The Crying Rose: The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 1)

by B. A. Beers

  Mark laughed in response to her display, knowing full well that it would not last. “I called you back. You were almost unresponsive,” he continued. “In fact, the only information I got from you was a reference to a package that had arrived.” He looked at her, wanting to gauge her reaction to his words. Sami’s eyes clouded over, and tears were forming.

  Mark suddenly regretted his boldness, but knew that ‘IT’ had to be placed on the table. Sami held true to her previous commitment to him, and didn’t speak. She didn’t think that she could have at that moment anyway. She vaguely heard him continue on, but her thoughts were not with him. She held up her hand, stopping him in the middle of a sentence. “I understand why you are here,” she said. “My ‘watchdog’ worked.”

  Mark watched her as the tears now flowed down her face. He wanted to hold her, but knew the time was not right. Grandma Jo was on her feet. She walked into the bathroom and emerged with a box of tissues. She placed it on the bed next to Sami, and removed the now forgotten tray of food. She hurried out of the room with the tray and headed for the kitchen.

  Sami reached for a tissue with one hand, and at the same time, reached for the afghan at the end of the bed with the other. She wiped her eyes, then covered herself with the afghan, entwining her fingers within the knots. “IT’s here?” she asked meekly.

  “Yes,” Mark answered. Sami nodded, liking the way that he didn’t sugar coat his meaning.

  “Where is IT?” she asked, really not wanting to know, but asking anyhow.

  “Out in the other room,” Mark responded, not offering to go retrieve it. He knew that she was not ready for it yet.

  “Good,” Sami absently looked at the doorway. “I’m tired,” she sighed, as if the wind had been taken out of her sails. She started to squirm down into the bed, not releasing her hold on the afghan, and curled on her side.

  Mark moved in, adjusting the pillows and covers for her. “You rest now, we can talk later.” Sami nodded her agreement, and closed her eyes. Grandma Jo reappeared. Mark turned in her direction, stating the obvious. “She’s resting.”

  Grandma Jo nodded. “You go get yourself something to eat. I will sit with her.” Mark stretched and headed out of the room.

  Sitting at the table, Mark tried a few bites of stew, although he didn’t feel hungry. His mind was so jumbled with different options on how to proceed from here. He reached into his pocket and took out his recorder. Switching it on, he talked while he ate. “She is aware. It wasn’t easy, but she is back.” He continued to recount the events of the past few hours. When he reached the ‘gallant’ efforts provided by Molly, his thought turned to his own dog. He switched off the recorder knowing that Jan would remember to feed him. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was almost midnight. He wondered if it was an advantage or disadvantage to not have clocks around the room.

  Mark got up and carried his dishes to the sink. After depositing them, he went to check on the girls. As he entered the bedroom, he noticed that Grandma Jo was asleep in the chair. He walked over to Sami, who also appeared to be asleep. He leaned over her to view her face. Her breathing was even. Keeping his tone low, he whispered into her ear. “Sweet dreams, we will tackle the monsters tomorrow.” Righting himself, he moved back out of the door, and headed to the kitchen. He had an appointment to keep with the little lady in the back yard.

  ***

  SEVENTEEN

  Mark opened the back door, and discovered that Molly was stationed nearby. She got to her feet when Mark came out the door. “Hungry, kiddo?” he asked. He had no idea what time Sami regularly fed her, but he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to do it now.

  Molly watched him excitedly. She sat down at his feet, and extended her paw out to him. He laughed. “Guess I could spend some time playing with you before you eat,” he said as he sat down on the patio.

  Molly was all over him. He played roughly with her for a couple of minutes, and she was eating up the attention. Mark knew playtime was over, when Molly went to the basket for her brush. Picking it up, she delivered it to him. She turned her back to him, and stood looking out into the dark back yard. Mark laughed thinking that this “Baby” was done with the rough things, now it was time to be pampered, acting like she could hardly stand to have one hair on her body out of place. He spent several minutes brushing her. “You’re a spoiled little lady,” he spoke with real tenderness in his voice. She turned her head to look at him. He could have sworn that she was saying, “You bet, buddy.”

  Molly barked at him. The bark caught Mark off guard. “Okay. I get the picture. You’re now ready for your food.” Laughingly, he rose to his feet.

  After cleaning the brush, Mark picked up Molly’s bowl and headed to the house. Once inside, he opened the pantry to fix her food. He noticed several cans of dog food stacked next to the dry. He concluded that Sami must mix the two. This is odd, since he used the same combinations and brand names for Ollie. He tossed the spoon that he had used to mix the food into the sink, and headed back to Molly.

  Mark barely had time to place the bowl down before Molly was there. He took out his recorder and finished his report as he watched her devour her food. After she polished off the contents of the bowl, she looked up at him, appeared to yawn, and without so much as a thank you, wandered into her doghouse. Mark switched off the recorder and slowly walked toward the back door. Opening the door quietly, he entered the house without disturbing her.

  Stepping into the kitchen, Mark experienced what his father had called a ‘lurky’--a brief, cold, shuddering feeling up the spine. It was a feeling that he had often heard people describe as someone walking on one’s grave. He glanced around the well-lighted room before him. It dawned on him that during the course of the day’s activities that either he or Grandma Jo had successfully turned on all lights in this house. So much for conserving energy, he thought. The strange feeling was still with him, and he rubbed his arms trying to shake the feeling. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He could feel it deep within him.

  Glancing behind him, Mark drew the window covering aside and scanned the back yard. All was quiet. Replacing the covering, he turned off the outside light and locked the door. As he moved to face the room, the sensation returned. This is weird. Having two lurkys in a row was not normal for him, he thought, but what was normal today? Unable to shake off the uneasiness, his adrenaline level increased. He was pumped; his heart was racing and his breathing was labored. He willed himself to calm down and to think logically, but his mind was too consumed by the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong.

  His protective mode shifted into full gear. Mark found himself driven by this unusual sensation. His eyes darted everywhere at once. He moved through the room, inspecting every niche and cranny. Wanting to leave a visible path of the areas he checked, he shut off lights as he went. Finding nothing out of place in the family room or kitchen, he headed for the living room. Entering this room, he scanned for anything different. His eyes finally fixed on ‘IT’, located on the table. Part of him was disappointed that ‘IT’ was still there. Somehow, he expected the package to be missing, or at least, grown to the size of a giant, with whom he had to physically battle, allowing him an outlet to release a few of these pent-up emotions. Suppressing this feeling, he walked to the front door, and unlocked it. Holding the knob, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

  Hesitating, a new thought entered Mark’s head. What if someone or something is out there? He had nothing on him to help fend off any danger. He quickly scanned the room searching for some sort of weapon. He found nothing that could be used. Eyeing the couch, a wild idea occurred to him. If all else fails, I could toss a cushion. He laughed, breaking some of the tension. In his half-dazed mind, he envisioned the morning headline: “Intruder Pelted to Death by Doctor with a Sofa Cushion.” Or, better yet, he could become rich and famous for inspiring a new weapon for the popular detective board game, “Ms. X, killed in the living room with the sofa cushion,” he voi
ced.

  Playing out these options in his mind, Mark found his stress had decreased, and his anxieties dipped a few levels. He opened the front door and stepped out. To his relief, the entire scene was peaceful. He walked around the vehicles and was satisfied that all was well. Standing on the front sidewalk, he studied the appearance of the house. The house gave the false impression of normalcy with all the front windows lit up.

  “Okay, I give up. What are you trying to tell me?” Mark waited several minutes as if expecting the house to answer him. Whoa, questioning a house? I must be really tired, he thought, and headed toward the front door. Entering the house, he turned and locked the door. Checking outside did little to drown his feeling of uneasiness. He still had more rooms to search, he remembered, as he turned off the lights in the living room.

  As he entered the hall, Mark heard soft scratching noises, coming from somewhere ahead of him. The sound caused his heart to race again. He keyed in on the sound, and walked down the hall. Stopping at the hall bath, he noted that it was vacant and turned off the light. At the craft room, he stuck his head in, realizing now that the sound was coming from the library. He gazed at the painting of the rose briefly before switching off the light.

  Standing at the junction at the end of the hall, Mark first peeked into Sami’s bedroom, already sensing that he would not see her on the bed. He took one step into the room to check on Grandma Jo, and found her fast asleep. Smiling to himself, he stepped back in the hall, turning off the light as he passed the switch.

  Mark looked into the library. He couldn’t see her at first, but he knew that she was in there. So, this was the reason for the sensations he had experienced, he thought. Not wanting to frighten her, but knowing that it was the time to begin his effort to reach her, he squared his shoulders and entered the room.

  ***

  EIGHTEEN

  Mark found Sami sitting cross-legged on the floor of the library with the afghan securely wrapped around her. Her back was to him and she was facing an open cedar chest with at least twenty journals arranged neatly around her. She was busy turning pages searching for something. He watched her quickly scan a page, then turn to the next, repeating this process through the whole book. As she finished one journal, she’d close it and reach into the chest for another one, scanning it page by page. What is she searching for so desperately?

  Mark walked up behind her and sat down, leaning back against the bookcase. Sami was so engrossed in her search that she didn’t realize he was there until he spoke. “Playing possum earlier, I gather.”

  Sami was turning a page in the journal as he spoke, and froze at the sound of his voice. She turned her head in his direction. “Caught me; guilty as charged,” she responded with a devilish grin on her face. “By the way, your offer to ‘tackle the monsters’, as you put it, was a nice sentiment, but you’re wasting your time. There are no monsters, so you may go now.”

  “May I ask what you are searching for?” Mark did not take his eyes off her face, in order to maintain eye contact. He also purposely did not respond to her comments.

  She turned away, glancing at the journals around her. “Answers,” she stated flatly.

  He waited for her to continue, and was not surprised to see her ignore him by resuming her search. “May I offer my assistance? With both of us searching the time would be cut in half,” Mark suggested.

  “No!” Sami’s voice cut him like a knife. “I can handle this myself.” She turned and gave him a what-are-you-still-doing-here expression.

  Mark felt he didn’t have time to lick his wounds, so keeping his voice as natural as possible, he responded. “From my observation, it seems to me that you do require my help.” He didn’t have to wait long for his words to sink in.

  “Just what are you implying?” she barked, her defense mechanism at high alert.

  “What do you think I mean?” he countered.

  “Don’t pull that on me. I’ve been there, done that.” Sami growled loudly. Well, well, Mark thought, this she-devil has claws. “Besides,” she continued, “I didn’t ask for you to be here.”

  “Then, who did?” he asked, interested in how she would answer that question.

  Sami was silent. Mark waited. She looked back at him, her eyes pleading for him to back off, but he stood his ground. He raised his eyebrows, egging her to voice her thoughts. Her features hardened, resigned to the fact that she had no choice here. Through gritted teeth she spit out her response. “My ‘watchdog.’ I should never have allowed Dr. Peterson to implant that safeguard.”

  Mark corrected her. “From what I heard, you begged for it.”

  “Yeah, well that was then and this is now. I am different now,” she blustered.

  “I don’t think that is entirely correct,” he began. “Dr. Peterson left you in control of your safeguard. In order for it to activate, you had to allow it. Even if you were caught off guard by the arrival of the package, you and only you had the authority to make it work.”

  “Then, if I have all this authority, why are you still here?” She glared at him through half closed eyes.

  Mark was convinced, now more than ever, that the true Sami was locked down deep in the soul of this woman glaring at him. The painting of the rose flashed across his mind. He envisioned the sharp thorns, but switched his focus to concentrate on the beautiful blossom that was crying. “Sami,” he finally sighed, “we can argue all night if that’s what you want. Let’s put aside the reason for Grandma Jo and my presence here in your house.”

  “That reminds me,” Sami interrupted, her eyes softening, “you never told me why she is here.”

  “Basically,” he began. “I needed help.”

  “Why?” Her interest was keen.

  “I was unable to procure a room for you in any of our preferred locations,” Mark replied truthfully. “It was either here or City Central Hospital.”

  Mark saw Sami stiffen. “I hate hospitals,” she hissed. “They are ‘death’s passageways’. If you go in, you never come out the same.” She looked away quickly.

  Mark heard her mutter something under her breath. “What? I didn’t hear you.” He leaned forward.

  Sami turned back and repeated the word again. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” Mark knew the answer, but he wanted her to say it. Sami didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. She just raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “By the way, for your information,” he continued. “Dr. Peterson told me as much when I spoke to him.”

  “You have talked to Jon?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  Sami’s eyes darted to the doorway, staring at it for a minute or two. Mark began to wonder what was going on in her head. When she finally turned and looked at him, her expression had changed. It was child-like and frightened. With a softer voice that made his heart melt, she asked, “Why isn’t he here?” Tears flowed down her face.

  Well, hello Sami, Mark thought. He reached out and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Dr. Peterson would be here if he was in town,” he answered her. “He has promised to call tomorrow. You can talk to him then.” Sami looked at him through tear-blurred eyes. “Sami,” he spoke tenderly, “let me help you. I’m here for you.” Sami didn’t reply verbally, but her eyes, moistened by the tears, indicated to him that she was ready for his help.

  Mark nodded in response. Seeing the journal in her hands, he asked, “What are you searching for?” She looked at the journal as though she had forgotten it was there. She offered it to him, holding it in both hands. Mark took the journal and opened the cover. On the inside title page was neatly printed: Volume 31 – Samantha Ann Carter.

  Mark gave her a questioning look. She nodded indicating her approval to read it. Yet, a strange feeling washed over him. Even though she had granted her permission, he felt like a Peeping Tom. He remembered earlier that he had wanted to get his hands on these journals, but it was somehow different with her sitting there watching him. “You want me to read this?” he asked.<
br />
  She nodded yes.

  “You sure you don’t just want to tell me?” Mark tried one more time. Sami pointed at the book, as if she didn’t want to trust her voice. Fearing that any further discussion would bring back the other Sami, he agreed. “Okay, you win.” Bringing the journal to eye level, he leaned back against the bookcase and turned the page.

  Mark started reading her journals, but stopped abruptly as Sami dipped the journal down with her fingers to view his face. Her eyes pleaded with him. “What?” he asked. She turned her eyes to the journal. He suddenly realized what she wanted. “You want me to read it aloud?” She smiled and nodded affirmative, positioning her body so that she was facing him. He noticed that when she moved, a framed photograph of her wedding portrait was revealed. It had been hidden from his sight moments earlier. Sitting up straight, he took his eyes off the photograph to gaze at her and smile.