A Single White Rose...

I still remember my first true love, though it has been several years since we finished our romance together. His name was Alex Hapton, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't ever forget him; not for what he's done, nor for what he used to keep giving me; a single white rose, nearly three times a week. Sometimes, they were in a bunch, but mostly they came single; a loving gesture from a once great man.

He was tall, dark and handsome, with jet black, spiked up hair and beautiful, bright green eyes. I'll never forget those eyes. Never. He seemed like the perfect guy to fall in love with; great looking, respected, and he always treated me to things; nights out, chocolates, diamonds...I thought we'd be together forever, but that wasn't going to happen. We finished, and this wasn't a mutual closure either. He started the argument and finished it, a bit too well if you ask me; a bit over the top.

I don't even know what I did to him to make him so crazy and violent, hell, I don't think I did anything, but I still got the blame and the carnage to compensate it. I used to not remember anything of that night, and hell, I didn't want to, but now I remember, and I wish I didn't.

He came back from work that night, from his shift as a security guard at the local bank, and I knew immediately that he wasn't himself. He hadn't been drinking, but something had really agitated him. I knew that this would be a rough night.

When I came to greet him, he pushed me away, calling me all the names under the sun, he even accused me of having an affair with his best friend. He didn't say where he got the idea from, but in seconds, he had drawn a knife and plunged it into my stomach.

I was lucky. I woke up in hospital a few days later, deep stitches where the knife had gone in. My best friend Becky had been driving past and had come round unexpectedly, calling an ambulance when she found me bleeding to death on the floor. I would have died if it weren't for her.

When the police came in to ask me about Alex, I couldn't remember anything except how the ice cold blade tore through my skin and how the warm blood felt on my hands as I lay in the hallway in fear.

But as I slowly began to remember more and more about Alex's past, the police eventually found him, though not as I expected. They found him at his old house, the one he grew up in, hanging from the rafters, the noose tight and his face tinted blue. They told me about his death, and I felt nothing for the man that tried to kill me.

His family wanted a funeral service, and although I didn't go to it, I made sure that the bastard was cremated. I didn't like the idea of his body still being around, even if it were 6 feet under on the outskirts of our town at the cemetary. No, he had to be burned, just like he would be in hell.

A was still jumpy a few weeks later, it wasn't really surprising after what had happened to me, but now, a few months later, I was back to normal and slightly curious about Alex. What had driven him to do that to me? I was sure it wasn't a spur of the moment thing, it would have been something he's been familiar with for a long time.

I went upstairs to search through his things that were in the attic, his family still hadn't collected them from me and they better do it quick, because I feel like burning everything of his. When I opened the boxes, I found that they were mostly clothes, but eventually, I found some newspaper cuttings. Each one was about a different murder, both men and women, all of different ages. I also found a book with people's names and addresses, and when I cross-referenced them to the cuttings, I realised something terrible. Alex, was the county's serial killer, the one the police had been searching for, and I knew I had to give the police this collection.

I went downstairs and phoned the police, telling them that I had evidence for them that they'd be interested in. They told me they'd be round in the morning, there weren't many officers around this time of night and I hung up.

As I turned to go up the stairs again, I noticed something on the table. I walked over, and found that it was a single white rose, though eerier as it was highlighted by the soft glow of the over head lights. I picked it up, examining it. A sick joke? Or something more disturbing?

I took it upstairs with me and left it on the sink in the bathroom when I went in to turn on the taps on the bath. While it was filling up, I went into my bedroom to watch the TV.

When I returned, the room was full of steam, and after turning off the taps, I looked at the mirror to take off my make-up. There, on the mirror, was written a message, 'Miss me babe? You're next, Alex'. Horrified, I stood there, someone was in my house, leaving things for me to make sure I remembered my past.

As I wiped away the message, I saw someone behind me, with incredibly bright green eyes, and the perfect resemblance of Alex; though I knew for a fact that he didn't have a twin. He rose his arm to reveal a knife, shimmering in the light, and poised at me. Was this my imagination? The imagination of a traumatised woman? Or was it Alex's ghost come to finish what he started...?