Stealing Roses

End

Down at the police station, everyone was running around doing something. No one gave me a second glance, which was a nice change from the last time I was here. Being brought in with a blood stained school uniform; hands coated in blood, sweat in tears; practically being carried by Wilkes had caused a couple dozen stares. I didn’t have any real injuries; I was just battered and bruised. Wilkes led me down the corridor, past his office, down into the furthest part of the station. The morgue smelled like antiseptic and eucalyptus. There was a gurney in the corner of the room. On the gurney was a human sized mass covered by a thin, white sheet. The boy’s feet were sticking out of the end, a barcode tied to his toe. Detective Wilkes pulled the sheet back down to the boy’s shoulders. Black spots danced in front of my eyes and I caught my breath. My legs flew out from underneath me and my mum tried to catch me. But she was even shorter than I was and was unable to hold my weight. Wilkes grabbed my arm and escorted me out, blocking the body from my view with his broad chest.

“No. No. No.” I kept muttering.

“I’m sorry we had to bring you down here.” Wilkes placed me gently in his office chair. “We have what we need to wrap it up here.” But all I could see were the blue eyes, the blonde hair. It wasn’t him.

“It wasn’t him.” I said. “The boy on the gurney was Kyle Markes. He didn’t do it.” I sobbed. Alex had killed Kyle. He killed Kyle. He escaped. He was going to come back for me.

“Miss Sanchez. Rose. He was the only person we found in the house. You said you hit your attacker over the head with a frying pan and that the incident occurred in the kitchen. Markes was found in the kitchen with his face severely wounded. The wounds were caused by blunt force trauma consistent with a frying pan. The house belonged to a woman who died six years ago. The executor of the will seized the house but was unable to sell it because of the mysterious circumstances surrounding her death and the next of kin had disappeared. Markes probably stumbled across it and thought that it was prime real estate for his twisted game.”

“But he was at school when Alex grabbed me.”

“No, after recess Kyle ditched the rest of his classes and people didn’t see him until the next morning.”

“But…but…”

“Rose, you suffered a great ordeal.” Wilkes leaned forward, lightly grazing my hand. “We believe you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and have probably blocked out most of what happened.”

“No. You’re wrong.” Wilkes turned to my mother and started telling her to get me home and some rest. But I zoned out. He was still out there. I stared at the carpet not a single coherent thought forming in my mind. Flashes started to pound at my head. The basement. The knife. Alex. I started to scream. Please make it go away, I pleaded with myself. Please, I don’t want to relive this. Everything goes blank from there, but I know I screamed for the rest of the day and all through the night.

6 Months Later

The sun was shining on the day he found me. Funny, right? The birds were singing and the leaves were rustling in the soft summer breeze.

After we moved from the last house to the one we were currently living in, I sat down and wrote. I kept writing well into the early hours of the morning. I poured everything out until I had written well over two hundred pages. I sent it to a publisher and was still waiting for a reply.

“Mum, it’s here!” I called from the mailbox. There were two letters addressed to me amongst the stack of bills. The first one had the publishers name and address printed on the front, the other was just a thick card envelope with no return address. I ripped open the first one, not even bothering to go back inside the house. I skimmed the letter, desperately searching for the important part. There it was, glaring up at me like a neon sign: “We would be proud to publish your work.” I squealed in glee and ran inside the house. “They love it! I’m an author!” There was no answer. I ran through the house, but there was no sign of my mother. “Mum?” My heart started to race and my hands grew sweaty. Where was she? There was a sharp slap at my feet and I looked down. I had dropped the second envelope on the floor, its contents spread on the floor. I bent down, examining it. Rose petals spilled out, along with a thin chain. Evie’s necklace. “No. No. No. No. No. No.” There was a note peeping out and I picked it up carefully. i found you Rosie.The bedroom door behind me creaked open and someone stepped out from behind it. Blood roaring in my ears, I turned. He stared back at me, smiling.

“Rosie.”

“Please…” I begged. “Please don’t.” He stepped towards me and I scanned the room for the phone or an exit or anything. His fingers found their way into my hair, threading through and tugging gently. “Where’s my mum? How did you find me? I changed my name, I moved.” Again, that smile. The blood stains on the lapel of his jacket and his hands dripped slowly. My mum’s blood. This was just a nightmare. A horrible, freakish nightmare. I would wake up in my bedroom, the fluffy covers on my bed providing me with all the protection I needed.

“I found you, Rosie.” He inhaled deeply, smelling my hair. “We’re going to be together forever.”