Page 8 of Buried Beneath Sin

I turn the envelope around but find nothing on the back. Curiously, I open it. Inside is a card that reads:

Hello, Little Viper. What beautiful scales you have.

Little Viper? Scales? What does that mean? Is this some type of joke? A prank perhaps? I flip the card over but find the other side blank. How strange. I glance down at the flowers. If this is a prank, I’m not sure what the end goal is. I’m not scared. In fact, I’m almost flattered. I’ve never received flowers before. And for them to be in my favorite color?

I fight a smile as I grab the vase and note before standing.

“Let me set you down where I won’t trip on you, and then I need to go find my intruder.”

5

BEATRIX

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Trixie, darling,please try to understand. Mommyneedsher medicine.”

My mom no longer sounds like herself. She hasn’t in a while. Before, her voice was beautiful and soft, silky, and full of love. There was a time in my life where Mom had been clean. She was so good to me then. A mother that loved her child, who would sit and braid my hair, tell me stories, and would stroll with me through the woods around the house.

I miss that version of Mom. Every. Single. Day.

There’s a hard bang at my bedroom door. The deadbolt will keep her out for the night. I flinch as I limp over to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom attached to my bedroom. “Beatrix Rosemary Starr, you fucking piece of shit, open your goddamn door!”

I wince as I flip the switch and the bathroom lights flicker on. A quick glance confirms that the door leading to the other bedroom is still completely boarded up. No one is coming through there.

For now, I’m safe from her rage. And out of the reach of Patrick.

“Fucking parasite, sucking the life out of me. Don’t you want your mother to live? To be healthy? Stupid cunt! I hate you!”

My mother’s words hurt more than the glass in my foot from the picture frame she broke earlier or the cut on my forehead from Patrick throwing a book at me before storming out. For a moment, I allow myself to pause and collect myself. Bracing my hands on the edge of the sink, I drop my chin to my chest and suck in deep, settling breaths.

Exhaustion beats at me, but the pain all over my body can’t be ignored. I blink the blood out of my right eye then crouch to grab the first aid kit under the sink. I open the cabinet and reach for it. My fingers brush against something soft where the first aid kit should be.

“TRIXIE GIVE ME MY MEDICINE!”

I ignore my mother’s screech and the rapid-fire kicks she wails against my bedroom door as my brows come together and I wrap my fingers around the soft object. I pull it out and gasp.

A black rose.

What the hell? How’d this get here? Who put it here and… how long has it been down here? It can’t have been long. It looks fresh. Despite the missing stem, the petals aren’t wilted and none are missing. It’s just as beautiful as the others I’d gotten a couple of weeks ago. My butt hits the tile floor as I stare in awe at the flower.

“BEATRIX—”

“I flushed your drugs, Mom!” I snap back, as I reach behind me to slam my bathroom door shut. Her scream of rage is muffled by the second barrier.

I close my eyes and bring the rose to my nose. Its perfume is strong and beautiful. Its scent blocks out the pain. All of it. My bottom lip trembles. For a second, I can understand why my mother has taken up vices to escape the world. If I could breathe in this flower and hold on to this moment suspended in time,where I can’t feel the loss of the mother I loved or the hatred of the life I have now, I would.

But I can’t.

As the escape of the beautiful floral aroma is overpowered by my mother’s wretched screams, I come back into the moment.

Bitter resentment wells up. How I loathe the way my life has turned out. This isn’t fair. Why am I left to pick up my mother’s broken pieces? She’s forsaken everyone around her. Thrown everything away. Even her daughter. This isn’t the woman I love.Thatwoman died so long ago that I only have a few fleeting memories of her left. And not ones that make this hell worthwhile. I can’t force Lauren Starr to want to get better. I can only hope that death takes her out of here before she kills someone in one of her rages between fixes.

With a sigh, I open the cabinet door further to see if whoever left the rose left a note like last time. They did. My eyes land on the small envelope. With a shaking hand, I reach forward and pick it up. My blood smears across the crisp white paper as I turn it over and open it.

Did you know that your scales shine brighter in the dark, Little Viper? They are stunning.

Just like the last time, I have no idea what this note means. Over the past two weeks, I’ve lost sleep wondering what it means to have scales. To be someone’s Little Viper. Now, I’m even more confused.

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