Page 3 of Roses and Skulls

“Anytime, baby girl.” He kisses me on the forehead, then stops. “Wait, we can’t end the night yet.” He rushes around the truck and opens the door, turning the radio on full blast. When he comes back to the front of the pickup, he holds his hand out to me. “May I have this dance, m’ lady?”

I giggle. “Of course, kind sir.” I place my hand in his and let him twirl me around. Grandpa is a good dancer. When I was little, I used to stand on his feet as he led me around. I don’t think he would appreciate me doing that now.

Both of us laugh and spin under the light of the moon. This reminds me of the days he played with me in the woods behind the warehouse. My dad and him built an entire fantasyland amongst the trees. Sometimes, we were dragons, other times, witches, explorers, our imaginations always ran wild. I think they just felt bad for me because I didn’t have any other girls to play with.

“Thank you for the dance,” I say as we get back into his truck.

He turns the keys in the ignition, his eyes running over my face. “You are a breath of fresh air, Billie Rose. Promise me you won’t let anyone steal your spark. Okay?”

“Promise,” I say, linking my pinky with his. He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead.

On the way home, Grandpa watches the road as he listens to me chat away about all the shenanigans that happened at the dance. We’re almost there, so I talk a mile a minute, trying to tell him everything before we get to the warehouse.

I turn to face him, laughing as I ramble on about the prank Lanie played on one of the teachers. It’s then I notice a bright light out his window.

I scream.

The sound is horrific as metal crunches and glass shatters around us. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as we violently spin and tumble and roll.

And then it’s quiet. So incredibly quiet.

“Grandpa,” I rasp, my voice doesn’t sound like my own. I blink as dust settles around us. He’s slumped back against his seat. He moans. “Oh, grandpa!”

My hand roams down my side, searching for my seatbelt so I can release myself. I need to help him. It won’t unbuckle. Tears cloud my vision as I struggle with the belt. Suddenly, a man appears at his window. He looks at my broken grandpa and smiles. I… I don’t understand, then the man’s eyes slide over to me. “Shit!” He pushes away from the truck, shoving his hands in his hair and I hear him yell at someone. “He’s not alone!”

“What?” another man hollers back.

A second man rushes to the window, his flashlight blinding me. “Please, please help him,” I whimper.

He presses his fingers to my grandfather’s neck and then his attention turns back to me before he backs away. “Wait, please don’t go.” I’m not sure they heard me, my voice is choppy, and it hurts to talk.

The men continue to yell at each other outside the pickup. “Grandpa?” I reach out and shake his arm. He moans again, his eyes blinking open.

The second man appears at my window. “Please help my grandpa,” I beg.

He flicks a piece of broken glass from the window and rests his arm on the mangled metal, studying me. “Grandpa, huh?” His eyes drop to my neck. My grandpa starts whispering something. It sounds like he is saying crow repeatedly. The man looks at him and laughs before turning his black eyes on me.

He takes my hand in his and presses it to my neck. I try to pull out of his grasp, but he tightens his grip around my fingers, causing me to cry out.

“Don’t. Touch. Her,” grandpa grates out between clenched teeth.

“Shut up, old man. Listen to me, honey, keep your hand pressed right here on your neck and just maybe you’ll live.”

When my fingers touch my neck, I let out a sob. My flesh is torn, wet and sticky. No wonder it hurts so much to talk.

“There, there, don’t cry. It’s up to the fates now.” He keeps his hand over the top of mine as we stare at each other. My body trembles, pain beginning to register in my brain. I’m dying. I’m going to die and the last thing I’m going to see are this man’s cold, heartless eyes.

My grandpa reaches for his gun which is strapped to his side. The man’s eyes slide over to him. “I don’t think you want to do that while I have your granddaughter’s life in the palm of my hand.”

Grandpa stills.

He returns his attention back to me. His eyes slide over my hair, my face, my breasts. I shiver and he smiles. “If you live, maybe we’ll bump into each other down the road. I’ll give you the answers no one else will.” His hand leaves mine and comes up to cup my face. I try to pull away from him but there’s nowhere to go. “Such a pretty, pretty little girl.” His hand trails down my body as he lets go and backs away.

There’s laughter, car doors slamming and then nothing.

I try to speak but it comes out garbled.

“Don’t try to talk, baby girl. Help is coming. Help is coming,” grandpa says quietly.

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