Thirteen Black Roses

1

“A black rose is for the dying…  The stars are only fire and all that glitters is cold.  A black rose is for the dying…”2

The wind is cold and harsh atop the cliff.  I shiver slightly and look out over the blue-gray waters of the Pacific.  So peaceful, so wild…  Somewhere in the night, a scream of an animal.  I turn and walk slowly to my car.  The cold, cracked leather creaks as I settle down, my head upon the steering wheel.  I close my eyes for a time and think of what I mean to do.3

“Kill them…”  4

I hear myself say.  The words seem to echo in the old, beat up sedan.  Another shiver passes through me and I start the car. It is hard to hold the keys in my shaking grasp, part from the cold and part from what I plan to do.  I shake my head to clear my mind of the thoughts and wait patiently for the car to warm up.  ‘Damn thing…  It didn’t even work when Steph-’ The thought hangs in my mind; harsh and true like a gallows.  I clinch my eyes shut for a moment, trying to delay the tears I know will come.  With a sigh I lay my head again the steering wheel once more, mouthing his name.  ‘Stephen.’  I feel a tear run down my cheek as I repeat his name aloud.5

“Stephen Reighton; the love of my life, my better half, my soul mate…  No more…” More tears begin to trail from my eyes unchecked.  “Oh gods…  Why did they take you?” I ask the memory.6

“Come on Michael, their wedding is in half an hour!”  He said, straightening my tie.  “You don’t need to fix your hair again!”7

“Fine.”  I said smiling.  I left the mirror and moved into his arms before kissing him and telling him for the thousandth time that I needed to fix my hair.8

With a dramatic sigh, he kissed me on the cheek and grabbed the car keys.9

“Let’s be on our way ‘lover boy’.”  He said teasingly.  10

I tried to glare back but managed only a laugh as I followed him out to the car.  It had been a gift from his sister, whose wedding we were going to attend.11

The heater had been running now, unnoticed for nearly twenty minutes.  With a muttered curse I wiped the tears from my now red eyes and put the car in gear.  The car gave a whine of protest as I pulled to a stop at the stop sign.  Behind me, I could just make out the lighthouse as I pulled away from the park.  The ride home was uneventful and seemed to take longer than usual.  I glanced at the garden that Stephen had worked on for as many months as we had lived there, and felt the tears returning with the cold thoughts.12

There were three messages on the answering machine but I ignored them as I went to the bedroom and undressed.  After a shower and a shave, I sat in the parlor with a glass of wine and the photo book.  Stephen had been a connoisseur.  It was a rare week when he did not have some new bottle of wine that he had bought.  I smiled sadly at a picture of him cleaning his wine cabinet.13

My thoughts turned slowly again to what I planned to do.14

“We the jury find Stephen Reighton guilty on the charges of the rape and murder of C.J Thompson.”  15

The man said, an evil gleam in his eyes.  The same gleam could be seen in the eyes of the other jurors as well.  A cry of protest went up from our side as he spoke, causing the judge to bang his gavel and call for order.16

“Stephen Reighton, you have been sentenced to death by lethal injection.”  17

My mind went numb suddenly.  18

From that point on, the seeds of revenge had been planted deep within my mind.  I knew that Stephen had not killed or raped the child.  I know, because I had been there.  19

We had been out on a hike when Stephen had heard something from the bushes off the side of the trail.  We rushed there, stupidly, hoping to find a bear, or perhaps a wild animal.  When we arrived, we were confronted by the fleeing figure of someone, and the bloody body of the boy.  He was clinging to life as we knelt next to him.  A knife stuck, quivering, from the side of the boy’s throat.  He stared at us with pain and fear in his tear filled eyes.20

“Help me…” His voice was no more than a whisper.  Stephen pulled the knife out, not thinking of the effect it might have.  Blood pumped from the wound as he tried to hold it closed, the blood spilling out over his arms, shirt, and pants.  With a last shudder, the boy died.  Stephen snapped his head up as I looked on, fearful and unsure what to do.  From the direction the person had run off in, voices could be heard, fast approaching.21

“Michael!  Run!”  He hissed, tears in his eyes.  “Don’t let them catch you!”22

For a moment I stood, frozen in place staring at the naked form of the body, the blood spattering his pale skin.  He couldn’t have been more than twelve.  Then, with a desperate look at Stephen, I ran back to the trail and followed it to my car.  I drove to Stephen’s sister’s house and waited anxiously for him to call.  May asked me what had happened but before I could answer, the new was interrupted by a breaking story.  Stephen was shown being thrown, handcuffed, into the back of the squad car.  May uttered a small gasp as the reporter recounted what has supposedly taken place.  She turned to me and asked again, her voice a whisper.23

I told her what had happened, tears streaming down my face as I did so.24

The trail had been short and unfair.  I found out later that the evidence had been stacked against him.  The judge, a homophobe if there ever was one, was a part of it as well.  I had listened, my heart cold stone, as I was told that another inmate in the prison had killed Stephen.  By this time however, I knew without a doubt there would be thirteen new graves soon.25

I would start with the one who had pronounced Stephen guilty…  And from there, go until I either finished the list, or died trying.  Either way… I will win.26

Now I set and write out my last words, a letter to my family.  In another five minutes, I will take the bag with the guns, the police armor, and the thirteen black roses, and begin this.  27

Or end it.28

Time:  Fourteen hours later29

Location:  The local bank30

I have the last one…  The judge.  He is against the wall of the bank, a dark stain of blood on his shirt from his more than likely broken nose.  No one else is in the bank, though outside, the S.W.A.T. Team and police mill about, shouting to me through bullhorns about my ‘demands’.31

What demands?  I have what I want.  I grab Henry and put the last rose through a buttonhole in his shirt.  The thorns cut viciously at his pampered skin, beads of blood rising slowly.  32

“Let’s go.”  I say, pushing him through the door of the small bank.33

‘I have to do this quickly, before the snipers get me.’  I think as I move in closer behind Henry.  I lean my mouth as close to his ear as I dare, ignoring the voices of the police.  My voice is cold and hard as I whisper the small passage.34

“A black rose is for the dying…”35

I squeeze the trigger of the gun, it’s barrel pressed firmly at the base of his skull.  The sound is deafening and, as he falls, something strikes me in the head.36

Everything fades slowly to black, the sounds around me coming to me as if through water.  I feel small stings on my body and realize that they’re still shooting me.  ‘I’m dead…  Give it up you fuckers…’ My thoughts are becoming hazy and clouded.  Through the darkness, a light grows, as if it is the dawning of a new day.37

‘I should have brought fourteen roses…’ I think to myself.  ‘The last for myself…’38

‘Stephen… I’m coming…’39