A Rose by Any Other Name

by Landra Graf

  She was opening the refrigerator door when Jason rushed into the room. “We have to go. Now.”

  “Just give me one second. I’m going to find something to put this in.” She reached out to grab a vial.

  “No.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the fridge. “There’s no time.”

  She couldn’t do anything but follow as he nearly dragged her out of the room. He didn’t care about the lights, the open fridge, or the files. As they set a brisk pace, the only thing she could think was that it had something to do with the strange smell she’d picked up as they went through the waiting room. Once outside, she twisted from his grasp. “What the hell are you doing? I nearly had a way to get answers to Rose’s sudden recovery.”

  “Just get in the car.”

  She stood still, arms on her hips. His demands could take a flying leap. He walked over to her, took her by the elbow, and pulled her toward the car. Never one to simply give in, she tugged back, circled her arm around, breaking his hold, and then shoved him away. “‘Caveman’ doesn’t work with me.”

  He growled in response, “I’ll explain when you get in the car.”

  They faced off for a few more moments, and, finally she got in, slamming the door shut. What a jerk! The whole thing reminded her of being five years-old, and, like then, she ached to throw the mother of all tantrums unless he explained things fast. In a matter of seconds, Jason had started the car and peeled down the street. Something had gotten him all impatient.

  “Can you explain things now?”

  Jason kept his focus on the road as he took a few deep, calming breaths. His hands shook on the wheel, and his face was pale. “Give me minute.”

  “No more minutes. I was in the middle of something when you barged in, acting all crazy and hauling me out of there. What gives?” she asked, throwing her hands in the air.

  “What gives is two dead bodies, Doc and Gladys, with parts hanging out.”

  A chill stole over Emma, and her arms broke out in gooseflesh. “What do you mean? How? Who?”

  “I don’t know. But my best guess is that Sheriff Fowler went nuts. I checked the basement. Rose isn’t there either, so your guess is as good as mine as to where her body up and went.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  Emma was shaken. Her throat tightening, she tugged on a strand of hair until the pain receptors on her scalp fired off. Another reality check, a reminder all the insanity around them was truly happening. A closer examination of Jason’s clammy, sweat-beaded forehead told her he was barely holding it together. Yet he’d held up better than she would’ve. Dead bodies, in theory, were fine to study. In reality, she’d kept to lab specimens that held no personal sway over her own emotions. Seeing people you had loved, known, all your life, not merely dead, but maimed…different story. There were no words to make the moment right, no solutions in her mind. If people were going nuts and attacking each other, was Rose the cause? How did a person who had died twice come back again? The million dollar question.

  Chapter Six

  Then the twelfth, who had not yet given her gift, came forward and said that the bad wish must be fulfilled….

  “We can’t just sit by and do nothing. This is Rose, our friend,” Emma said as Jason pulled into said friend’s driveway. Why he had returned to an empty house with nothing but memories, she didn’t know. There were better locations to go to, including her parents’ house, but she’d been too stunned to say so. “Why are we here?”

  “I don’t know.” He slammed his hands against the steering wheel before waving them around in the air. “Clues, maybe? She wasn’t feverish and near death’s door two days ago. What happened? It’s Saturday. She died Friday morning. If we want to save her and anyone else, we have to know more about what they’ve got.” Shaking his head, he pulled the keys from the ignition and got out of the car.

  She shut the door to the Mustang and sprinted toward the front door. “Okay, so clues. I spoke to her a couple of times on the way into town. Everything sounded normal for her; she even dropped the phone once.”

  They stepped into the front hallway, and she scrutinized the room, willing the answers to their questions to magically appear in front of them. His points made sense, but she wanted desperately to rewind the clock, to get a chance to warn her friend and even herself. And then she remembered something.

  “Hey, remember the senior carnival?”

  “Yes, but what does the carnival have to do with two people going on a cannibalistic killing spree?” He stepped into the living room, rifling through a pair of jackets draped on the back of the couch.

  “It has a lot to do with it. Remember the fortune teller? She said Rose would get sick or something in ten years.”

  Jason turned, locking his fear-clouded, wide eyes with hers while biting his lower lip. “No, she said she’d release a sickness.” He picked up the picture of both of them at the prom, and rubbed his thumb over his ex’s face. “Don’t tell me this is what that lady meant.”

  She shrugged. “It might be, but I hope not.”

  Just thinking of that strange woman gave Emma chills.

  “Okay, so we need to track down the fortune teller. Didn’t she work at the school as a janitor or something?”

  “So you do remember more about those days.” She let out a small smile.

  He had always pretended to be so uninvolved back then, making everything a joke, when, truthfully, he had absorbed plenty of details. Placing the picture back on the mantel, she failed to stop the sigh escaping her lips, nor the appreciation she had for him, which ran deeper the longer they spent time together.

  “Yeah, I remember. Quit looking at me like that. You can’t deal with the feelings between us right now, remember?”

  ”Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” Her momentary admiration disappeared, his words like a knife slicing through her. “Like you couldn’t help kissing me in the car earlier.” She’d love to forget all their troubles and melt into something hot and wonderful, but she’d never been the type to let her passions rule her. More with Jason would mean just that—more. At the moment, it didn’t seem right to want more, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t move in that direction—at a slow, respectful pace.

  She shook her head to clear away the idea of getting into this conversation again, even though she’d involuntarily egged it on. “Forget I said that.”

  “Fine. I will.” His abrupt tone put the nail on the feelings coffin for the moment.

  “All right then. Mrs. Wiggs, janitor hired during our senior year. I always thought she was creepy because she had really long nails. Witchy nails.”

  He laughed. “Long nails? That could be said for half of the old ladies in Charming. Let’s focus on bigger details. Where did she live?”

  Why did he have to look so great when he laughed? And why did their weekend have to be destroyed with such devastation?

  “Emma? What are you thinking about?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. She shook her head again and felt a pull in her gut. There wasn’t a person out there, besides Rose, that she’d rather face all this crap with than Jason. They needed to solve the problem and keep themselves safe because she wouldn’t lose him, too.

  “We really need to figure out where this lady lives.”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Wiggs. Let me call my dad.” She pulled her phone from her pants pocket. He moved deeper into the living room while she dialed and then disappeared from her line of sight just as her father picked up on the other end of the line.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Honey, where are you? I got a call from Mrs. Hopkins a few minutes ago, saying she saw Sheriff Fowler attack his son.”

  Things were worse than she thought— way worse. “I’m at Rose’s house with Jason. We’re fine. About that—”

  “Okay, stay where you are, then. I’ve already called the mayor, and we’re rounding up the other deputies to track down the Fowlers.”

  Her throat we
nt dry at the idea of her father and the mayor sending deputies to hunt down the sheriff of their town for the last forty years along with his son. She opened her mouth to form words, cognizant of the fact that her father’s voice droned on, and then broke for a few seconds to speak with her mother. Nightmare, horror film—this rated as worse than both.

  “Dad.”

  “What, honey? Your mother just wanted to know if you’re safe.”

  She sighed. “I’m fine, really. You need to know…. Doc Mason and his wife are dead. Jason found the bodies when we stopped by there.”

  Silence was the response followed by whispers and her mother’s sobs. Her mother’s sewing circle had officially lost one of its founding members. This made everything more difficult. In a big city, there existed a certain anonymity in death. In a small town, each death left a hole in your heart, her parents’ reactions being far worse than her own since they knew everyone more intimately than she did.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, I’m still here.” His voice choked as the words came out.

  “Remember Mrs. Wiggs?” She really hoped he did because if the woman had predicted the disaster, she could predict a solution.

  “You mean the janitor from the high school?”

  “Yes,” she said, dropping her shoulders in exasperation. Her mother’s sobs became clearer in the background. “Do you know where she lives?”

  “I think she lives out behind the factory near the top of Mount Charming. Liked the quiet life away from town. I’m going to head out in a bit to assist the mayor or at least see what I can do to get Mrs. Hopkins to come stay with us.”

  She put her free hand to her head, massaging her temples. The idea of her father putting himself in danger in such a way scared her, but she couldn’t argue against him, especially when he’d been unable to stop her from helping out. No, his mind, once decided, didn’t stray from a decision.

  “Be careful.”

  “You, too, sweetie, but why are you trying to find Mrs. Wiggs?”

  The question made her pause. She slapped her forehead. This story would be best told at some other time. Besides, how did you explain that an old woman who scrubbed bathroom floors predicted this fiasco years before? She decided to leave things up in the air rather than dig herself into a deeper pit of stink.

  “Jason thinks she may be able to tell us something. Maybe this whole thing is chemical or drug related.”

  “Okay. He’s not involved in drugs, is he?”

  “Not really the time for me to ask him, but seriously— we’re talking about Jason here.”

  “Right, fine. Fine. Just be careful going out there.”

  “Sure. I love you. Bye,” The last word came out halted by the knot forming in her throat. The idea of her father being brought down by a psychotic sheriff and her never getting to make up for this morning’s arguments made rounds inside her head.

  “Love you, too, sweetie.” When he hung up, she stuck the phone back in her pocket.

  Jason’s eyes were sad, focusing on her like he’d stripped away any barriers and left her mentally naked. “What’s wrong?”

  ”The sheriff attacked his son. Things are getting worse.” Vulnerability and grief weren’t emotions she usually dealt with. If she had to pick between them, grief would be the emotion she least preferred.

  “You got the info on Wiggs?” He didn’t probe for more details, but went back to the task at hand.

  Thank God. She swallowed, removing the emotional lump from her throat, willing it to oblivion. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  ***

  Jason flexed his hands against the steering wheel as they passed the old Charming Chemical plant and headed into the woods. There weren’t many wooded areas in Iowa, this being probably the largest of them, but it had helped keep Charming quaint and safe over the years.

  They drove down a winding road with plenty of foliage on either side, the brush getting thicker and the grass taller as they came to the end of asphalt and the start of gravel. It would take about ten minutes or so to reach the road that led up the side of Mount Charming. No one except for the janitor and one old man had bothered to settle, many years prior, in the woods, the dense forest area being used mostly for camping or hunting. Everyone preferred living in town, but the road held plenty of memories. He and Rose used to take her telescope to stargaze and sled in the winter among other things.

  He glanced over at Emma, who nervously picked at her nails, scraping away any trace of dirt from underneath. He understood. Hell, he’d barely calmed down from his discovery of the bodies. People were dying. At least dying to begin with. He hadn’t been completely honest with her about the bodies, about how they’d been eaten, left with parts missing. It could be wrong to withhold the information, but he wasn’t ready to share his theory of Rose and the sheriff being on people-eating sprees, nor his additional thought that he didn’t know if Doc and Gladys would get up and start eating on people, too. One of them had been missing an arm. A startling image flashed in his mind, and he almost gagged, swerving a bit on the road at the same time.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, placing a hand on him.

  “Images of things I’d rather forget, that’s all. Talk to me about other things.” He summoned up a weak grin, hoping to set her at ease. She broke the connection between them, concern still etched on her face.

  “Well, Dad is going to get Mrs. Hopkins and bring her to our house if possible. There are some reports of more strange things happening and…“ She paused, turning her head to look out the passenger side window.

  “What? What do you see?”

  She shook her head and gave a small laugh. “Is it strange to you that trees are losing their leaves in the middle of spring? And I haven’t seen a squirrel, heard birds singing…. No wildlife at all.”

  He glanced side to side and realized she was right. The majority of the leaves on the trees were the colors of autumn, the bulk of them wilting. Nothing grew here, and Jason rolled down the window to listen for the birds, which always made a racket. The response was silence, pure and disturbing. “I hadn’t paid attention to it before, but you’re right. This is super strange.”

  She sighed. “It’s got to be tied to this mess. Here’s hoping Mrs. Wiggs has some answers. Funny, my dad asked if you were on drugs. Seemed funny to me at the time since we have a huge disaster, and he thinks because we’re going to see our old high school janitor, you’re smoking reefer.”

  No, he’d done far worse over the years. His chest went tight, making it difficult to breath. Besides hiding the gnawed bodies from her, he had kept a few other secrets. Would she look at him differently? To those in his group and friends outside of Charming, admitting his addiction came easy. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. Fear of pity and rejection kept him silent around town. It’d be ten times worse if Emma had the same reaction. Either way, the longer he waited to tell the truth, the worse the result.

  “It would be funny if it wasn’t true.” He glanced over to see her jaw slacken and her eyes widen. “You mean you are smoking reefer?”

  “No.” He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel again. “No, I’m not smoking reefer.” The main thing— complete honesty. The group’s coaches always spoke about being truthful all the way. Fuck portraying the situation with falsehoods or denials. “But I was addicted to painkillers. After the accident. I couldn’t break the funk, couldn’t get over my failure. The pills numbed the knee and, eventually, I used them to numb the misery. Not such a great guy now, am I?”

  In her silence, he waited for the disgust, the shock, and the pity that he, the famed quarterback for Charming’s only All-State season, had once resorted to using pills to overcome his loss of football instead of having the willpower to pull out of things. The fall had been hard, the recovery even harder. Her letters had made the journey a bit easier, and when his group leader had told him to select a talisman, an object to glorify his
goal to stay clean, the words she’d written took the spot.

  He flipped the turn signal and slowed down to enter the gravel expanse trailing up the side of the mountain. If memory served him, there was a cabin about half a mile up where Mrs. Wiggs probably dwelled.

  “I always thought recovering from something like a broken bone would be more difficult than everyone made it out to sound.” Her tone surprised him. No pity or rejection, only simple understanding. “I’m glad you overcame the addiction, though. What helped pull you out of it?”

  Jason let out a sigh. “Letters from this awesome girl who believed my capabilities and smarts ran to more than football, who believed I possessed the ability to become more than a kid on the fast track to a life of small town politics or opening a car dealership. She showed me more compassion than a father and mother bent on social status and appearances. Those words got me off the pills and into therapy.”

  Another glance at her showed a blush creeping over her cheeks. He wouldn’t push the emotions further for the moment, but he did need her to understand the depth of what he felt, why he was so dedicated to the idea of him and her, and why he was not bound to Rose.

  “We’re here.” He made a right and pulled up in front of a small, run-down log cabin.

  The tar sheets on the roof were old and in need of a sweeping, and on the front porch that spanned the building sat a traditional rocking chair. An old feeling of creepiness swept over him, similar to the same gut swamping he’d experienced when Rose first wanted to go into the tent at the carnival. Like then, the obligation to escort Emma in, to protect and possibly comfort her, overwhelmed him.

  They both got out of the car and approached the cabin slowly. Tense, she rolled her shoulders and shook her upper body as if trying to clear away a physical entity. The entire wooded area was silent. Not a bird, bug, or breeze wafted through the air. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently in soundless reassurance. She squeezed back and then decided to keep going forward.

  They reached the porch and walked up the stairs. Their knock on the door echoed into the forest, and he positioned her behind him in case someone else lived in the cabin instead of Mrs. Wiggs, like some psycho with a gun or, worse, another crazed, cannibalistic citizen. There’d be no chance-taking with another person he cared about.