Page 79 of Roses Are Dead
He had amazing stamina.
“I’ve got it bad.” It being the harmonious buzz of multiple orgasms.
I stretched and focused on the sunlight dappling the water in bright little shimmers of light. The hum of insects and the soft lapping of water sliding against the shoreline set the musical score I paced my chants to.
A cloud passed overhead, chilling my skin. I looked up, still dazed by the hypnotic state of inner peace I’d found. A noisy truck rumbled by on a distant highway. The susurrus of life stilled.
Someone was close. My senses, or the spirits, whispered a warning. I crouched low to hide my body amongst the weeds and grass that grew wild. The crunch of footsteps made me slip closer to the river bank where erosion had scooped the soil from the edge in a large curving bite that concealed my entire body.
Carefully, I climbed over tangled tree roots to creep further into the shadows there. I barely moved ten feet before the noises on the gravel ceased and the thump of tread on asphalt began. Whoever it was, they took the path toward the subdivision. And they weren’t some random hiker walking casually. Nor were they a jogger, pacing their strides for maximum sustainable effort. This was a person with a purpose.
I avoided the path as much as I could, but the river bank quickly became too overgrown to follow, and I had to cut through the woods to work my way back to Bear’s house. I was muddy and my dress was torn by the time I crested a hill and caught a glimpse of the neat little semi-circle of houses that made up that dead-end street I called home for now.
Something moved in Bear’s backyard.
It definitely wasn’t Bear. He told me his last appointment was at six. The sun wasn’t far enough west in the sky for that. And the colorful flash meant it wasn’t one of his brothers from the club. Not a one of them wore anything lighter than dark gray. And none of them wore anything bright.
Except when it came to bright neon pink running shoes. I smiled. Poor Bear.
The patch of blue appeared again on the path I’d taken earlier. It slipped south toward the crumbled dock and the river park.
I picked my way downhill. It took me a long time because of fence lines, steep drops, and overgrowth. Eventually, I emerged two houses down from Bear’s, missing the path completely, with no clue how that happened. I’d have to go back and figure that out someday, but for now, I cut through a lawn to get to the opening that allowed me back into the yard.
I stopped dead in my tracks as I did.
My carefully blessed stones and tools had been rearranged.
Someone cut a pentagram into the lawn, dumping my items with no order whatsoever at each point.
But that wasn’t what made me freeze in terror. In the center of the crudely inscribed star was a mutilated animal. Or maybe two?
I wouldn’t know until I moved closer. Careful decision and inspection went into placing each step. Despite the randomness of the supposed casting circle, there was the genuine possibility someone had booby-trapped the lawn with non-magical weapons. Soon enough, I caught a glint in the grass. Gingerly, I picked up the caltrop. It was small, shaped like a vicious toy. There had to be more. This type of object was sold in bulk.
As I crept to the circle, I found two more. I collected them and the pieces of my altar. Finally, I stood over the poor creature who’d been savagely murdered to torment me. Or should I say, frame me? Because to an outsider, the grotesque display screamed “black magic.”
But whoever did this had no clue what black magic looked like. If it wasn’t so horrific, I’d laugh.
Feathers, brown—probably from a sparrow or some field bird—mingled with bits of rabbit flesh and fur.
The poor things.
I found the twisted, decapitated, and half-crushed head of the bird first. I knelt in the grass and cradled it in my palms. I chanted a quick prayer to commit its life to peace.
The rabbit hadn’t been as lucky.
There was foam at its mouth. It died slowly.
I cried, feeling the gash of terror and loss surrounding me.
As the tears dried and my heart stopped hurting, truth whispered to my soul. You know who did this. The suggestion slithered around me, clutching at my neck and burrowing deep like a carnivorous worm.
Fucking Carl.
I repeated my hypothesis out loud. A breeze rustled through the treetops. The voices of nature and the spirits whispered in accord. The creak and clatter of branches bending and striking each other fit my mood perfectly. These creatures were murdered by one of the most twisted people I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.
And deep down, I knew they’d been tormented because Carl was trying to control my life. I’d opened Pandora’s box by coming back to help Beth beat cancer again. But this felt so much darker than before.
We were children then. Or at least inexperienced and child-like in the ways of evil. “When I was a child, I thought and spoke as a child.” That damn bible verse bubbled up unbidden.
