[01-02-08] Dark Red Rose [chiniria]
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27 / F / California
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Posted 2/1/08 , edited 2/1/08
Author's Note
The format will probably be messed up due to it being a forum post. I didn't feel like emailing though, so here it is. The bold words (other than the title), are the emphasis about chemistry. The italicized words are a part of the story. I used very different styles while writing this, so I hope it doesn't confuse anyone. Also, I don't believe murder is an above PG-14 topic, but if it is, forgive me and disregard this submission. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this. I'm really tired ~.~
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Dark Red Rose

Petals flew, until they landed on the crimson puddle. The petals melted in, as if they belonged there. Yet another victim lay with a pure white sheet covering her body, with blood-red petals as her adornments. A man with slender fingers took the blade and wiped it clean with a burgundy-dyed handkerchief, then pocketed both treasures.
- Au revoir, mon amour.
He left the building, lowering his fedora in order to keep the chilling wind from his face.
I still can’t find you, where are you mon amour?
It was a cold and dreary night.

Riing. Riing, Riing.
- Hello?
- Mr. Rien, this is your wake up call. I would also like to remind you that you must check out today by twelve noon.
- Yes, thank you.
Click.

The rusty maroon car rumbles as Vince Rien starts the engine. The radio is playing a commercial about a dating hotline.
- Welcome back to KTS News at One, a body was found this morning in the apartment complex of a young brunette woman. Authorities have no comment about the woman’s identity because they are in process of investigation.
He switches channels.
- Can you believe that the police are still trying to cover this murder up as a regular case? How long do you think it’ll take for people to realize that it is yet another attack by the infamous serial killer, Red Rose. The trademark of this madman is the rose petals that are left on a white sheet that covers every victim. I can’t even call this person a madman because the authorities don’t even have a clue about whether the attacker is a male or female. Well, brunettes, if I were you, I’d be suspicious of all males or females that.
The talk show host’s voice is cut short as he turns the radio off.
The car hums as it moves towards the freeway entrance; his fedora sits by his side.
Where are you mon amour?

Roses were her favorite flowers. She would have them in the front of the shop, prominent amongst the others. She said they stood for love because their color is the color of a person’s heart, so when a rose is offered, their heart is offered as well.
- How do you offer a dozen hearts?
- Well, the number of roses would determine how much of your heart you offer.
- How many roses does it take to offer the entire heart?
- It depends how many the person thinks his whole heart is worth.
I sent roses to her shop every, single day after that. She would smile when she sees me coming to the shop and order a batch of roses that she knew she’d receive the next day.
Mon amour, how many more roses do you need before you accept my heart?

It is evening when he arrives at sin city. The neon billboards shines brightly, drawing all sorts of people into their extravagant casinos. Girls clad in flashy, leather clothes stand on the street corners. He slows in front a busty woman and rolls down his window.
- Hey handsome, do you need a guide around the city.
She winks.
- Yeah, mon amour, why don’t you show me?
She smiles. He picks up his fedora and places it on his head. He then opens the door. She gets in.
- Are you French? “Mon amour” means “my love” in French. I had a boyfriend who used to call me that.
- Oh, I see. Where do you want to go?
- Let’s go back to my place, so we can have some fun.
- Okay.

She adored French culture. She would wear a beret and drag me to see French movies. It’s romantic, she says. That’s how I came to call her “mon amour”.
- Mon amour.
- Hm? Are you turning into a French man now?
- Only if you want me to.
- I like you the way you are, but why are you calling me “mon amour”?
- I think it’s the only phrase that suits you.
- Do you really think so? I thought I would suit better as “ma chérie”.
- No, “mon amour” is the phrase that only you can fit, because I only have one heart that could give one love.
She smiled as she accepted her new nickname, and I called her “mon amour” ever since.
You are breaking my heart, mon amour.

Vince and the woman arrive at her home. She opens the door and they enter the gaudy pink and red interior. The dingy living room light reveals that her home was only one room with a bed in the middle, a small kitchen on the side, and a door, presumably leading to the bathroom. She walks towards the modest kitchen and opens the cabinet.
- Do you want scotch or vodka?
- It doesn’t matter.
- Make yourself comfortable.
- Okay.
She returns with two vodkas.
- So what brings you to the city of sin? You seem like a decent man that doesn’t fit the type to come here.
- Am I not allowed here?
- No, not that, I’m glad you came, or else tonight would’ve been boring.
She takes a sip of her vodka, as he holds on to his.
- Mon amour, you have very luscious hair.
- Thanks, that was the only good thing my mother left me.
She runs her hand through her brunette hair. She takes another sip and giggles.
- Do you say “mon amour” to every woman you meet?
- No. Only to those who matter.
- I’m honored.
She puts down her glass of vodka and slides across towards him.
- What’s your name?
- Rien. Vince Rien, but most refer to me as Rien.
- That’s very mysterious, well you can call me luscious, or as it seems for you, mon amour.
- Yes, mon amour.

Her name was May Bella, she was Italian. Her last name represented what she was, beautiful. She had chestnut hair, and sparkling eyes. She carried the scents of multiple flowers, but the perfume of rose was strong, and they left a deep impression on me when I first met her. She was beautiful. She knew that, and she took my heart away.

She inches even closer to Vince, enough for him to smell the vodka in her breath.
- Pardon me, mon amour, but I want to get something from my car.
- Oh, you can do that later.
- No, I insist.
He gets up, walks to his car, and pops the trunk. Inside is a bouquet of red roses. A gleam of silver light hits his eyes. He takes hold of his treasures and goes back in.
- Sorry for the wait, mon amour.
She is lying down on her bed of ruby sheets, looking at him beneath her thickly made-up lids.
- Are those for me?
- Yes.
- That’s sweet; do you do this with every girl you’ve been with?
- Only the special one.
He approaches her quickly, and before she could smell the scent of the roses, a gleaming knife pierces her. Her eyes widen and blood clogs her words. She writhes around for a few minutes before she is still. Vince stares at the lifeless body and the blood-stained roses. He drags the body towards the bathroom using her crimson sheets. He washes her clean of her wounds and takes her back to the bed. He takes a pure, white sheet and covers her. Then, he sprinkles the rose petals to complete his painting. He exits the home, goes into his car, and drove a few miles to the nearest inn. He sleeps in his car with his fedora by his side.

Her eyes were frantic, but she did not try to explain herself. Beside her lays a man, unconscious from a blow to the head.
- May, tell me what’s going on.
She sat, tight-lipped, and not willing to say a word.
- Why is there a man here? Why is he in your bed? What are you doing?
I knew very well what happened, but I didn’t believe it was happening. I stood there with a golf club in my hand, and anger consumed me.
- Why won’t you say anything!
I flung the club at the wall and it hit a vase, shattering it. Pieces of glass and flower petals flew across the ground. She screamed.

The high-pitched shrill woke Vince, and as he looked up, blue and red lights blind his vision. There is a knock on the window. A uniformed officer stands outside, motioning him to roll down his window.
- Excuse me sir, you are parked in no-parking zone. Can I see your driver’s license?
Vince handed the officer his license. The officer looks at it and takes down his name, he then moves away, talking on his radio. He walks back to the car with a grim look on his face.
- I would like to see what’s in your trunk.
He pops the trunk, and rose petals fly out, carried by the night wind. The policeman takes a look inside the copper-scented compartment and runs back to Vince. He points his gun at him.
- Get out of the car slowly, with your hands raised. Make a false move and I will shoot!
The shrill of the patrol car echoes into the night.

- This is KTS News at 11. Breaking news, a suspect is caught for the series of killings known as the Red Rose killings. The police caught 28-year-old Thomas Wellings, at a hotel parking lot a few miles away from his last victim. He was going by the alias of Vince Rien, in the duration of his killings. He is also wanted for the murder of his brother Steve Wellings, and the disappearance of May Bella Wellings. May Wellings had disappeared with Thomas Wellings on the day of Steve’s death. The police are trying to get a lead from the perpetrator, who is unwilling to cooperate.
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