The Truth of the Rose

If there's one thing I've learned watching movies, it's this: it always rains at funerals. At
the very least, it's overcast. Something to do with metaphors, I think. Hero's fallen, so even the
sky weeps. Some shit like that.
Hear that birds? Stop singing.
A woman was being read her last eulogy; a true hero, according to the obit's. A counselor;
worked at a shelter for abuse victims, provided therapy to anyone who needed it. No, she didn't
slay any demons, no killer of dragons, none of that useless stuff. That's my job. She did the
important work. And if that doesn't make her a hero, we're pretty well fucked as a civilization.
As her family got up to pay their last respects, I stayed sitting in the back; just another
faceless slob in a sea come out to make sure her family was coping. Husband Frank, college
bound Sara, and midget Allie. Good family. Refusing to cry. Sara's comforting a woman next to
her, a coworker. Mother's daughter, her. What I had to do next...well, had to be done. Period.
Whether I or they liked it or not was unimportant.
Taking a swig from the battered flask I had stashed in my pocket, I stood. Shaggy brown
hair blocked my vision for a moment; needed a haircut. Might get one after this. Sure, why not?
Good haircut to clean away the desecration.
People muttered around me as I made my way to the line of mourners, black rose held
loosely in my left hand, heart hand. For strength.
As I reached her coffin, I was struck by the simple beauty of her, the strength. Even
without a soul, her body still seemed to radiate a simple resolve. Obit was right-this really was a
woman who could change the world. I could respect that. Made this a bit easier, somehow.
Kneeling and crossing myself in quick succession, I whispered to the corpse of the fallen
hero. "I know this ain't you, Merideth, not anymore. And I know that you can't feel anything
that's happening to what ya left behind, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You deserve better than
this." With that, I gently placed the rose across her left breast, pinning it to her blouse and the
white rose her husband had placed.
With that, I scrammed. No one here knew me, so no point in hanging around and
"remembering" her. Never knew her to remember. Besides, I needed a haircut.
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My cell's ringing shattered the night air, and I ignored it. Wasn't important compared to
this.
Through my scope, the family went about their nightly business. Older sis, doing her
math homework. Just started Algebra. Only missed two problems so far, that i could see. Good
kid. Younger sister, watching SpongeBob. Annoying song. Dad was making dinner, trying
desperately not to look at the picture of his dead wife on the mantle, afraid to take it down
because that'd make all this real. Been there. Hard decision to make.
Three days have passed since the eulogy; they put her in the ground later that day.
Summer burial, quick and easy. Ish. Been watching'em since then, keeping an eye out. And
preparing. Three days worth. Important number. In the Good Book, the Bad one, and damn near
every other one to boot. Important things always happen in threes.
At once, shit starts to happen, and I tighten my scarred hands over the grip of my sniper
rifle, settling the stock even more firmly in the crook of my shoulder. The gleaming fountain pen
weighs heavily in my shirt pocket. God, don't let me need it.
Younger sis screams as the TV starts dancing on the stand, sparks flying at her face. Girl
gets her hands up quick and runs for her bedroom door. Smart kid. Barely have time to register
that, and older sis is there. She grabs younger and twists, putting her body between the kid and
the TV; said TV taking this moment to change from a dancer to an improvised projectile and flew
across the room towards them.
My gun whispers as it sends a bullet flying into the TV, knocking it off-course. The wall
next to them shatters. Older sis wastes no time in skedaddling. One.
Good to know it's not just math you're good at, kiddo. Haul ass.
I swing my rifle over towards the kitchen in time to catch Dad stuttering. Smoke rises
from the picture of the wife, tendrils of it wrapping around the table and cutlery. He manages a
step back as cutlery and appliances start dancing. "Come on dad, move." I mutter. "Clear my
sights."
His daughters screaming snaps him outta it for a brief second, but a figure he recognizes
all too well forming out of the smoke sends him right back to catatonia-land. Even though I'm a
block away, I can almost hear her raspy voice issuing from the smoke. "Fraaaaaank..." A second
shot from my rifle shatters the window an inch above Dad's left shoulder, slamming into what
would be the figure's neck, if she was flesh and blood. She wasn't, and the high-caliber round did
nothing more than piss her off. Good. Two.
"Come on bitchcome on." I put another bullet into the apparition, finally spurring dad
into action. That or he saw how close the second shot came to parting his eldest daughter's hair

as she turned the corner into the kitchen. Kid see's the smoke, and even a moron like me can see
she recognizes who it is. Doesn't faze her though; she grabs Dad's arm and nearly rips it outta the
socket, pulling him and the ankle-biter to safety.
Wish I had been that smart.
The thing masquerading as Meredith screams, glass shattering and flying towards the kid.
A third bullet slams through her spectral forehead, snapping her head around and bringing her
hellish gaze to me. Guess thats that. Eyes narrow as she spots me, perched on the roof of the gas
station.
All the windows shatter as she screams again, and I drop the rifle, keeping the pen
gripped tightly in my left hand. Three bullets didn't work, no choice left.
The banshee howls down Suburbia towards me, and I calmly watch the bitch approach.
"You ain't Meredith. Let go of her body. First warning."
She reaches me before the words finish leaving my mouth. A freight train disguised as a
smoky fist crashes into my sternum, lifting me into the air and slamming me back into the roof.
Ankle busts as I land. Wonderful. "Second... warning. Leter body go."
Her dulcet tones greet my warning, and I can feel blood dripping down my ears and
cheeks in response. "Thrice...I say...and done..." My voice sounds a lot steadier than i feel;
surprised blood is all that's leaking out my ears. I hold up the pen as proof of my final warning,
and she giggles hellishly.
"Poor little vulture...do you really think a pen scares us?"
"Nope." I feel myself grin and push in the top. I watch her eyes go wide as she realizes
what that tiny click is; a radio transmitter.
One that's now active. But it shoulda.
Damndest thing about poltergeists; they ain't ghosts, per se, but they need a corpse to
connect to. They tend to choose those that had been good people in real life; the more noble, the
better. Meredith here qualified. Not sure what they were, exactly, but I heard a guy call'em
poltergeists once. Good enough name for government work.
I try to think about the monster in front of me, disguising itself as a woman of character
in order to feed. I try my damndest to push away what wants to run through my mind-the C4

shaped like the stem of a rose, lying on the chest of a good woman. It's the poltergeist screams
I'm thinking about, not a woman killed before her time, fire and sound ripping through her body.
Sure it is.
********************************
Who are you? Its the older kid behind me. Sara. Not sure how she found me. But she
knows I know something. Gunpowder scent under her cheap perfume. Thats what I get for
staying her three days after blowing up her moms body.
I wont ask again. I turn to face her. Shes determined, allright. Kid has a Dirty Harry
revolver pointed at my chest.
Yes you will. Youll ask one more time. Important. I can see two bullets in the chamber.
One ready to fire makes three. Three questions, three bullets, three tattoos peeking from under
her school uniform. Sign.
Ill kill you if you dont answer me.
I stand there. Shes too far away for me to charge. Kid wants me dead, Im dead. Only
thing to do is see if the rule of three matters.
Who are you?
Good girl. Frank Adams. Her gun waivers for a second. I hope it did.
Why did you come here?
To hunt monsters.
Her eyes harden. Was my mother a monster?
No kid. But one was using her corpse as a battery. Had to stop it. Emotion in her eyes.
She doesnt want to believe me. I dont want to believe me, some days. But we have to.
Are there more of them? Its her fourth question. Not right. To important for four. Bad
sign. Shes staring at me. Wheels turning in her mind. Gun trains back on me, before she lowers
it with a sigh.
Are there more of them? Are there more of them? Good kid. Shes realizing order.
Yeah. And Im leaving to hunt them.

Im coming with you. That determination again. Poor kid.

No. I dont hunt with a partner. Bad luck.
No, you wont hunt with one partner. What if you had two? Smart kid.
I dont.
No, you dont. But you cant get to three without first getting to two.
I mull over what she said. Kid has a point. Im going to Boston. You drive?
She nods, and holsters the gun.
Cars out back. You drive and ask questions. Ill answer.