“No problem. I hope your fiancée likes them.”
“I’m sure she will.” Grabbing the stuffed bags, I left the shop.
I went straight home, eager to hang them and view the finished product. Moving the waist-high bookcase out of the way, I unlocked the door to the girls’ home. Their place was beautiful, and although it wasn’t huge, it had everything they could ever want or need. It was big enough for them to live comfortably, and the separate bedroom made it more bungalow-like. I was proud of what I had created—all for them.
Walking into their bedroom, I hung one set of each color in the four wardrobes and smiled. I had made sure I spent more time in their room, getting it perfect for them. I was doing the right thing. Would Mother think so too? Would she want me to be with anyone else? I shook my head. I had come too far to turn back. I needed this. I was owed this.
The bedcovers matched and the beds lined up, two against both walls facing each other. Between the beds were two bedside tables and two single-width wardrobes on each side. Each girl had her own space. Just a year ago, this was an old cellar, housing boxes of junk and old furniture. Now it was a beautiful home for four beautiful, pure women.
Climbing back up the stairs, I closed and locked the door and pushed the bookcase back across. The door was hidden, matching the wallpaper; you would never know it was there, and the placement of the bookcase meant the door handle was out of view.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. Not long until I could pick up Violet now. Turning around, I saw something that made my heart sink. The ornate crystal vase now held a bunch of dead tulips. My breathing became heavy and sharp, and the tips of my fingers tingled. Dead, they’re dead. The only truly pure thing in this world and they died.
A fog of red smoke engulfed me and I was lost.
10
SUMMER
Thursday, July 29th (Present)
“Poppy, what’s this?” he spat. His nostrils flared and a vein on the side of his neck poked out. I jumped at his random outburst. What’s what? I looked around. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was ever out of place. Looking back at him for a clue, I saw him staring at the dead poppies, breathing heavily.
“I’m sorry, Clover. I couldn’t help it,” she whispered. Couldn’t help what? What the hell was going on? He looked at her with an icy glare that made my heart freeze. Was he going to kill her?
“I-I’m sorry, Clover. They just died.” The fear in her voice terrified me. The flowers died. Of course they bloody did; they were in a vase underground. I couldn’t believe what was happening. It was too stupid.
He slowly walked over to Poppy, watching her like a predator. “You didn’t look after them,” he growled. Look after flowers. Was he actually insane?
Poppy flinched and shook her head. “I-I did but they. Um, they—”
“Don’t mumble,” he shouted, making us all jump. “You let them die.”
“No, I didn’t. I swear. I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Clover,” she whispered, pleading with wide eyes for him to understand. He stepped forward, backing her against the wall. What the hell was he doing?
Rose wrapped her arm around me and held me tight. “It’s going to be okay,” she mumbled under her breath. Was it? Would he kill her for the dead flowers? How could he assume they wouldn’t die anyway? I cowered into Rose’s side.
Poppy held both hands up. “Clover, I promise I took care of them; they just died.”
His nostrils flared again. He raised his hand and slapped her across the face sharply. Poppy whimpered and clutched her cheek. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could he get angry over that? It didn’t make any sense.
He grabbed the flowers out of the vase and threw them to the floor. I jumped deeper into Rose’s side and buried my head in her shoulder, peering at the scene out of the corner of my eye. What was he doing? Just as I thought he was about to do something to Poppy, he spun around on his heel and ran from the room. It was only when the cellar door slammed shut that I pulled back from Rose.
“It’s okay, Poppy,” Rose soothed, holding her hand out and stroking her arm to comfort her.
Poppy nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m okay. Lily, you’re shaking. It’s all right now, I promise. I’m fine.” I’m not. “Come and sit,” she said, exchanging a glance with Rose. They were about to explain what the hell that was.
I sat on the sofa and hugged my legs to my chest. “Why did he do that?”
“He doesn’t like when they die,” Poppy whispered.
I almost laughed. He had no problem murdering women, but he didn’t like flowers dying. “He doesn’t like when flowers die,” I repeated, testing the words. Seriously, how fucked up?