Page 12 of The Blue Rose
Goodnight little lamb.
I don’t bother to send a reply, instead I lay in bed holding my phone gleefully like a child and fall asleep thinking about Aster and the night we had. Hoping to see him again in my dreams.
Stirring from my sleep,already missing the smell of sandalwood and mint, I rush to my canvas compelled to add yet another blue rose to my forever growing painting of roses. Idon’t know what they mean, but after I have a nightmare, I feel compelled to paint a new one onto the canvas, never feeling like it’s complete. After I paint the final petal, I get out a clean canvas and paint the nightmare I had, trying to shake off the hold it has on me, despite being awake. I place it with the other nightmare paintings I keep hidden from everyone, letting it dry with my secret paintings.
These are my favorite, so dark and twisted I’ll never share them with another soul, not even Jess. These are parts of me that make me question my sanity and humanity for loving them so much. Every time I paint them, every part of me awakens, and I never want this feeling to go away.
Cleaning up, I head to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. There’s nothing like a nice hot mug in the early morning. Looking out my kitchen window at the sunrise, the sky is full of life, yellows and oranges streaking across the sky like an abstract painting.We should go to a haunted house, for our first date.Graves, the best haunted house, opens up soon, and I think Aster would enjoy it as much as me, but tickets are impossible to get. I sigh, Thinking about Aster, and his magnetic eyes, and I can’t help the eerie feeling that blankets me. I Brush it off, wishing the nightmare I just had would linger a little longer.
Remembering the text from last night, I grab my phone and shoot off a response to Aster.
Serena
Good Morning Aster.
Setting my phone down I bask in the afterglow of my nightmare and stare off into the sunrise.
FIVE
ASTER
It’s a nice autumn night, with a full moon illuminating the sky. I'm sitting on the hood of my Chevelle, watching my breath dance in the cool air and smelling my little lamb on my clothes, awaiting my next victim. I look down at my watch, tired, but itching to get my hands on him anyway. The time 4:15am is flashing across the screen, and I’m wondering when he’s going to walk out the door.
Another minute ticks by in agonizing anticipation until I finally hear the back door open. Seeing him walking out into the alley where I’m waiting, a new wave of anger washes over me. He starts to walk to his car, reaching into his pocket to bring out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He takes one from the pack and places it in his mouth, covering the end from the wind so it doesn’t go out as he lights it. Taking one puff, his eyes roll to the back of his head as he exhales the smoke.
I watch him, a moment longer, my fingers flexing as I wait for him to amble closer. He walks past the shadows I’m hidden within, not even hesitating a beat, clearly unaware of the predator hunting him.This is almost too easy.If I knew killing men would be this simple, I might have done it before now, butthere is something about my lambs that make them my primary target.
I’m up behind him in a flash, a rag soaked in chloroform held over his mouth until his body goes limp in my arms. Hauling him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.This worthless piece of shit weighs nothing.I throw his body into the back of my trunk, closing it without a second thought. Turning around, I take a big breath and light up one of my own cigarettes to give me a minute to collect myself.
What am I doing? I never take males as my victims. Ever. I rap my knuckles against my car, the thrill of taking my first male victim making me nervous. I don’t get nervous, ever, but this is different, this man could have people looking for him, as where my lambs don’t have anyone. I made sure to check the street for hidden cameras, and that everyone was gone to cover my tracks, but I’m still buzzing with nervous energy.
Muted with the realization I’m breaking one of my rules.All because he insulted my little lamb.
It’s not like she is anything special, aside from the sparks we felt touching each other, which never happens. None of my lambs have ever made me feel anything. I touch my hand, the memory of her soft hands in mine coming back to me. She has the softest, smoothest, tiny hands that fit perfectly in mine. I want to hold her hands again, next time properly. Her lips looked just as soft, I found myself leaning in more than once just wanting to feel them. I bring my hands to my lips, touching the bottom one, imagining what she would have felt like.
I shake my head from the thought, she’s just my next lamb for slaughter, that's all. What is it about her that makes me want to kill anyone who looks at her wrong? I run my fingers through my hair, and take several puffs, letting the smoke fill my lungs, before I blow it out. The way this piece of shit was looking at her,like she was crazy, had me instantly seeing red. The same red I’m going to make pour out of him later.
I’ve never had this reaction to anyone, I couldn’t care less honestly about anyone. The only woman I ever cared about was my mother, and now I don’t even care about her. I always make my lambs think I care, when all I care about is their bodies on my table.
I’m always wearing a mask, hiding the devil inside that is fighting to get out at the most impromptu moments. Usually I’m pretty good at suppressing the beast until I’m home, in my space, doing my work.
Only my little lambs get to see the true me, but tonight he came out just a little. At that bartender and the girl laughing at my newest little lamb. I just felt something inside me start to crack. I needed to feel the bartender's life in my hands at that moment. As much as I want those girls who laughed at my little lamb on my table as well; I only ever have one victim at a time, so the bartender will do, for tonight.
He deserves it more anyway.
Letting my fingers fall from my hair, I let out an exasperated sigh, throwing my cigarette on the ground, and crushing it out with my shoe.
I get in my car and “Nightmare” by Avenged Sevenfold comes blaring through my speakers. I turn it down, trying not to draw attention, and make my way home.
I get home about twenty minutes later driving up the dirt road through the trees that lead to my home. I drive towards the house, passing it and driving five more minutes behind my house on a grassy path to my work space.
Pulling up, I exit and go to open the door to the work space. The light above my work table starts to flicker, and I make a mental note to go buy light bulbs later.
I grab a syringe and bottle of ketamine from my workbench, filling the needle with ease that only comes with years of practice. Placing the bottle back down, I walk back out to my car and open the trunk, seeing he’s still asleep. Usually by now my lambs are awake, but he’s not one of my lambs. He’s dying in the same place, but he won’t be as special as them. I look down at his ugly sleeping form smoothly inserting the needle into his neck. That should make sure he stays asleep while I get my work station prepped and his body ready for slaughter.
About an hour passesbefore he finally starts to stir, making my impatience grow. I’ve been waiting all night to torture him, but his sleeping is making me agitated. Blinking slowly as he shakes off the effects of the sedatives, looking confused he asks, “Where am I?” Without talking to anyone in particular.
I’m hiding in the shadows in the corner, enjoying the anticipation of what’s to come now that he is finally awake.
