Flowers for you

Violet

There was something different about today.

Perhaps it was the fear that ran through me, making me fidget and jumpy as I watch Jasper walk towards Jasmine's house. It was late in the morning when we decided it won't be such a bother anymore for the old woman. He walked lightly, as if the events of the morning didn't bother him.

I, on the other hand, kept glancing around. Whoever this was knew where I lived and even managed to get open my window without me noticing it. I was terrified. I imagine a shadow of a figure watching me while I slept. I shiver as we reach the front steps of the house.

He rings the doorbell and finally glances my way. He hasn't looked at me since this morning and maybe that was one other thing that kept bothering me. Was he afraid too? If he was, I could see no trace of it in his eyes or his expression. He just seemed really exhausted. I could not blame him, though. He started this chase, this sick game, long before I even became one of the players. He stares at me, but I feel at ease with this. As if his eyes were enough to tell me everything would be okay, but somehow, I could not leave out this nagging feeling gnawing at me from the darkest parts of my mind. Something was wrong. But what?

Jasper get's impatient waiting by the door. He had rung it three times. Even Mrs. Bradshaw won't take that long to answer. Instead of retreating, he goes around back. I follow him silently, slightly fearing what he might do. When we reach the back door, he takes a key from under one of the potted plants and turns to wink at me. I am not surprised. Pretty sure he visited this house often when he and Jasmine hanged out.

I hear the lock click and we step inside.

"Mrs. Bradshaw?" Jasper calls out, his voice is gentle, and I wonder how he can control it that well. We walk down the hall and into the living room.

"Odd, she never leaves the house except Wednesdays, right?" he asks, and I give him a soft nod. Something about this doesn't feel right. When we search the first floor and find nothing, save for rotting apples by the table, we head upstairs.

I instinctively latch on to him. Gripping his arms like a scared child. I could feel his muscles under neat his shirt, flex under my grip and I wonder if me touching him had the same effect I had when I touched him. When we reach the top floor, he goes to Jasmine's room.

The flowers were no longer on the table. Mrs. Bradshaw might have thrown them out already. But dead petals still littered the floor, making my skin crawl.

"Mrs. Bradshaw?" Jasper calls out again and I am suddenly hearing the frantic beat of my own heart. I could tell by how tense Jasper was, he felt the same way. When we stand outside Mrs. Bradshaw's bedroom, he looks at me. Eyes reassuring and affirming, before his hands grab the handle and turn.

At first, I think she is sleeping. But she does not stir when we enter the room, nor does her chest go up and down like a normal person's would when they got air into their lungs. I stifle a cry. Jasper holds me close to him. His hand anchoring me in place as he fishes out his cellphone to call his uncle, probably. And paramedics, to see what happened to her. But we both know what happened.

I let myself cry on his shoulder as we wait outside the hall. I could hear the sirens from a distance, but all my mind would see was the dead bouquet of roses on Mrs. Bradshaw's chest.

--

Life had a funny way of playing out. When Jasmine disappeared, I had become a suspect, and so was the beautiful green-eyed boy in front of me. Now, the only living family of the girl was found dead. By no other than the two of us.