Stained Rose: Chapter 1 - Part 1

190X…

Cool wind parts the overlapping posters of missing people glued on the market walls: young and old, pauper and noble, righteous and sinful. The streets are teeming with folks weeping along the paved path, others looking over their shoulders, while some live in their fantasy, away from the dire reality. A disheveled man in his mid-forties runs through the middle of the road in hysterical laughter. In a nearby alleyway, a small group of people gather around a draped body like blow-flies, while the cops threaten the crowd back with their nightsticks. As the horses clip-clop on the cobbled ground, carrying a cherry-wood casket to another wake.

The young couple’s shoes crunch over orange and yellow leaves as the wind nips their faces. Rosalie holds a bouquet of fresh forget-me-nots in her hands with a basket dangling along her arm, while Elias carries a wrapped present with a soft beige ribbon and a tag addressed to Lawrence Bonheur. The spiked iron bars transform the sea of protruding stones into a zoetrope, a gravedigger flickers between the evenly spaced columns as he goes about his routine. Finally, the two stop at the open entrance reading, “Grand Pleasant Cemetery.” She walks into its kempt grounds, while her husband stays behind and lights a cigarette.

Within its confines, a mother comforting her daughter over the loss of her older brother, and on the far end is a pastor reciting from his beaten Bible at another funeral. A couple walks in the opposite way carrying no pain or sorrow. She kept to the path she always took, even when her attention was taken elsewhere, her legs knew the way. Rosalie turns to the right side, she lets out a tiny gasp and quickly steps back. A lady dressed in mourning attire stands in front of Marie’s tombstone, her face obscured by a black veil and a strong spicy scent akin to cloves emitting off her body. No shadow seemed present over the trimmed grass, as if the very silhouette itself had taken a life of its own.

She shakes her head, “My apologies, I… didn’t think anyone would be here.” But the lady in black didn’t respond or make any moves, only stared at her. Rosalie rubs her sleeve and averts her gaze, raising the flowers to the woman, “Could you hold these?”

She nods and takes the bottom of the bouquet, avoiding her gloves. Rosalie pulls out a small broom from her basket, sweeping the red and yellow leaves from the headstone. Though she couldn’t see behind the lady’s shroud, she squirms under her blistering gaze.

“Unnecessary, yes, but it brings a sort of comfort,” she puts away the broom, pulling out a white cloth to wipe the dull grime away, “like a fireplace on a winter’s night.”

The lady in black returns the bouquet of forget-me-nots. Rosalie bows her head, averting her eyes as she lays the flowers on her grave. She steps back, not a single speck of dirt was left on the smooth stone surface. Another gust tickles the grass and rustles the orange-colored trees, carrying the sobs and clomping through the aether.

Rosalie fiddles her hands, looking at the woman through her peripheral, “Was she special to you as well?” But the lady in black remains mute. She sighs, “I don’t blame you. She had a way of pulling people to her in, like a sun holding the planet in place. But even that doesn’t describe her,” she unbuttons her Copenhagen blue wool coat, unwrapping the pearl-cross mink scarf and pulls out a silver ring with a ruby star held by a chain round her neck. “I could clean her grave until my knees are weak or keep as many keepsakes of hers. But nothing can replace her sweet voice and those lovely blue eyes, even in my dreams I still see her,” She pulls out a handkerchief and dabs her eyes. “If only I could tell her”–she stops, looking at the lady in black–“you must think me mad. Listening to the pathetic ramblings of some silly woman. Every waking moment feels so cold without her warmth.” She wraps her arms around herself, “If I could see her once more, even for just a brief moment.” She closes her eyes as her head droops, letting out a shudder.

“Maybe the ship hasn’t sailed.”

Her head whips up, looking all over the grounds, even for just a glimpse, “Sternlicht?”

Unfortunately she was nowhere to be seen, as if she never existed from the very beginning. Nothing but the hallucinations of a budding mad woman. A hand touches her shoulder, snapping her out of a trance. She emits a small shriek and body jerks, turning around to see her husband with a newspaper tucked in his underarm.

“Jumpy little grasshopper aren’t you,” Elias’s voice lightens, giving her another pat on the shoulder. “Are you alright, Rose?”

She stares at him for a moment, “I thought I saw a… ghost.”

He laughs, “Didn’t think ghosts are up with the larks now. First in photos and now this,” he takes a breath and releases a long breeze, “well, stranger things have happened. Come now, our ride awaits!”

He guides her away, the distance turning light-purple flowers in a small blip. Once inside the hansom, Elias opens the newspaper of the New Gratz Gazette, “‘ANOTHER BODY FOUND UNDER BRIDGE, POSSIBLE KILLERS!’ Police found another body underneath a bridge. The body was identified to be Sarah Fisher, age 26, sharing similar injuries as past victims: lacerations round the throat, deep gouges in chest, and emaciated. Authorities have narrowed down to two possible suspects: an escaped panther from the New Gratz Zoo 4 months prior or a convict who has been traveling southwest from state to state for the last two 2 years, the country of origin is unknown. The number of bodies from those states are yet to be known…”

***

Rosalie sits on the back porch, a speckled rabbit laying snug on her lap. Many fireflies dance in the air and creatures play their routine symphony, all performing under the vast starlit curtain. The Autumn air freshens her lungs, she steadily lets go a long thin breath. She closes her eyes and leans her head on the wall. A long creak snaps her trance, turning to find Elias holding the open door.

“You’re up late,” she comments.

He rubs the back of his neck, “I… couldn’t get a wink,” turning his eyes away from her piercing stare, “may I join you?”

“Depends, are you going to scream at me?”

His mouth opens, but snaps it shut halfway and shakes his head. She scoops the rabbit into her arms and scoots to the other end. Neither of them disrupted the chirping crickets or croaking frogs as the lights continued to blink in and out. His leg bounces and hand shifts to his gut, like an iron ball covered in sticky black tar weighing in the pit of his stomach. Rosalie sets the rabbit on his lap, its warmth loosening his tense nerves. Instinctively stroking its soft short coat, a soothing balm on his weary soul.

He takes a deep breath, “About three years ago –,”

“It’s all in the past,” she cuts him off. She rubs her eyes and takes a breath, “Marie is tending to her daisies now. While I was a bull ramming into a brick wall.”

He looks down at the sleeping rabbit, “All for the sake of normalcy.”

Rosalie sniffs, “If it makes you feel better, I would’ve said something similar to make you stop screaming if ever Lawrence crossed the River Styx.” A crooked smile pulls at one corner.

He raises his voice, “How does that make me feel better?” She laughs and raises her shoulders. Elias groans, “What am I going to do with you?” He leans back on the bench, covering his face. The hand continues petting its fur, all three relish in tonight's show. “After all those years, she’s still on your mind?”

She firmly states, “Everyday. Nothing will change that, not in this life nor the next,” her hand moves over her breast, “Even the most trivial things brings her back.” She wipes her eyes, then turns to Elias, “What about Lawrence?”

“The answer’s pretty obvious, isn’t it,” he smiles and quirks an eyebrow, resting his hand on his cheek.

She pouts, placing her chin on her knuckles, “Pfft, Spoilsport.” Elias chuckles, ruffling her coarse hair. A firefly lands on Rosalie, blinking and crawling across her hand, “Perhaps in a different life, we could’ve been great friends,” The insect flies off her finger tip, joining the other flashing lights.

A tender smile pulls his mouth and sighs, “I’d like to think so. The four of us riding on horseback along the shores, climbing to the mountaintops and shouting our hearts out without a care in the world,” he looks down at the small creature, “live our lives, not this ridiculous parody!”

A warm drop falls onto the downy coat and his hand ceases its motion. Rosalie leans her head on his broad shoulder, his white nightshirt becoming damp. Her nose started sniffling and she rested her hand on the rabbit. Elias chokes and buries his face into her hair, wetting the strands in her fiery mane.