Flowers and Caskets

I moved down the hallway, just ahead of Vanessa. “Get down,” I yelled.

“Why are you freaking?”

“Wait!” I zoned for a moment, picturing clusters of bloody bodies splattered on the hot asphalt. Rose petals, flower wreaths, memorial flower bouquets were scattered among the blood and body parts. It was a powerful image.


“Sorry, V. Hey, quiet down.”

I spotted movement down the hallway. Two cops crept around the corner, pistols high in the air. Guns were too noisy. I unsheathed my knife, moved toward them. The larger of the two men moved within arms length and I found myself staring into his black eyes. He shouted to warn the other.

I grasped the cop’s arm and thrust my stiletto knife into his gut. The other cop dashed past him and into the John, but Vanessa tripped him and pinned him down. Against the stained-glass lights, the young cop’s eyes were shimmering white orbs. I placed the knife against his neck and slid the blade along the flesh of his throat, but my hands shook so much I lost the grip.

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