see some of her older friends graduate that night. Wendy, on the other hand, would not be attending. She had other things to take care of, like packing, and deciding what she would need to take with her for that intensive Greek and Latin language program she had signed up for at summer school. Of course, she would not be leaving for more than a week, but there was no point leaving everything until the last minute.
As she stood there, struggling to stay focused on the safe, simple and comforting task of organizing and planning what to bring, Wendy found her mind obsessively picking at the pointless conversation she'd had with Kevin and the other survivors. What was he trying to prove with that ridiculous urban legend bullshit? Going back to school had been a mistake. It had taken a lot out of her and she had little to spare. It took every drop of energy she had to keep the wolves of grief at bay.
Wendy stepped up to the sink countertop, cluttered as usual with Julie's make-up, skin creams and hair care products; her combs and brushes and blow dryers; curling irons, nail files, tooth paste, rings, necklaces and earrings. The mess was a source of constant bickering between the sisters. Wendy was meticulously neat and organized. Julie was not. As an attempt to keep the peace, her father had remodeled the countertop so the sink was in the center with two distinctly separate areas, one on each side, complete with their own drawers. Julie was given the right side for her things, and Wendy the left. This was fine at first, but Julie's mess was constantly creeping over onto Wendy's side.
Lipstick printed tissue and cotton swabs black from touching up liquid eyeliner made their insidious way across the divide into Wendy's territory, and Wendy's expensive whitening mouthwash or brand new tweezers would migrate back into the chaos of Julie's side. Standing there now, looking at the scattered disaster of Julie's things, Wendy felt a strange wave of melancholy for her little sister, underscored by a needling anxiety. Julie was already a wild child and she was only a junior. What would happen next year when she was a senior and Wendy was not around to keep an eye on her?
Wendy opened the bottom drawer on her own side and removed her travel case, unzipping it and checking to be sure everything was full and ready to go. Once she arrived and settled into the dorm, she would buy full-sized bottles of everything she needed, but she wanted to make sure she would be covered those first few nights, in case a trip to the store was not practical until later in the week.
Shampoo and conditioner were both fine, but the bottle that held her body lotion was a little low. She refilled it carefully, wiping the neck with a tissue before screwing the color-coded cap back on. Toothpaste, dental floss, mouthwash and toothbrush were all good to go. Folding travel hairbrush, sewing kit and a sample sized bottle of a new perfume, a fresh, citrus scent that was not too heavy and would be perfect for the summer. After a moment's consideration, she added a small packet of cold-water detergent and a stain removing stick, in case she needed to hand wash some clothes.
She paused for a moment, holding the stain stick and looking at herself in the mirror. How utterly ludicrous of her to be worried about being able to stop an accidental chocolate stain from setting into her skirt when she hadn't even been able to stop the ride that killed Jason.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood, eyes narrowed to slits against the threat of tears. She let out a long, shaky breath, then put the stain stick in her bag and removed her little first aid kit. She inventoried its neatly compartmentalized contents until she was able to breathe normally again. The kit was low on adhesive bandages, so she added a few more of various sizes, and checked the date on the little tube of antibiotic ointment. It was still good for another three months, but if she did not use it up soon, she probably ought to replace it. First aid kit set and ready, she gave the whole travel bag one more going over. She had her tweezers and face cream and a few emery boards, but her nail clippers were nowhere to be found.
Unsurprisingly, Wendy spotted the nail clippers on Julie's side, half buried in a nest of cheap jewelry. She picked up the clippers, and a whole snarl of tangled beads and chains came with them, glittery earrings and bangles tumbling to the floor and into her unzipped travel bag.
Sighing, Wendy scooped up the fallen items, and then began fishing things out of her bag. She found a necklace of pink ceramic cherries, a dangling, beaded earring, a silver heart that had "Lover" on one side and "Fighter" on the other, and a pink plastic cuff with black rubber spikes.
The water turned off and the shower door scraped open. Julie looked out at her, her hair streaming with water as she groped for a towel.
"Hey there," Wendy said.
"Hey, sis," Julie replied. "You planning on stealing my jewels to finance your tuition at Yale?"
"I couldn't pay for a mail order degree in dog grooming with this junk," Wendy said, holding up a gaudy plastic flower ring like something a kid might get out of a gumball machine.
Julie chuckled, wrapping the towel around her head and stepping up to the mirror, unmindful of her nudity, but still crossing her arms self-consciously. She did this habitually, not to cover her budding breasts, but to cover the thick white caterpillar of scar that bisected her sternum. Julie hated that scar. Left behind long ago, when doctors had sliced her wide and cracked open her pliable infant ribs in a desperate race to rescue her failing heart, the scar was like a brand, marking her as unfit and unwell. A physical reminder of the hidden defect that stood between her and the normal teenage life she craved. Wendy felt that pang of anxiety again. How could she leave Julie behind?
"You're just jealous of my unique, ultra cool, shabby-chic sense of style," Julie said, utterly unaware of her sister's worry. "You wouldn't know cool if it jumped up and bit you."
Wendy shook her head and tried on a smile. It worked out okay, but didn't last. Sighing, she left the bathroom, tucking her bag under her arm and heading back to her room.
In her bedroom, Wendy put the travel bag into the inner pocket of her open suitcase and then turned to the closet, surveying her clothes with an eye towards summer in New Haven, Connecticut. Before she had made any decisions, Julie stalked out of the bathroom, a second towel wrapped around her body and pulled up high to cover all but the very top of the hated scar.
"You really are trying to steal my stuff," she said. "Come on, give it back!"
Wendy turned, blinking and confused. "Huh?" She frowned. "What do you mean? Give what back?"
Julie marched to Wendy's suitcase, snatched up her make-up bag and unzipped it. She dug furiously through it until she found what she was looking for. She held up her prize, angry and triumphant. It was a silver art deco bracelet from the Twenties, beautiful and delicate.
"This," she said, shaking the bracelet so it jingled softly. "This is my good luck bracelet. Mine. Grandma left it to me in her fucking will. If you think you're taking it off to Connecticut with you, you're out of your fucking mind."
Wendy blinked at the bracelet. "I'm sorry, Julie," she said. "I totally didn't realize it was in there. I… well… I guess I'm a little distracted."
"Well, I guess so," said Julie, unwilling to let go of her anger so quickly. "I guess I better check all your bags before you go, just to make sure you don't distract away any more of my stuff."
She turned on her heel, storming back to the bathroom, bracelet in hand.
Wendy slumped, suddenly feeling a hundred years old. "Julie," she called.
Julie stopped, impatient, then spun around. "What?"
"You were right," Wendy said softly.
Julie snorted. "Of course I was right," she said. "It's my bracelet. Grandma gave it to me, not you."
Wendy shook her head. "I know that," she said. "That's not what I'm talking about. I mean, I need… I could use some help."
Caught off guard, Julie's face softened. She came forward and sat on the bed. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Is it the crash?"
Wendy nodded. "I just have such guilt over Jason. I…" She paused and then sat down beside Julie, hands open and helpless. "I should never have let that ride go. I'm usually such a control freak." She shook her head ruefully. "Jason and I had a fight about it actually, right before we got on the ride. I didn't do enough to stop it from happening. I should have done, I don't know, anything, something, whatever I could to stop it. I'd do anything to have a second chance. To go back and change it." She felt the tears again, pressing on the inside of her eyes, fighting to escape, but she held them back. "But I can't, can I? I can't."
Julie looked away, but her hand reached out and touched Wendy's arm.
"It's the worst feeling in the world," continued Wendy. "Wanting to take something back, or change something you can't change. I… I just don't want to feel like that about you someday."
Julie looked back up and then away, suddenly cagey. "What do you mean? I didn't go on any rides."
Wendy patted her hand. "That's not what I meant…" She sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just so confused." She looked down into Julie's eyes. "When I get settled, can you come and visit me for a while? I think… when I finally get away from this town I'll be ready to work out all this stuff I'm feeling. I know you and I never really talk, and I want to change that. It's like I still think of you as a baby who might eat poison or put her finger in the electric socket the second I turn my back. I'm sorry for that, and I want to find a way for us to be more like equals."
Julie squeezed Wendy's hand. "I'll come," she said. "You know I will."
"Yeah?" She looked at Julie, raising an eyebrow shyly. "And we can put this teenage sister bullshit behind us?"
"Totally," Julie said. She looked down at the art deco bracelet she held in her hand. "Here," she said as she put the bracelet down on Wendy's desk. "You need some luck right about now, way more than me. You keep it for a while. I'll get it back when I come to see you."
Wendy smiled, touched, and nodded. "Thanks, Julie," she said. "I can use all the help I can get, I guess."
Suddenly Julie sat up, shaking off the unexpectedly sentimental mood. "Oh, hey," she said. "Since we're swapping stuff, I just remembered I wanted to ask you –can I use the yearbook camera to take some snaps at graduation tonight? Perry's brother said he's going to pull some big prank and I want to see if I can catch it on camera."
"Sure," said Wendy, as she stood up and crossed to her desk. "As long as you take it back to Mr. Smith tomorrow."
"Sure," Julie said, standing. "No problem, sis."
Wendy took the camera out of her desk drawer and held it out to Julie, then hesitated and pulled it back, brows knitted and her lip between her teeth.
"You know what," she said. "All the pics from…" She paused and frowned. "From that night are on there. Give me a minute and I'll dump them so you'll have an empty disk. I'll have it for you when you're ready to go."
Julie grimaced in sympathy. "Oh wow, right," she said. "Okay, I'll go get ready and come back just before I go. And hey, one more thing."
"What?"
Julie shot her a lopsided grin. "Thanks for not telling mom I was at Red River."
Wendy returned her sister's smile. "S'okay," she said.
Julie turned and went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Wendy looked down at the camera. Suddenly it felt as dangerous as a gun in her hand. She fought the urge to drop it in the trash, the way she had dumped all the stuff from her locker. Instead she turned it on and sat down at her desk. She shivered as if a cold breeze had passed over her. Her Joey Ramone bobblehead, a gag gift from Julie that she'd never had the heart to throw away, nodded vigorously, though she was sure she hadn't bumped the desk. She looked at her window. Was it open? No. It was closed. She shrugged and fished around behind her computer for the fire-wire connection that allowed her to operate the camera from the computer and save the pictures to her hard drive. She plugged the cable into the camera and the camera into the charger, and then turned on her computer.
Once it booted up, Wendy double clicked the camera icon on the desktop and a window opened, showing thumbnails of all the pictures in the camera's memory. She selected them all and dragged them to the trash, but before she let go of the mouse button, she hesitated. The pictures of Jason's last few minutes on earth were there. Did she really want to throw them away? Didn't she want to at least have one last look at Jason's face before the pictures were gone forever, sent to digital heaven? Part of her wanted to throw them away, to erase them and all the messy, chaotic and dangerous emotions associated with them, but a part of her longed to see Jason's face again, no matter how much it hurt. That part won.
Wendy dragged the thumbnails back to the camera window and double-clicked on a picture with Jason in it. It opened. Wendy bit down hard on the soft meat of her lower lip, regretting allowing herself to look at the picture, but unable to look away. It was the picture of Jason standing with his arm around the fiberglass devil. He was grinning and giving a thumbs up. He looked so vibrant and alive, so friendly and warm that it felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. She moved the mouse to close the picture, thinking that she just couldn't handle this right now, and that she ought to go back to the calm, finite and sensible task of packing. Then something in the background of the shot made her pause. She leaned closer.
