Wanted: Single Rose

by Skye, Mav

  Her hand wisped against his jaw, down his neck and chest, trailed down his stomach to his zipper. Her hand slipped inside his boxers, stroking his already hard erection. He leaned into her hand, feeling her fingers push and give. She had experience with those nimble fingers, he’d known by all the men trailing in and out of her place at night, but this was his first time experiencing it, despite all the feverish daydreams he’d had as a teenager.

  He pushed the white slip up her thighs and still sitting on the tree’s hollow rim, O’Hara spread her legs and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him into her.

  He groaned, pleasure sizzled in rising, throbbing waves.

  She tongued his earlobe and bit down, hard.

  He gasped, and rolled with her pumping hips. She whispered in his ear, “Why would I care about the roses when all I wanted all these years. All these long,” she thrust her hips against him, “long, hard years…” Her voice changed from the seductive lilt to a deeper tone, less human more monster. “Was you? And now, I have you.” She bit his earlobe again and clenched herself around his rock hard body.

  Sir Sun opened his eyes at the change in her voice. Her face was no longer a lovely pale, but a sunken-in gray. Bloated.

  She continued stroking his chest, grasping him with her legs, pulling him deep inside her. He tried to step backward, but she wouldn’t let him. Her fingers were burning petals, clutching and stroking, he could feel the prick of her nails—thorns—as they rubbed and purred over him. She slipped out of the tree, and with supernatural strength held him in place with her hands collapsed about his chest. Her face turned back to the lovely cream color, and she kissed his neck, tongued down his chest, lower, lower. He stopped resisting when her mouth closed around his erection. Whether from horror or pleasure, he couldn’t tell, but he stood frozen in place as her lips brought him close to bursting. His stomach muscles tightened. His skin trembled in anticipation.

  She paused, and he looked down at her. She was gray and bloated again. Worms crawled in her hollow eyes. “Where did you go?” Her voice turned monstrous again. “After you put me in the ground!”

  He yelped, and tried to stand back. But her mouth was on him again, sucking on him furiously, intensely, until he came. “Oh, God!” And then he was clutching her hair, pushing her shoulders back, but his hands only sunk into her dead flesh.

  Her sharp nails pierced into him, and she bit down. Harder and harder, blood dripped down her chin mixing with his semen.

  He screamed in agony and heaved himself away. She let go all at once, and he fell to the river rocks.

  “Murderer,” she chanted in the deeper monstrous voice. Her body crawled with maggots; the white silk tore in two, revealing the bones of her ribcage. She bent over him and pointed accusingly. “You murdered me.” The willow branches hissed like serpents at Sir Sun and, like Medusa, held him frozen like a statue.

  There, lying on the stone cold rocks, completely vulnerable to Medusa’s cruelty, he felt the wasp sting of emotion from earlier, it stung inside his chest, his stomach, his throat. He felt he couldn’t breathe. Bricks sat upon his chest. The wasp’s sting far outweighed the pain he felt in his crotch. The emotion rose as if from a grave, and the emotion was guilt. It filled him up and dragged him down to a hell he’d been fleeing ever since that day, the day he buried her in the rose garden.

  She said, “You put me in the ground. Remember.” It was an order, not a question. And he obeyed.

  He remembered watching out his bedroom window for hours, Miss O’Hara sunbathing in her rose garden. Naked. Sprawled out on a thin quilt made of a moon and stars pattern.

  He’d jumped the fence and approached her while she slept. It had felt like time stood still while he stood there in her beautiful lawn and gardens, watching, waiting for her to awake. Finally, he could wait no longer. He’d knelt down to kiss and wake the sleeping beauty. He knew what she liked, how she liked it, he’d watched her with men often enough. Stripping down in her room, taking it from the back, the front. Against the wall, on top of her glossy black dresser. But in her garden, she was not as much animal as a maiden waiting to be taken by the prince—or the dragon. It was as if she were helpless among the petals and stems, and she knew it, liked it, asked for it.

  Sir Sun tried to scoot away on his ass from the dead O’Hara standing over him. “I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know!” He lied. And as he said it, he knew, she knew, he was lying, too. He said, “You were just lying there naked, and I didn’t know.”

  She howled up at the moon, an angry undead angel. “You did so! You stabbed me over and over. Why, Timothy? Why?!?” She was sobbing now.

  “I.-I—” he was at a lost for words.

  Her body began to fade. Still sobbing, she turned her back and stepped into the willow’s hollow, shape-shifting into the gorgeous drop dead lips he saw before.

  And he remembered more.

  When he had kissed her, her beautiful eyes had opened. At first, her mouth had spread into a smile, and he even thought she’d thank him, beg him for more like he’d seen her do on so many occasions. But instead of smiling, she screamed. She’d screamed long and hard, then cried, “Police! Police!”

  He’d had his shears on him that day, feigning to clip flower heads while watching her through the gaps in the fence…

  Sir Sun snapped back from the memory and took the shears from his pocket and jumped to his feet. He held them up to the willow’s accusing buxom mouth. He said, “You didn’t want me! You wanted everyone else, every other man, you even wanted that.” He pointed to the willow. “But you didn’t want me!”

  The red mouth opened, and cruel laughter ripped out like thunder. “You were just a boy—a child. Nobody wanted you then, and nobody since. I knew your parents were always away. I toyed with you. I played with you. But I never, ever wanted you, Timothy.” She laughed and laughed, and the breeze stirred into a storm around him. Leaves blew; branches whipped his face.

  Suddenly as the laughing started it stopped, and Miss O’Hara’s mouth grew sharp teeth. The monstrous voice thundered, “Die! Die now, Timothy!” The willow’s branches, still serpents, snaked this way and that, and suddenly they turned back to branches. The branches held swords and lassos. One whipped a lasso his way and he grabbed it, cutting it with his shears. A sword swooshed by him and he cut that in half as well. Suddenly, a thousand swords and lassos whipped out at him. The blood red mouth with dagger teeth sat in the midst of the chaos, taunting, Die! Die! Die!

  “No!” he cried back, cutting and slapping at the branches with his shears and finally plunging himself into the heart of the willow, aiming his shears for those drop dead gorgeous lips—killing the guilt inside, the guilt that had cultivated in the dark hollow of his heart, hidden away until Velva had revealed the inner monster. Not just any monster.

  Velva’s monster.

  A hand grasped his shoulder and shook. “Hey, man.”

  Sir Sun slowly returned to consciousness as someone yanked him backward and slapped his face. Twice. Then threw him to the ground.

  Sir Sun became aware of the throb in his head, and opened his eyes to see Daniel leaning over him. He looked worried and scared. “Dude, pull your pants up and get a grip. Help me get the body in the wheelbarrow.”

  Daniel inspected him further, plucked the shears out of Sir Sun’s hands and walked off.

  Sir Sun sat up, felt the lump on his head and groaned. He looked down and saw his pants undone. No blood. He peeked at the willow. The wind was gone and its few remaining branches fell crestfallen to its trunk in surrender, slain and slaughtered by a mad man.

  He stood, zipped up his pants and neared Daniel, who was fiddling around with a dark object on the ground next to the Undergrounder. “Did you happen to see any of that?”

  “You slaughtering that tree as if it was Bigfoot, you mean?” Daniel gave him a good hard look over. Hesitation and caution etched on his face. As if he was treading around a crazy guy.

  Sir Sun wasn’t
crazy. Was he? If not, what the hell was that all about? Maybe Velva had hit him with the frying pan a little too hard. He’d heard of people with a concussion seeing strange things.

  Daniel leaned in close, excitement in his voice. “Did you? You know, see Bigfoot?”

  “No.”

  Daniel’s face dropped, but only a little.

  “I think I might have a concussion.”

  Daniel said, “Uh huh.”

  Sir Sun rolled his eyes. “I’m fine now. Look can you give me my shears back?”

  “No way,” Daniel glanced at him sidelong and shook his head. “Help me put the Undergrounder in the wheelbarrow.”

  Sir Sun shrugged. “Sure, just as soon as you give—”

  “Fine.” Daniel raised his voice. “But don’t you go all psycho on me and Xena.”

  “Xena? Xena is here?” He suddenly had to see Velva, needed her.

  “Sure.” Daniel mimicked Sir Sun’s shrug from a moment before. “You can see her soon as you help me load this thing into the cart.”

  Sir Sun nodded and helped lug the heavy body into the barrel. Daniel picked up the handles and with the help of Sir Sun, they pushed the wheelbarrow over the river rocks, and into the brush beyond. To Sir Sun’s surprise, behind the blackberries, cleverly disguised, was an open wrought iron gate hinged on a brick wall. Through the gate might as well have been going over the rainbow. A deep sea green of lawn stretched to orchards, ponds, and gardens. Coated in moonlight and deep glimmers of sparkles and shine, the garden was a midnight wonderland. Off in the distance, he saw Velva holding up a lantern, welcoming him home.

  20

  The Hunted and the Haunted

  By the time Daniel started fiddling with the complicated lock system on the gate, smoky clouds had blanketed the moon, giving the landscaping and gardens a hazed purple hue. Despite the haze, Sir Sun could clearly see the path winding through the gardens leading to Velva. He felt her energy here. It tugged and pulled at him. Come this way. Come to me.

  He didn’t wait for Daniel. He followed the swell and lull of Velva’s voice. He tread the path by late blooming chrysanthemums. He could hear their sweet song to the moon, and they welcomed him with amiable head nodding. Apple trees dropped their fruit on the ground, and Sir Sun, sensing the apple trees not only were cordial but welcomed him, he pulled an apple loose and took a bite.

  It tasted delicious.

  It tasted of life.

  He kept strolling, admiring the bushes and flowers that bobbed his way, waved their friendly leaves. His orchid would like it here.

  He threw the apple core into a cluster of lavender. Knowing it would nourish the plants in due time.

  Suddenly, he stopped and stared straight ahead.

  Perhaps for the first time in his life, Sir Sun knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. And what he needed was the vision in the velvet dress holding a lantern high in the dark.

  “Timothy? Is that you?”

  He couldn’t speak. Just simply stared at the vision of her.

  Behind him, Daniel snickered as he strode back with the wheelbarrow. “Yeah, yeah, it’s him, alright.”

  But, Sir Sun hardly heard him. The feeling in his chest, as he rushed to Velva, was more than desire, more than a puppy dog crush, or that gush of emotion when seeing a long lost friend. No, it was far more than that. It was as if a piece of him had been extracted at the moment of his birth and thrown far out in the universe. All this time he had thought he had been searching for answers, why did he have to be born to parents who cared more about their careers than they had him? Why did they have to buy the house next door to Miss O’Hara? Why did he have such an obsession with botanicals and strange sexual perversions? He had asked the wrong questions, and thus he had never received answers.

  No, the question he should have been asking was where was she? Where was the piece that would make him complete? He’d spent a lifetime searching in the dirt when he should have been searching the heavens. She was the stars and the moon this entire garden revolved around, perhaps the entire world. She was his world now, and he understood it. He wanted it. He craved the completion that could only come through her.

  Velva set the lantern down and embraced Sir Sun as he picked her up and swirled her around. She laughed at his earnestness, the voice of an angel! Velva wasn’t merely a rose among the thorns, the lily of the valley, she was Empress amongst the stars and planets. She was, she was—

  “All Hail Xena, birthed of Shelly, descendant of the tenth planet of the system of discord by the order of Eris!” Daniel hailed behind them.

  “Let it go, Daniel!” Velva laughed back at him.

  Daniel had to let it go, but Sir Sun certainly couldn’t. He swept her around and around, feeling her velvet dress wisp up against his arms like rose petals. Velva was his missing piece; he was weak and broken without her, how had he functioned? Dear Lord, how had he even breathed?

  No wonder Miss O’Hara had stalked him through the flowers, bushes and trees—through Daisy’s spider plant, the willow. Die! She had hissed at him only moments before. But hadn’t he already been dead? He was dead the moment he met Miss O’Hara, the first time he peeped through the fence and desired her smooth skin, curved hips. With Velva, he had started living again, breathing—being. Had Miss O’Hara sensed this from the grave? And if so, what was the point of telling him to die. Revenge for her death?

  He thought of the hissing plants, they’d known what he was becoming.

  No, Miss O’Hara was giving him a warning, a message. She wanted him to die to the new urges rising inside of him. The very thing that Velva had seen in him, nurtured and brought back to life, the very thing that he buried deep down inside after stabbing Miss O’Hara all those years ago.

  He could see now that before Velva, he was dead—an aging man with a flab of guilt and loneliness, searching the earth for the one plant, thing, person that would make him whole again.

  Wasn’t that what humanity was? Walking, breathing guilt-laden flesh searching for what will make them full and whole and truly alive? A record without a needle was useless. A seed without the rain was just dust. Day without the night was… a gray blob of dark and light, an unbalance.

  Dying without living was lost. And Sir Sun never wanted to feel lost again, no matter what the cost.

  When he finally set Velva down. She breathed in his ear, “And to what do I owe this enthusiastic return?”

  His reply was desperate, earnest—childlike. “Don’t ever leave me, Velva. I need you.”

  She drew back and studied his face. “What happened?”

  Sir Sun no longer felt the need to hold back, but to be completely honest with her. “She’s back. She’s come to get me. She doesn’t want me to live.”

  Velva raised an eyebrow. “Who, Darling?”

  “Miss O’Hara. And the ground.” He glanced about, and her gaze followed his. “The ground?”

  “Yes, the plants, they want their revenge. But with you, I am safe Velva. And your gardens…” He pointed at the cluster of jasmine in the garden beside her feet. The jasmine’s little bells twinkled in the twilight.

  Velva observed the jasmine, raised her eyebrow and looked at him, concern coloring her face. “Come here, you.”

  He leaned into the soft pillows of her, feeling every ache and pain from the last twenty-four hours lift and fly away. Exhaustion had lain on his shoulders like heavy boulders.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled him close into her. “Yes, my love, with me you’re safe. But, I need you too, Darling. I have things I need you to do for me. Then we’ll both be safe.”

  Sir Sun breathed in the scent of her, feeling high, then exhaled. And as he did, he nibbled her shoulder, kissing her smooth, milk skin all the way to her collarbone.

  Velva purred ever so gently. He grabbed her hips, pulling up at her dress. His teeth pawed at her jaw, then her mouth—his tongue rasping at the sweet purity of her.

  “Ahem,” coughed a voice
behind them. “Xena, my queen, where shall I plant the Undergrounder?”

  Velva put her hands on Sir Sun’s shoulders and pushed him away. He noticed her flushed face, the fragrance of her body. Her eyebrow playfully arched at him. She said, “Where shall we plant it, Sir Sun?”

  Sir Sun smiled, his body aching for her. “I have something I’d like buried.”

  She pushed at him further. “Now you’re just being crude. Come on.” She picked up the lantern and handed it to Sir Sun. They walked hand in hand, following the body laden wheelbarrow. They stopped by the brick fence’s edge where azaleas wove back and forth in perfect six feet circles.

  In each circle sat what appeared to be headstones. Surely, the shadows were playing tricks on Sir Sun’s eyes.

  Daniel took out a pack of Marlboros, fished one out and lit up. He offered one to Velva, who took it. Sir Sun declined.

  Daniel pointed his cigarette at the sky. “Hunter’s Moon on the night of the dead.”

  All three of them stared up at the moonshine outlining the billows in the sky. “The question is,” said Daniel. “Who is the hunter and who is the hunted?”

  A lost dog howled in the distance. Sir Sun, thinking of Miss O’Hara, added, “Perhaps the real question is: who is the haunter and who is the haunted?”

  A moment of silence settled over all of them. Then Velva broke it. “We are the hunter and the haunter, the haunted and hunted.”

  “But for what purpose?” asked Sir Sun.

  “It is all for the same purpose, Timothy. The empty that wish to be full.”

  Daniel said, “The Undergrounders.”

  In a sense, that would make them all Undergrounders.

  They all looked down at Baldy’s broken body.

  Velva said, “Well, we better get him in the ground then.”

  Daniel ground his cigarette butt into the headstone (yes, definitely a headstone, Sir Sun realized) nearest them, and tossed it into the azaleas.

  “Do you mind?” Velva pointed at the cigarette butt.