The Story of Blood and Roses

Two weeks after the confrontation with Jacob, I decided that I had been putting Daisy in danger. I pick my new phone up and text him.

[Yes.]

Half an hour later, I found myself assuring Daisy. I didn't speak to her, I just kept my hand on her shoulder and shook my head at her. She fought the panic when there was a loud knock on the door. I opened the door myself. He hugged me tightly when he saw that it was me.

It had been so simple.

It had only taken one word for him to understand exactly what I meant.

Daisy stared in horror as realization dawned on her. She frowned as Jacob dropped to his knees and slid the ring on my finger. I closed my eyes, knowing that he was too busy appreciating the mark of possession. A rushed breath left me as I opened them again and smiled at him as best as I could.

"I will protect you," he promised. "I will find out every man who helped him and slaughter them." Anger spread through my body. I felt no anger towards him. I directed it all towards Anthony Murray.

He deserved every last bit of Jacob's punishment.

No one could escape Jacob's justice.

He never missed a shot.

.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Over and over again, I let the bullets fly. Now that I could use my shoulders more, I took full advantage of the situation and push them to their limit. The past week had been spent at Jacob's personal shooting range or on his computer. I used the resources at his disposal and logged into the organization's files.

They had taught me how to catch a fucking criminal. I would catch the criminals that betrayed me, even if it was them.

I was slowly getting better and coming closer to shooting in the same spot every time.

Jacob had been impressed with my dedication and moaned at how much money I was costing him to buy bullets.

Somehow, I had managed to gain control over my body and stop it from falling into cardiac arrest. It was getting easier to strain my muscles. My shoulders still protested with every bullet I shot, but I pushed forward. I kept myself limited to lighter guns that were easier to handle at this point.

"You need to drop by your apartment. See if there is anything salvageable." Jacob had been spending equal time with me inside the shooting area. He stood beside me, practising himself. Sometimes, he would gently massage my shoulders to ease the tension or reposition me so that it was easier to shoot.

"Your mail is overflowing, by the way," he said absent-mindedly. "I wonder who sends dead women letters." He had a faraway look on his face.

I ignored him, mostly.

.

Two more boxes.

Letters attached to them.

Who writes to a dead girl? This time, I was the one who thought it.

I kept the mail inside my bag and walked back to Daisy's apartment.

When I was about to cross a road, I heard someone call me. I ground my teeth together and kept walking. Before I could start crossing, the cars started moving again, blocking my escape.

"Mia?" I heard the person call out. I looked straight ahead. "Ma'am?" I heard the man say again.

There was no way he could recognize me.

The doctors had shaved all my hair because of the injuries to my head. I had just kept it short, letting one side grow out. I knew that without my hair, it was impossible to recognize me.

I heard cursing and saw the man cutting through people to reach me. I panicked, briefly, but regained my composure.

"Mia, is that you?" the man said. He was standing right beside me, staring at me expectantly. I turned to look at him. I kept my face void of any emotions. I willed my eyes to show no signs of recognition.

I recognized the man.

It was the IT guy who had helped me out when Luke's men had attacked the base.

Curiosity tried to make it be known, but I pushed it back.

"Urm..." like any other woman my age, I answered awkwardly. "Do I know you?" I gave him a nervous smile. He seemed to be thrown off. His cheek flushed as he looked at his feet.

"I'm so sorry. I thought I knew you-" The light turned green and I walked away, maintaining a steady pace. When I turned again, I saw him standing on the other side of the road, dumbfounded.

I sighed in relief and did not turn back.

.

Black roses covered the surface of my bed. Open letters beckoned me to read them.

Jasper.

It had to be him.

Being the masochist that I was, I picked up a letter and read through it.

'I'm sorry, Mia.' One said.

The next: "Your mother loved you, Mia. I wish I could have told you when I had the time. I'm sorry you found out about Cain like you did."

My eyes widened as I read over the words again. He had been there or had to have found out somehow.

'I failed, Mia. It was my job to protect you.'

I shivered.

I dream of you every night. You're slipping away. I wish I were the Messiah. I wish you were Lazarus. I want to resuscitate you. The roses will die, too. Be kind to my soul, dear Mia. Be gentle.

I gulped as I crumbled the papers and threw them across the room. I tore the roses to bits. The cuts on my fingers sang songs of my victory against my demons. They bled onto the floor, mixing with the dark petals of the flowers. I picked them all up—the letters and the organic remains and incinerated them.

The list only grew.

Names were added to it.

Jasper, I thought to myself. He will have to die, too.

But first, I would have to find him.

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