Winter Rose

XVI. Two Sides

Fear. Disgust. Confusion. What kind of hell was I in? I stared down at the grossly disfigured head of José, the rest of him buried two feet under the soft forest ground—his shallow grave.

My head spun, grasping for answers. I needed a firm foundation, but it was crumbling under me, leaving me with nothing solid to grasp on to. José was dead. From the looks of it, he'd been dead for weeks. How could that be? 

Winnie observed me silently, her mind on lock down once again. I thought I caught a glimpse of pity in her eyes. This time, I didn't pry into her mind to search for answers. Honestly, I feared the truth. I was questioning her motives, whether they were for or against me.

I turned away from her and the corpse, stepping back into the shadows of the forest, taking in fresher air. I stood, my head down, shoulders slumped.

José wasn't the one who shot Splinter. I stared a the mossy ground, feeling I was missing something. Something big. Another thought hit me, making my heart pound in my ears. José wasn't the one who wrote the letter either. Then, maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the one who killed Barnabas. Which meant he wasn't the one who tried to attack Winter. But then, who did?

I shook my head, trying to clear it. I had an instinctual feeling that there was a heavy price riding on my ability to put the pieces of the puzzle together, and I was quickly running out of time. 

Think, think, think, I told myself. The words conjured up an image of Winnie the Pooh, tapping himself on the head, trying to find a way to the bee hive. Good God, I grimaced. People were dying and I was imaging Winnie the Pooh.

I eyed Winnie warily as I replayed the days events, searching for clues. She'd been set on showing me José's shallow grave. She must have known it was there all along. Earlier that day, when we'd come across the horrible smell, she'd told me it was the smell of death. I thought she'd meant that figuratively at the time; turned out she was being very literal.

Then, Sparky had said, he's near. He may have been talking about José's grave, or he might have meant someone else was near. I was betting on the latter. They both knew who the killer was, it was just a matter of getting me to see it.

The killer didn't want the humans finding Jose's grave. It was to his or her benefit that they continued to suspect José. So, when they got too close, the killer had shot Splinter. It distracted them from the discovery, but he must know they would be out here again.

A chill spread over me. He would be back.

Something touched my side. I spun around growling—teeth barred. Winnie had come to stand next to me, her eyes deep and mysterious. Good job, Pickle. You're almost there.

Before I could respond, a familiar fluttering sound filled my ears, and the brush rustled near where we stood. Do you know how difficult it is to fly in the dark?  Sparky projected. Damned blind bats! Blasted owls lurking about! Anyhow, the evil one has left and is on his way here.

Then we should hide. Winnie said, eyeing José's grave. Sparky followed her gaze.

Well—that is not a pretty sight. He ruffled his feathers and clicked his beak. Or smell.