Decaying Roses

My eyes flicker open. All I see is white, with little specks of green. There’s a slight ringing sound vibrating through my ears. Beyond that, though, I can hear other sounds: unidentifiable creaking, the wind blowing through trees, and a car alarm far off in the distance accompanied by cries and moans. How odd, I think to myself as the ringing in my ears slowly dissipates.

It takes a few moments, but my vision slowly returns to me. Little by little I can make out the branches of a giant tree looming above me, the blue of the sky, and even a couple of clouds. So pretty… like marshmallows floating in an ocean that has no shore. Jeanie likes marshmallows, the colourful ones that taste fruity. She likes to take them and make homemade smores in the microwave. I can’t stand the taste, but she thinks their delicious. To each their own.

I smell roses. I roll my head to the left and see a rose bush barely three feet from my face. I have rose bushes in my backyard… does that mean I’m in my backyard? I try to lift my head up to see, but a sharp pain shoots down my neck and I groan, giving up the attempt. The roses smell so sweet, but their pedals are wilting, turning from bright red to a dull brown. Their decaying away with the changing weather. Soon snow will fall and winter will arrive.

Kyle loves winter. It’s his favourite season. He gets that from his father. Before the divorce they used to get in the car, all bundled up in sweaters and jackets and mittens, and drive halfway across the city to the largest hill. They’d go sledding for hours and build snow men. I went with them once or twice, but stopped after realizing it was a father and son bonding thing. After that I just waited for them to get home so I could give them hot chocolate.

And that’s when memories come flooding back to me: Jeanie, Kyle and I in the backyard. We were playing games. Hide-and-go-seek at first, and then tag. I remember them bickering over who was actually it, and me having to step in and calm them down. The game ended, and we all had juice boxes… we laid down in the grass to cloud gaze, and then… and then… white with little specks of green.

So that means I’m still in laying in the grass. The rose bushes are to my left, so that means… I roll my head to the right this time, and it hurts. I ignore the pain, though, desperate to find them. Jeanie and Kyle, who were to my right when we laid down, are no longer there. Jeanie and Kyle are no longer there. My daughter and my son are gone. My kids are gone. Lost.

Instant panic consumes me and it feels as though someone has their hand clenched tightly around my heart. There’s a pang in the pit of my stomach, and I know that something isn’t right. My brain is telling me to calm down, that I probably fell asleep and they went into the house to watch TV… but my instinct is telling me that something is very, very wrong.

Fighting against the pain I force myself into a sitting position. My body feels weak and my head is pounding. It’s as though something hard was smashed into the back of my skull. As to what that could be, and why it would be connecting with my head, I have no idea. I blink a few times and look at my surroundings. The yard is completely empty, and the back door of the house is wide open, creaking with the wind. The car alarm is still blaring, but it’s even further away than I had originally thought. I don’t know what is going on, but there’s a feeling in my stomach that’s telling me that whatever it is, it’s very bad.

I climb to my feet. My legs are wobbly but I somehow manage to stand without falling over. My head still hurts, but it’s not as bad as it was when I sat up. I walk towards the house, taking slow, cautious steps. I might be able to stand without falling but that doesn’t mean I want to push my luck and end up landing flat on my face. Besides, I don’t think my head can take another injury right now.

The inside of the house is silent. Dead silent. It’s eerie. I know right away that my earlier suspicions of something being wrong were right. My house is never silent. I have two kids: One thirteen, one ten. A boy and a girl who clash over practically everything. The one thing my house is never short on is noise, and that right away tells me that I need to do something, fast.

Hundreds of possibilities cross my mind: They ran off somewhere else to play, they went out into the street, they got kidnapped, abducted… murdered. I shake my head and push those thoughts out of my mind. The back of my head is literally on fire now because I did that, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a nice distraction from my current situation. Okay, I tell myself. Maybe Richard came while you were passed out-or-whatever and took them for ice cream or something. Yeah, that has to be it.

My eyes dart to the kitchen table where my cell phone lays. I walk over there and pick it up in my hand, quickly dialing my ex-husband’s phone number. I press the phone to my ear and wait. Ring, ring, ring… ring, ring, ring… “Hi, you’ve reached Richard. I’m either not here right now or I don’t like you so I’m screening your call. Either way, leave a message after the beep!”

Richard was always immature like that. It was charming, even endearing when we first got married. But after a good few long years together it finally got to the point where I couldn’t handle it. It’s the age-old story, I guess. He was supposed to be my equal partner in things, but he ended up being like an extra child I had to take care of. It took it’s toll on me, that’s for sure.

Beep: “Richard, it’s Evelyn. Jeanie and Kyle are missing and I don’t know what’s going on. I woke up in the backyard and… look, just call me back when you get this. I’ll have my cell on me.” I hang up and stuff my phone into my jeans pocket. I scan the kitchen and grab my car keys, too. I don’t know where the kids are, but driving around looking for them will most likely be more useful than walking. I can cover more ground that way. Also I don’t know how long I was passed out for. They could be long gone by now.

Before I leave the house though I do a quick search, calling their names. I check the living room, the bathrooms, the bedrooms, the hallways, and even the basement. No sign of them, and no responses when I called, either. Frantic by this point, I fling open the front door and step onto the porch. The kids still aren’t in sight… but someone is.

Miss. Ryerson is crouched down on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, back to me. I know it’s her because she’s wearing her trademark pink bathrobe and fuzzy green slippers. Her grey hair, which is usually tied up into a loose bun, is falling in tangled strands down her back. She doesn’t move, she just sits there. It’s tad unnerving. The bad feeling in my stomach is getting worse with every passing second, and even though my instinct says to turn and go back into the house, I walk off my porch and onto the front lawn.

“Miss. Ryerson!” I call over. No reply. Why isn’t she moving, responding to my voice in any way? “Miss. Ryerson, have you seen Jeanie or Kyle anywhere?” My throat is dry and my voice crackly. When I say my kid’s names, my voice also wavers with worry. I swear, if they’re not okay… I don’t know what I’ll do.

Miss. Ryerson has never liked me much. She’s always thought of me as some young, blonde bimbo. Not sure why, but she’s told me so on many occasions. I’m not too fond of her either, but I’m actually nice enough not to tell her to her face. But right now, petty little things like that don’t matter. All that matters are my kids, and where I can find them. If that means associating with bitchy old Miss. Ryerson, then so be it.

“Miss. Ryerson!” I call again, now merely six feet away. “Are you alright?” I can’t help but once again notice the car alarm… the distant screams… what is going on? “Miss. Ryerson.” I say one last time, placing my hand gently on her shoulder. Her entire body tenses under my touch, and she grumbles something I don’t quite hear. Slowly, she turns her head back to look at me… and I can’t help but stare. Her eyes are what gets me first: white, glazed-over and empty. But it’s the blood around her mouth and the dead cat in her hands that makes me scream.