Bloodwine

Welcome to Rosewater

 The township of Rosewater, a quiet little town with friendly people and the unknown that lurks behind every smile and friendly gesture. For one young man, it's a fresh start.

An old clunker of a car traveled down Highway 14 toward the township of Rosewater. The driver, twenty-five-year-old Benny Kelvin, was flipping through the radio when the car passed a "WELCOME TO ROSEWATER" sign. He held his sight on it. The car began to jerk and sputter as it made its way toward the town. Sounds of the vehicle in distress filled the air as a loud bang rang out and smoke poured from the hood. The car slowed to a crawl, then stopped a few feet away from a "ROSEWATER HALF A MILE" sign. The driver slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

"No, come on, don't do this to me... please."

He swung the driver-side door open. He peeled himself from the driver's seat and stood there, clenching his fist. Raising his left hand, he laid it on the door and slammed it shut. The sun beat down on him, its heat radiating onto his forehead. Sweat formed. Opening the back passenger door, he retrieved his duffle bag and kicked the driver-side door, denting it.

"Piece of junk."

Gripping the handles of his bag tighter, he turned and stalked away. As the afternoon sun beat against his skin, it glistened. His breathing was heavy as he made his way up the mountain road. As his arrival at the town's edge spelled victory for him arriving, he stood there catching his breath. At the town's edge, he spotted a gas station, and maybe 50 feet from that was a large winery. The air is thin at this altitude, but thick with something else. Wandering through the parking lot of the winery, he spotted an older gentleman and ambled over to him.

"Excuse me, sir, my name is Benny Kelvin, and I was wondering if you had any work?" he said.

"Where are you from, kid?"

"I am from Porterson, sir."

"Sir, is my dead father. I'm Jack Dawson, owner of the Red Rose Winery." He turned around, eyeing Benny up and down. "This work isn't a game and could get some killed."

"I am more than capable, sir, I mean, Mr. Dawson."

"I lost a worker a few days ago, so I guess I don't need to put out an ad." He climbed into his old beat-up truck. "Get in. I will take you to the old hotel."

Benny jogged up and climbed into the passenger side, and the truck pulled away. The town passed by as the truck drove down the street toward the other side of town. The truck pulled up at the old rundown hotel. He jumped out with his bag in hand and followed the owner as they approached the stairs to the old Victorian hotel. It's fading, worn sign read: Rose Garden Hotel. Benny and Jack entered the hotel lobby. Jack stepped around the desk to the falling-apart bird box and grabbed the key to room 001. He pivoted and held it out to Benny, who took it in hand.

"What happened here?"

"I have more important things to deal with, so ask one of the other workers."

Silence fell again as Jack stepped back around the desk, pointed to the stairs and walked out the front door. Left standing there, he gripped the key tighter and strolled over to landing. He glanced around at the worn stairs and banister, the peeling decor, and the rotten atmosphere. He ascended the stairs, spotting the room just off the upstairs landing. Stepping up to the door, he placed the key and shoved the door open as the click released the lock. Benny placed his bag on the bed, which looked centuries outdated. Pivoting, he shut the door and flopped on the bed, next to his bag, and sighed as he settled into the softness of the mattress. His eyes grew heavy; sleep took him.

Benny cracked his eyes, the smell of her perfume still lingering on the pillow. He sat up in the bedroom of his old house in the town of Porterson. He climbed out of bed and headed downstairs to find his mom cooking, so he grabbed a cup of coffee and wandered out onto the porch and took a seat on the outdoor couch. A police car pulled up; it was Brett, his girlfriend's brother. He rushed up onto the porch and wrapped Benny in a hug. As he pulled back, he looked around and pulled him into a quick kiss. Something felt different from before... the air thick, the patch on his uniform wasn't right, it said Rosewater Police Department, not Porterson.