Page 17 of The Blue Rose
I gasp, stumbling back in shock. Tripping over my feet, I sprawled out on the ground, scared they might hear me.Quickly using my hands to cover my mouth, I silently pant, unable to take a full breath. The girl screamed again and I considered myself lucky. They couldn't hear me over her screaming. Slowly, I crawl back to the shed, unable to shake my curiosity. Peeking through the wall once more I watch, mesmerized, as my parents turn this girl into a work of art. Taking her heart, and placing it in a jar, to be stored with the rest of their victims organs. Each victim they take, they always choose a different organ. Each caress of their blade a delicate dance with her skin. Each drop of blood a new addition to the collection scattered around the barn.
Once they start cleaning up, I run back to the house and pretend to be asleep on the couch. When they walk in, I feel my Mama kiss my forehead, lifting me up to carry me to my room. She lays me in my bed and brushes the hair out of my face, her fingers gentle against my skin. I feel her sitting there, staring at me, before finally getting up and shutting the door, leaving me in the dark with flashes of steel and stained red filtering through my mind.
That was the first time I saw my parents slaughter a little lamb.
Since that night, I would sneak to the barn and watch them work every time they had a new lamb. The bright red against the barn floor burned in my memory, causing my heart to race. It was all I saw when I closed my eyes every night until the day of my birthday.
The day I've been waiting for.
My parents wokeme by singing happy birthday. I open my eyes to a small angel food cake with a knife through the middle of it stretching out to me. “Aster, this is your knife. Your father and I picked out just for you and all your little lambs.”
Gleefully, I take the knife out of the cake, enjoying the weight of it in my hand. It’s a curved blade with a wooden handle that’s difficult for my fingers to wrap all the way around. I start to jab the air practicing the stabs Daddy taught me during one of our many lessons, before my lamb is laid before me.
Daddy holds out the case it came in. “Let's keep it in here for safe keeping until you’re ready to use it tonight.” He ruffles my hair with a soft smile on his face.
I place the knife back in its box, and we all walk to the kitchen to enjoy my birthday breakfast. Mama made my favorite, chocolate chip pancakes with a side of scrambled eggs and bacon.
In the middle of having breakfast, we start to hear cars driving up our gravel road. I look out the window and see cops and F.B.I. pull into the grass surrounding our home. My parents show no movement to run or hide. Instead, they continue eating breakfast, as if it was any other morning.
I, on the other hand, was panicking knowing I’ll never get to slaughter my first lamb with my parents.
The door gets kicked open. Chaos erupting in our kitchen. My father is tackled to the floor. My mother is dragged outof her chair. Neither make a single noise as they’re both handcuffed and walked out of the house.
The little lamb my parents picked just for me was being carried to the ambulance by a pissed off looking man in a uniform I didn’t recognize. She looked like an adult around my parents age, bigger build, with dark hair. Tears of frustration pool in my eyes, I will never get to see her beneath my blade. A young woman, with blonde hair flowing around her face, introduces herself as the social worker and takes me the opposite direction of my parents.
I'm kicking and screaming, desperate to get to them, when I hear my mother say, “Please, let me just say goodbye to my boy.”
The cop sighs and nods towards the social worker who is holding me by my shoulders. She walks me over, and I hug my Mama for dear life. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I’d seen enough on TV to know it wasn’t good.
Mama whispers in my ear “Your birthday gift is in your secret hiding spot, when you’re eighteen go back and get it. You can use it on your little lambs.” She kisses my cheek, resting her forehead against mine. “I love you, little fox.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I love you, Mama.”
The social worker takes me away, shepherding me into the back of an idling squad car. The cop shuts the door and drives away, taking me from them forever. I was so stunned, I didn’t say a word for eight months after my birthday. They thought it was because of what my parents did.
But it wasn’t.
They took me from my parents, and stole my chance to slaughter my first lamb. They took everything from me in an instant, all I wanted to do was the same in return.
I eventually did speak again. I was never adopted from the foster homes the blonde woman constantly bounced mebetween. No one wanted to take on the burden of the boy with the notorious serial killers as parents. Who could blame them? They all whispered about me being just like my parents. It’s not like I stopped them or tried to prove them wrong. When I turned eighteen, I got the fuck out of there, changed my last name, and started my own legacy of killing, finally putting my birthday present to use for the first time.
Mama and Daddy would be so proud.
I’mpulledfrom my thoughts when I hear my name being said over and over again in a voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
“Aster, are you okay? I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes now,” Tori whispered.
I shake my head, forcing my lips into a small smile I hope looks apologetic. “Sorry, little lamb. I’m okay. I was just remembering something,” I say with a sad smile.
“Oh yeah? Wanna share?” She smiles, fluttering her lashes as she nudges me, taking advantage of the opportunity to stay pressed to my side.
I don’t answer her, instead I get out of the car and she follows suit. I start to shepherd her away from the house.
Her eyebrows draw together as she looks back at the house. “Where are we going?”
Grabbing her hand, I pull her another step away from my parents house. “I have something special just for you, it’s out back” I look down and see she is wearing stilettos, my lipsthinning at the realization. “It's about a ten minute walk from here. We can walk, or I can drive us over.”
She smiles shyly, “I would rather drive, I’m not wearing the right shoes for a hike.” She gestures to her outfit, flexing her core as a way to make her seem smaller. Less significant. Less important.
