Wanted: Single Rose

by Skye, Mav

  “What did you leave for me, honey?” He squatted down and brushed the dirt aside. A ply board was beneath. He lifted the iron ring.

  Bills. Green bills—hundreds and thousands of dollars’ worth. Velva’s cash stash.

  Sir Sun started laughing. He laughed until his broken rib ached, and tears rained down his cheeks. The cash was his now. His last surprise from Velva. She would have wanted it that way.

  A rectangular object caught his eye, buried deep within the bills. He brushed a few bundles of money inside. It was a black leather tablet cover. The word WICKED was engraved in the front of it. He opened it, and an iPad sat prim and pretty and protected inside. Why in the world would Velva keep an iPad with her money?

  Even now he could hear her words. Because I wanted you to find it, Timothy. Don’t be daft.

  He hadn’t actually used an iPad before, but he’d seen plenty of people do it. He pushed the button, and a few apps popped up on the screen.

  The first had a picture of a gear heart with blood dripping beneath the blades. Beneath it said, cultsluvjournal.

  Hmm… He went to tap on it when the other apps beside it caught his eye. The first said, FOLLOWERS. The other said, ENGAGED.

  He tapped ENGAGED.

  Pics popped up on the screen. Mr. Fiddler with his red beret cap and fuzzy brows. The storms seem to lift from his grey eyes, and he grinned a happy, goofy smile. In one hand, he held a door knob. It was the same auto-locking kind that graced all the apartment doors. With his other hand, he pointed at the elevator with the sign:

  There was Daniel with a goofy grin on his face holding up his Undergrounders notebook. Daisy in her house robe, grinned like a gentle old soul from a cozy mystery. She held a small bottle marked poison and a teacup. There was Juan, the cable and phone guy, he gave himself devil horns and stuck out his tongue. There was Baldy. He wasn’t smiling, but he held up a dark trench coat and glasses. Beside him in the pic stood Shelly in her Girls Just Wanna Have Funyuns! shirt, the very one Sir Sun had worn. She had a sad smile and a black eye. She pointed at her shirt. Next was Mrs. Chow, holding up her mother of pearl hairpin, conspiracy in her dark eyes. (Ah Lam was not in the pictures, and she wouldn’t be. She was an innocent, Sir Sun knew this in his heart.) And there was even Sid—Caesar—he had his arm around giant yellow (now dead) duck. The duck held up its wing in a wave. Sid gave a thumbs up, the look on his face was complete adoration. Sir Sun had no doubt he looked at Velva. And then, finally, was a familiar man with dark hair and haunted eyes… and baby blue shoes.

  Dancing Man. And Sir Sun recalled the man’s last words before he leaped off the tree branch. I win.

  He couldn’t look anymore. He closed the leather over the front of the iPad and tapped his finger against his jaw. What does this mean?

  Her voice. They were all involved, Darling. It took a team effort to help you open your eyes to who you truly are.

  Sir Sun felt overwhelmed at the lengths she had gone to, the planning. Everything.

  I love you, honey, he thought. This was her final gift for him. He ran his finger over the words engraved in the leather. WICKED. The iPad appeared to be a journal of her intensive planning.

  He would relish reading it, but for the moment, he needed to attend to her body.

  He placed the iPad where she had stashed it, and piled a few money bundles on top. He then replaced the wooden lid, brushing dirt back on top, then he lugged Daniel’s duffel over the iron ring handle.

  He’d deal with the money and read Velva’s sweet words later. He had all the time in the world now.

  Sir Sun limped to the gardening sink, retrieved a clean cloth from under the counter, and cranked on the hot water. He hovered over the cool ceramic for a moment until the steam rose and kissed his cheeks. He wet the cloth, and wiped his face until it stung. He scrubbed his arms. Then he took the washcloth to his pants—the blood and the ash weren’t coming off. Not that police would notice much, he was sure that those who had survived looked the same.

  Those who survived… he thought of Velva. Let me get them all. He smiled, she hadn’t been able to get them all.

  But he could.

  He owed that to her. And with her thoughts and plans on the iPad, he was sure he’d find all the information he needed to complete what she had started.

  He walked out to the pyre, where her ashes rose to the night to which she belonged. He might have buried her in the dirt, but she was of the stars, his angel, his violent splatterpunk angel. Embers burned beneath her lovely bones, and he would leave it that way for now.

  Sir Sun put his hands back in his pockets, walked along the brick fence, out the iron gate and down a path that led to the highway. He moseyed down the side of the road, taking his time back to Spindler. He arrived at dawn.

  Burning embers still flared within skeleton bones of the building, but the inside of Spindler’s Roost was gone. Fire trucks and ambulances still sat on call. A few of the college students had been hospitalized; most were dead.

  A detective, coffee in one hand, a notepad in the other, noticed him. She walked over and began questioning Sir Sun, asking him which floor he lived on, where was he at the time of the fire, what had happened. How did he escape?

  Sir Sun simply shook his head and replied that he didn’t know.

  And when the detective said he’d have to go down to the station. Sir Sun didn’t resist.

  Sara met him at the station and told the officers that he was with her. That he had hit his head while trying to save people when the fire started. The officers weren’t convinced, but they let him go.

  Later, as they walked back from the police station, he offered Sara his arm so she wouldn’t slip on the fresh ice on the sidewalk.

  She asked, “Where’s that girl, that girl you loved so much?”

  Sir Sun glanced up at the sky, to the sun rising over the horizon. “She’s gone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sir Sun.” Sara shook her head. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be back.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  He watched Sara frown and shake her head as she rambled on about Sir Sun temporarily moving in with her until he found his feet.

  She was kind, so very kind. She was his friend.

  He knew what he wanted in his garden. The garden he and Velva would share.

  Adam and Eve had shared a garden of the living, but he and Velva shared a garden of dead. Through Velva he had conquered, not only the leaves and petals that have plagued him, but also his guilt over Miss O’Hara. There was a reason that Dancing Man had danced. Freedom and life through death was a beautiful gift Velva had known and had given to him through her violence—their shared violence. Velva, his dark angel from the stars.

  And Sara was his friend. Another angel.

  And he wanted her in the dirt, too.

  She asked again, “Would you like to stay over at my place? The couch is cozy. I can make you an omelet just the way you like it.”

  The next words out of Sir Sun’s mouth drew a smile from Sara. “Game on.”

  * * *

  Click here to get started.

  Afterword

  ~ Be Dangerous, Darling ~

  Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought my first published novel would include beaning old women to death with hairy thighs, turning botanicals into sexually explicit carnivores or hot sex on dead bodies while fighting over an axe. One would think that I was ordered by Xena, birthed of Shelly by the order of Eris, tenth planet from the sun, goddess of discord and chaos and shit... and they’d be right. Almost. These characters come to me out of thin air. I simply put my fingers to the keys and swoosh! the words come. I’ve been writing since 2008, almost all short stories, and one thing I’ve learned is to trust the words, trust the dreams as scary and dangerous as they come, and never, ever shy away from the wildest of scenarios or characters, because—why not? As John Muir once said, “Imagination makes us infinite.” And doesn’t it? When my mind meets yours through
these worlds, we touch on the infinite plains, our minds connect and create our own star constellations, we dance on the sea of imagination and we escape every day reality. Thank fuck.

  Never in my wildest dreams would I have written this kind of story, but that is the point. Beyond dreams and human conscience, there are stories made of people and places waiting for you and I to snatch them out of infinity and breathe magic into their lungs. It’s a dangerous business, but one of us has to do it. In fact, it requires two of us. Together.

  Let’s do this again, shall we? I’ll be waiting for you near the Tim Burton tree. (Without the axe.)

  Mav

  9/05/15

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to many, many people for supporting my fiction through a rough couple of years. Chances are this story wouldn’t have been published without the support of Jason Michel, Sara Jonker, Alec Cizak, Erin Cole, Angel Zapata, Richard Godwin, Lori Titus, Paul D. Brazill, Pamila Payne, Erin Fitch, Melanie Browne, and last but not least, Jess, and of course, my family. Extra shout out to ARC readers Diane, Sharon, and Joyce. Thank you all!

  About the Author

  Mav Skye has never murdered anybody, nor does she own an axe or gator stilettos with Victorian points. However, she has her very own Tim Burton tree that leans over the duck puddle in the backyard. She enjoys mystery, old noir flicks, and occasionally, a walk through a dark wood. Her short stories have been published across the globe and have won several awards. This is her first full length novel.

  I’d love to hear from you. Hit me up!

  @MavSkye

  Mav-Skye-1428117457469478

  www.mavskye.com

  darksoftly@gmail.com

  Also by Mav Skye

  Stand Alone Novels

  Wanted: Single Rose

  Girl Clown Hatchet Suspense Series

  Girl Clown Hatchet- out now!

  Chasing Clowns- out January of 2017

  Clown Apocalypse- Out April 1st of 2017

  Supergirls Series

  Supergirls 1: Behind the Black Door

  Supergirls 2: Night without Stars

  Supergirls 3: Ghost of a Chance (Release later this year)

  Tales to Chill Your Bones series:

  Scarecrows

  Witches

  ShapeShifters

  BunnyMan

  Abyss

  Tales to Chill Your Bones, Boxset 1-5

  Graveyards

  Deadly Women

  Werewolves

  Dolls

  Killer Clowns (Coming Soon!)

  Short Stories

  The Undistilled Sky

  Harvester of Days

  Excerpt of Behind the Black Door

  Supergirls 1

  Chapter 1: The Pig and His Whores

  Fat Bastard lies on the grizzly rug in silk boxers, his erection sticking out like a flagpole. He’s a sweaty old pig, and still trying to negotiate behind the gag.

  His hands and ankles are tied— “Just the way he likes it,” May singsongs at me with a barefoot tap dance and a nervous grin. She slashes the kitchen knife about her like Zorro and takes a bow.

  I roll my eyes. “Nice tease, whore child. Maybe cover your boobs or something? Geez, look at him.” I point to the pig’s flagpole.

  The pig snorts.

  “Shut up!” May kicks at his ribs. And as she does, the rest of her torn silk nightie falls from her, cascading across Fat Bastard’s belly.

  Fat Bastard laughs, his fake tan glowing orange in the light of the fire. The fireplace rises like a brick tomb to the high ceiling. The moose head hoisted above watches over all.

  “Gawd!” May snatches the nightie from his fat, hairy belly and throws it over her shoulder. It hides a breast. She holds the knife over his heart, carving the air with an x. “I’m sick of his shit. Hurry up, Jenn. Jesus!”

  I say, “The key was here yesterday. I saw him take it out of a book and put it in the desk.”

  May rolls her eyes. “Uh huh.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” I say with emphasis.

  “No, really? Sure it wasn’t his eyes?” May points at Godzilla on my t-shirt. Godzilla is breathing fire on a broken heart.

  I flip her the bird. She flips it back.

  I think back to yesterday. May says, “I need a cigarette. Do you got one?”

  “I thought you quit.”

  “Whatever. How’d you see it anyway? You know, the key.”

  I bow my head to the desk and tap my nails on the surface. My brain is tired and wired from waiting outside in the dirt, planning, and no sleep the night before. I have just committed a felony, but -- I glance at the fat, hairy thing on the floor—it is for the betterment of mankind, and, most importantly, for May and I.

  “And the wolf said, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and find your money, you shit-faced fucker…”

  “May, please!”

  May flips me off again and sticks out her tongue, because she thinks I can’t see her. Baby sisters are such losers.

  I close my eyes and think back…

  Chapter 2: Bring on the Dough—nuts

  (2 Days Earlier)

  I sat in our pink fabric chair in the living room, drumming my hands against my thighs. I felt lightheaded, and hadn’t been able to stop moving. “What’s his name anyway?”

  May smiled. “Frederick Bells. Leroy says he’s fat.”

  Leroy had met May at 7-11 to set up the three-night affair. I ran his name over and over in my mind, trying to recall if another girl had mentioned him. Fredrick Bells didn’t, well… didn’t ring a bell.

  She threw her pills into her Nightmare Before Christmas bag along with her clothes. “Apparently the bastard is sensitive about it.”

  “Fat Bastard,” I said.

  May snorted at me and repeated, “Fat Bastard. Remember Austin Powers?”

  It was our favorite movie to watch together. I wanted to laugh too, but couldn’t bring myself to smile. I had this feeling in my gut, a-pressing-down-something-is-wrong feeling, but this was our chance. May was game to play, and Fat Bastard, or whatever his name was, could not going to get in the way.

  May slung her bag over her back. “Are you sure you’re alright? I think you might be the one who needs help for once.” She giggles as if it is a joke.

  It wasn’t funny. “This is our jackpot, May. I know it.”

  “Maybe.” May frowned back. “I don’t see why you’re so determined for things to change. It ain’t so bad here.”

  We both glanced about our studio. It held: one stained pink reclining chair that we’d picked up on a sidewalk, a chipped plastic table from one of May’s old boyfriends, and two dining chairs made for midgets. Our sleeping bags and pillows were scattered about, along with a deck of worn playing cards. Our clothes were nicely stacked in plastic milk crates. The dented door hung wrong from when the acid freaks broke in and stole May’s meds.

  Trash. This place was trash. Our whole lives had been trash, even before our mother ran off into the sunset, leaving us to the wolves. It was time to get out. Get out somewhere in the country with fresh air.

  “Not so bad, huh? Living here, working at 7-11, and flipping tricks on the side, that really how you want to live your life?”

  “I thought you liked 7-11.” May shrugged. “Free donuts.” She plucked an old glazed donut off the table and held it up to make her point. “When you say flippin’ tricks it sounds bad. If you say, escort service for gentlemen, it means we’re in business for ourselves. You and me, Jenn, living the American dream.”

  “May.” I rolled my eyes. I wanted to tell her, again, about the little house with--

  “And don’t tell me about the little house with hanging flowers on every porch story again.” May popped an oversized bite of donut in her mouth and said something unintelligible.

  “Whatever.” I stood up and paced. “Keep your eyes open. Call or text me if you see anything.”

  “And what’s your big plan if I do?” came out as “An
whath-bi-pla-ifido?” May swallowed the donut and fanned her hands. “I need coffee.” She glanced at our small pot, sighed and shook her head. “No coffee,” and slipped her phone off the charger. She slid it in her back pocket.

  I said, “The big plan? Tie him up, and we’ll take it from there.”

  May laughed, fingering the strap of her bag. Her blonde hair, all pony tailed up, flipped as if on command. “Tie him up? Your ex told me you liked the kinky stuff.”

  “I haven’t had a boyfriend since high school,” I shot back.

  She made a kissing smack with her lips, and faked snapping a whip. “That’s the one.”

  May’s charm was addictive. I said, “Maybe I should tie you up and serve you to Fat Bastard on a silver platter.”

  She suddenly reached out and hugged me. “Just try, twisted sister.”

  I squeezed her back, then let go. She turned to the door and I slapped her on the ass. “Get out of here before I call the cops, whore child.”

  She opened the door. “9-1-1 is hawt.”

  Before I could reply, she said, “Laters.” And slammed the door.

  * * *

  The text came that night:

  money safe! jackpot

  I was working the register at 7-11. Apparently, it was slurpee heaven day. The register was nonstop.

  Between customers, I texted May back:

  where?

  She wrote:

  room

  I took a buck from a kid with glasses and zits the size of M&M’s. As I handed him a penny from the register, he said, “How much does a pack of Camels cost?”

  I pulled my phone from my bra and typed:

  key or code?

  I told the kid. “Your life.”