The Rose Man Read online

  I took it all in. Then I stared at Ed accusingly. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that, Ed?"

  "You don't believe me?" Ed said, shocked. "Why in the hell would I make that up?"

  "You honestly expect me to believe that crock of shit?" I asked. But deep down, I did believe it.

  "Wilbur's wife will be letting us know when the funeral is arranged. And I'd bet my left nut it is a closed casket service," Ed said, suddenly indignant. "Go there and open the coffin up and take a peek if you don't believe me."

  I had to leave the hallway before I kicked Ed's ass, so I turned and went to my office to grieve Wilbur with the emergency bottle of bourbon I had hidden in my desk.

  ***

  I slipped the pallbearers carnation onto the lapel of my jacket. Organ music drifted ethereally through the air. I signed the guest book, took off my sunglasses and stepped into the chapel. There were a few minutes left until the eulogy. I walked down the aisle to the closed coffin.

  Carol Straddleson stood next to me. She wore an old fashioned mourning dress and had a handkerchief slipped under her veil. I put an arm around her shoulders.

  "I'm so sorry, Carol," I said, softly. "I'm going to miss him so much."

  Carol straightened herself. "Thank you, Dane. Where's Helen?"

  "She couldn't make it," I replied, uncomfortably. "She had a prier commitment she couldn't get out of. But she sends her love and sympathy, of course."

  "I understand," Carol replied. She crouched back over. "He's green, Dane! My husband is dead and green!"

  "No he's not, Carol," I said, reaching out toward the coffin. "Here, I'll show you..."

  "No!" a voice cried out behind me.

  I turned around and saw Ed Levy standing in the aisle. He was naked. His blond hair stood on end. "Don't open it, Dane! You heard his wife! Spare us the horror!" Ed insisted.

  "I'm sorry, Ed. But I have to look. I don't believe this horror story for one minute," I said, flinging the casket lid open. Dust spit out in a cloud. Carol screamed, grew wings and flew away. Ed was devoured by a crevasse in the floor that had opened under his feet. The other mourners began to panic and make their way out of the chapel, trampling each other like a frenzied mob.

  The dust cleared. Wilbur lay within the coffin. He looked at peace, his arms crossed at his chest. His face and hands were white and waxy. There wasn't a ripe vegetable in the coffin. It was my friend, patiently awaiting what lies beyond.

  "Hey, everybody, come back! Wilbur's fine. Well, he's dead; but he's not green."

  "Is dat so, podna?" I heard a familiar voice say.

  I looked toward the podium. The Rose Man stood there, as if he were going to deliver the eulogy. He was dressed in priest's clothing, his shaggy brown beard obscuring the white collar. "Take another look, yeh."

  I looked into the coffin. Wilbur's face had turned green.

  As green as the stem of a rose.

  His silver hair had been replaced by large red petals.

  "Why?" I demanded, my eyes blazing back toward the Rose Man.

  "'He stole from me!" the Rose Man spat the words. "I looked through the vert- the green- and found 'im. Remember I said he'd get what's due."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Ya woulda put two an' two together. You're a smart one. So remember. Remember to forget everythin' ya know. I can see you too, yeh. I'm like Santa, good and proper! I'll see ya when ya sleep and I'll know when yer awake!"

  The memorial roses surrounding the coffin came to life. They stretched from their vases and wrapped around my arms and legs, holding me to the spot. Wilbur sat up. His eyelids opened. Two sunken, fiery red orbs gazed at me.

  "Remember, podna!" the Rose Man called, as Wilbur's clammy green hands tenderly stroked my cheeks. "Remember to forget!"

  Wilbur smiled. A green, thorn covered tongue slid out from between his lips...

  I woke up, drenched in sweat, and choked the scream back down my throat. Helen turned over and moaned in her sleep.

  The Rose Man, I thought, staring into the darkness of the bedroom.

  ***

  I couldn't sleep after the nightmare, even after sneaking one of Helen's sleeping pills, and I felt like shit. My breakfast went untouched. I kept the nightmare to myself. It was the Monday after Wilbur's funeral. He had been cremated, which was funny because he had mentioned to me once that he had burial plots picked out for him and Carol. I didn't ask his family about it, of course.

  As I began to leave for work, Helen noted my loss of appetite. "Are you coming down with something?" she asked, pressing her hand to my forehead.

  I gave every assurance I could muster, and then went to my car. I backed out of the driveway and drove to work.

  I stopped at the intersection, running the hellish dream through my head. It had been a dozy, all right. But only a nightmare. I glanced to the side of the road. The Rose Man stood there, smiling, holding up a cardboard sign with a message scrawled on it. A message for me:

  REMEMBER TO FORGET

  His eyes blazed into mine. He continued to smile, nodding his head slightly at me. I spun the car around, blocking traffic. Horns blared in protest as I turned and sped home.

  Helen opened the door as I reached for the knob.

  "What's wrong? Did you forget something?"

  "Step back inside," I said, glancing around the street, "and I'll tell you."

  She did as I asked.

  I stepped inside and told her and I was sure my sanity was galloping away like a spooked horse.

  ***

  "That's an incredible story, Dane," Helen said, trying to hide her concern. We sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen, two cold, neglected cups of coffee before us.

  "Dane, would like a valium?" Helen asked, in a strained, careful voice.

  "No," I replied, fidgeting in my chair.

  I waited for more of a response. It didn't come. Helen just stared at me, her eyes frightened. Her fingers nervously traced the pattern of the tablecloth.

  "You don't believe me, do you?" I finally had to ask.

  She hesitated, considering her reply. "I believe that you believe it, Dane."

  "Ah, Helen, why did you have to say that?" I mumbled, rubbing my aching forehead.

  "Well, what do you expect me to say?" Helen snapped. "Were you listening to the story you were telling me? Your friend choking on roses and turning green? Some demented vagrant stalking you in your dreams like a Freddy florist? How can you expect me to indulge you in this fantasy?"

  Helen paused, rubbed the back of her neck and then she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted that way. I don't know how to handle this."

  "Helen, don't you think I realize how crazy it sounds?" I said. "But how can I dismiss it? What about Ed Levy's story?"

  Helen rolled her eyes. "Is that the same Ed Levy who told you that the Russians control the weather and that the president is a clone?"

  She had me there. Ed was a bit loony about stuff like that.

  "Honey," Helen continued, wringing her hands together. "Wilbur died of a heart attack. He didn't take care of himself. You know that. Honestly, I think you're overworked. Maybe we should get away for a few days."

  Helen stood up and spirited the cups to the sink. "Besides," she said, over her shoulder, "if Wilbur did steal the roses- which I wouldn't have put past him, by the way- how did this Rose Man find him? Houston is a big city."

  "That I don't know," I admitted, glancing down at the rose in the vase on the table. The center petals folded back slowly, revealing a blue eye. I screamed in shock, bolted up and pulled the rose from the vase.

  "Look at that!" I screamed, shoving the rose into Helen's face.

  "Look at what?" Helen said, recoiling fearfully.

  I pulled the rose back and examined it. The eye was gone. I fished around in the soft petals and suddenly the stem wrapped around my wrist and the thorns bit into me.

  I pushed Helen away from the sink and crammed the rose, wr
ithing in my hand like a snake, down the garbage disposal.

  "Dane! What's wrong with you?" Helen said, grabbing my shoulders as I turned the disposal on.

  I turned to her after I was sure the rose was mulch. "Are there anymore in the house?"

  "Dane, please tell me..."

  I grabbed Helen's shoulders. "Are there anymore roses in the house?"

  "No," she said softly. "No. Of course not."

  "Son of a bitch! He can see us through the roses, Helen. That's how he found Wilbur."

  "Dane, that sort of thing just can't happen."

  "An eye, Helen! I saw an eye in that rose! And, by the way, we've had that thing for a long time and it wasn't close to dying," I said.

  She shirked away from me, fearfully. I sagged in desperation.

  "Oh, Christ. What am I going to do?"

  Helen approached me, a little more cautiously this time. "Dane, there is something deep going on here, okay? Something deeper than Wilbur's death or the Rose Man. It's all trigging something in you. I think we should go to a doctor."

  I shook my head and gripped the back of a table chair. "No, no... I can't. I need to be at work today."

  "This is more important than work," Helen insisted.

  "You're right, okay?" I lied out of mercy. "None of what I just said is even remotely possible, and I know that. I don't know what's happening inside, but it was a series of hallucinations. I will make an appointment with the doctor and I am sure he'll run tests and I'll get help, but I think my best bet right now is to go to work. I need to get my mind off of this."

  "Okay Dane," Helen said softly. "If you think it's best. Should I make and appointment for you with Dr. Spencer?"

  I nodded.

  I kissed my very concerned wife and headed out the door. I stopped at a convenience store pay phone and called in sick to work. I spent the rest of the day in a park. Far from the roses.

  ***

  I walked through the front door, still nervous and unsure of reality. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. The house was quiet. There was no greeting from Helen.

  "Helen?"

  I stepped into the garage. Her car was there, sitting indignantly between my messy workbench and grass-stained lawnmower.

  "Helen?"

  I returned to the house. I checked the kitchen, hallway and bath.

  "Helen!"

  I sprinted to our bedroom, my bad knee threatening to buckle under the sudden surge. I flung the door open, lodging the doorknob into the wall. Helen lay in bed on her side, facing away from me. I crept up to the bed.

  "Helen?" I whispered softly. "What's the matter, baby?"

  I gently pulled Helen over. I screamed. She was dead. Her skin was green. The tip of a rose stem wiggled in her opened mouth, and then it disappeared.

  I woke up, stretched out on the park bench, the afternoon sun blazing over me. I was covered in sweat. I glanced at my watch. 4:45pm

  The sick realization finally hit me. I hurried to my car.

  ***

  I stood in the kitchen. It was clean. The dishwasher ran. I bypassed everything else and ran to our room, my knee throbbing with pain. I sent the door flying unmercifully into the wall, as in my dream.

  Helen lay there, facing away from me. The blanket covered her completely. My heart raced. I didn't bother to call out. I grasped her shoulder.

  An elbow struck my stomach, knocking the breath from me. I fell to the floor, wrenching my knee as I went down. The Rose Man sat up in my bed.

  "Sorry, podna. Ya gave me a start."

  "What are you doing here?" I wheezed.

  "'Sleepin'," he said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. " Dis bed is a fine one. Beats the shelter cot I been restin' my bones on, that's fer sure."

  I rose painfully to my feet. "Where's my wife?" I asked, fear growing in the pit of my stomach.

  He held up a finger. He pulled a small piece of paper from his leather pouch. "'Dane. Went to market. Home soon. Love, Helen.' She put a P.S. down here, too. Ya got an appointment with the doctor tomorrow on yer lunch hour."

  He looked up.

  "But we both know you ain't kuyon, yeh?" he said, with a sheepish grin.

  "Who are you?" I had to ask. "What are you?"

  "Me?" he shrugged. "I guess ya could say I'm one with nature. I'm an old spirit of the woods. I'm as old as they come."

  "How do you do it?" I asked. "See through roses? Invade dreams?" I figured he was there to kill me, and I didn't want to die without answers.

  The Rose Man sighed and scratched his beard. "Ya couldn't unnerstan'. I am connected to the roses. I see what they see. As fer yer dreams, love and hope comes from 'em. The rose symbolizes dat. Where they're found, I do walk."

  "I don't understand," I said, buying for more time.

  The Rose Man smiled, standing up. "You aren't 'sposed to. Let's just say I'm an empty vessel. The roses feed me things I can no longer feel on my own."

  "Why are you here? What do you want with me? I won't tell anybody."

  "Tuat t'en grosse bueche. Ya already have and after I warned ya," the Rose Man said, with a knowing smile. "Ya crossed the line. I haven't had attention in over a hunnard years, and I don't need any now. I am going to give ya to 'em. Before ya spread my secret any further.

  "Who's them?"

  A wave of red and green squirmed out from under the bed. Dozens of roses inched their way toward me. I started to turn. They flew off the floor, thorns attaching to me. It felt like a thousand needles piercing my flesh. One crept up my chest toward my mouth.

  "Finish it quickly, my sweet bebs. His honey will be home soon. Maybe we should just do her as well, yeh? Squash it all good and proper."

  The threat toward Helen gave me the strength and resolve to fight my way through the roses. I swatted several away and I charged the Rose Man, his army still clinging to me. I brought my fist down on his nose before he could shield himself. He jerked his head back. Blood and mucus flowed into his beard.

  "Arrete toi!" he said, staring at the blood on his hand. "Dis body is just a blood vessel." He pounded a fist against his chest. "I can do without dis. I want yo' life, but yo' soul will come as well if you don't lay down and die, podna."

  "Bastard!" I cried, hitting him again across the cheek.

  He went down to one knee. He stared up at me slowly. His teeth were shattered. The roses still converged on me, but they seemed weaker. I attributed it to the beating I was giving to the Rose Man.

  "Makin' it worse, podna," he said, weakly, his eyes rolling. "Where love and hope are found... I do walk..."

  "Shut up. you god-damned maniac!"

  My hands found his neck. The sickening snap was music to my ears. I tossed him aside. The roses went limp- lifeless- and they shed to the ground. I stood up and I could still feel the thorns in my flesh.

  I surveyed the Rose Man's crumpled form. My body shook and I had a hard time catching my breath. My hand was busted open and bleeding. "That was for Wilbur, you son of a bitch," I muttered shakily.

  Suddenly, the roses stood on end, quivering. The room began to spin and the world shook. Everything went red. Then green. Then black. And I was no more.

  ***

  I'm workin' a different intersection at night, now. Po' Dane's gone away, but he was kind enough to leave me somethin' behind. The knee doesn't hurt as bad as it did. Got dat hand wrapped up, too. Don't think it'll all slow me up too much. The balmy night air caresses my naked face; a tenderness I am not used to. I have to grow a beard again, to hide my new identity, 'cause I ain't goin' to the iron house for murderin' me, you unnerstan'?

  I tried to tell Dane. Blood vessels are easy for one as old as I to grab on to, even if I have to send the life in it screamin' toward the abyss.

  There are hardly any cars about. I look through the vert to amuse myself. I see an executive putting in late hours with his secretary. He got her propped up on a desk and he eatin' her cocotte while she is spread over a monthly planner. I see the
back of a nervous boug's jacket as he waits at a screen door to surprise his girl once she comes down the stairs. I see the pressed pages of a memory book. My sight settles o a Ya can call me a boogeyman domion if ya want, but the visions warm a place in me where a soul should rest.

  Traffic picks up, so I bring my vision back to the intersection. There's a full moon out. My bebs sway beneath it; leaves straining against cellophane, stems scraping the bottom of the bucket dat holds 'em.

  Nice night, yeh?

  ***

  Dr. Ridley stepped out of Helen Morrison's room. He was met by a man in a suit.

  "Dr. Ridley?" the man asked.

  "Yes?" the doctor replied, watching as the clean-shaven young man with the military haircut produced his wallet.