Ashes and Bones Read Free

England sort of way. And in a tiny focal point, in front of the bouquet of asters, lupines, daisies, and bachelor’s buttons, was a knot of lilies of the valley.

Chapter 2
    W HAT THE HELL ?” I STARTED TO TREMBLE.
    Brian leaned over me, trying to read, his hand on my shoulder. “Em, chill. It’s just flowers. There’s no signature on the card?”
    I shrugged his hand off. “No. I told you, no.”
    He looked at me, and I could see in that instant that look in his eyes, not often seen, that indicated he thought I’d checked out. That my opinion was not to be completely trusted because of hormones, or fatigue, or depression, or personal involvement, or whatever. Everyone’s significant other has that look, tinged with annoyance or frustration or dismissal. But it was my own personal vision of hell: not being taken seriously by the one person in the world who should trust me entirely.
    And I was too tired to argue it now, so soon after our earlier discussion. As much as I knew I was right, in spite of whatever evidence. I shrugged. “Weird, huh?”
    I’d backed off too soon; Brian looked suspicious.
    “I’m going to have a look through it anyway, see if there’s anything else that might tell me where it’s from. And I’ll call the desk. Maybe they know what’s going on.”
    “Sure, that sounds like a reasonable plan. I’m going to grab the shower; I’m starting to smell pretty ripe.”
    I couldn’t tell whether Brian was just dodging the issue—now he was backing off too quickly. “Go ahead.” At least if he was in the shower, I could paw through the flowers to my heart’s content, with no weird looks following me.
    I called down to the desk: Yes, they were left there; yes, they’d come from a local vendor, very reputable, with the usual delivery guy. I thanked them, called the florist. They were glad that I liked the flowers, a special order; no, they couldn’t legally tell me who sent them. I pressed; they demurred again, politely, firmly.
    After I took a picture of the flowers, I threw them out. Then I showered and we went down to drinks. Brian very carefully didn’t ask anything more about the flowers.
    Late that night, I left Brian snoring gently in bed, got dressed, and quietly shut the door behind me, making my way to the beach through the abandoned paths of the silent hotel.
    I’d just made it down to the sand when I saw a flash of brilliant light, then heard a huge bang. I felt a brutal punch to my stomach. I was immediately ashamed; I should have been able to block it. But I hadn’t seen it coming, there was no one there, I thought in a panic, so I couldn’t really be blamed for that…
    And then I knew the truth. I’d been shot in the belly.
    The pain that followed after the impact was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, as though the first blow was just the warm-up. It lasted nearly five seconds, an exquisite eternity of unbearable agony, before I felt myself distanced from it all. Then I was finally able to look down, see what the actual damage was.
    It wasn’t bad, not as bad as I thought; maybe I’d be all right. The thing that impressed me most was the quantity and warmth of the blood; it seemed endless. As for seeing things that I was generally happier not seeing, there was no revulsion, just curiosity. It was fascinating, really, actuallybeing able to recognize…me. Kind of strange, knowing there was all this going on inside of me, like imagining another person on the inside of me. Kind of neat. I put my hands up to the ragged hole, tried to stop the flow of blood, but it was no good; the flood I could feel running down my back was even worse.
    I was dying.
    Sitting on the sand, in the moonlight, little birds chasing the surf, I felt okay. I could see black stains on the sand around where I sat, but at this point, the pain was a distant memory and I was vaguely satisfied that the blood was being absorbed by the sand. A convenience, really, for such a messy end. Couldn’t