The Sweetest Rose

It had rained every day for the past week. The old dusty cabin she had thought was going to be a rustic getaway was dark and leaking. It just figured her first vacation in two years would be a flop. She had planned for a breathtaking view and watching the leaves change in the Carolina Appalachian mountains drinking wine and catching up on some reading. Normally, the rain wouldn’t have bothered her, but the smell of the old wet wood and mildew was almost unbearable. She had decided tomorrow she would drive down to Asheville and stay at a nice bed and breakfast and enjoy the remaining three days of her vacation. She took her dirty dish to the sink and poured another glass of Merlot. She was not doing dishes tonight, she decided, she would do them before she left in the morning and do a little bit of tidying up before she left. She was much more interested in getting packed to leave tomorrow morning. She couldn’t believe she stayed here as long as she did. The company that referred her to this place was definitely going to get a piece of her mind about it.

She made her way up the stairs to the loft where the bedroom was. It was small and cramped, what the site had described as “cozy” was more like claustrophobic. She grabbed her suitcase and began packing away clothes while the rain pounded on the tin roof so loudly she knew she would be sleeping downstairs on the couch tonight. She started down the stairs with the suitcase in one hand and her almost finished glass of wine in the other when she heard a banging on the front door so sudden and loud he let out a gasp of a scream and dropped her suitcase down the stairs. She watched it roll and grabbed the railing of the stairs to steady herself. After a long deep deep breath she began to consider who would bang on a door like that and especially at 9pm on a Sunday night. She slowly crept down the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible on the old wooden steps. It couldn’t be someone out there, she thought, they would have continued knocking. She placed her half full wine glass on the antique table next to the front door and placed an ear against the wooden door. Having no poop hole on the old door or no way to see who it was without opening it made her cautious.

When she did not hear anything she slowly cracked open the door leaning against it to peer through the opening. She could not see anyone standing in front of the door, so she opened it just enough to squeeze her small frame through if she had to. The wind whipped the trees and leaves that had fallen around and she could not make out anything with the rain blowing sideways. She noticed on the ground in front of the door, a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper. She looked around one more time and said in a firm loud voice “Hello?” and then reached down to grab it. After pulling it through the door she immediately locked the door and with her back to the door, she examined the package. It had no sender, return address and nothing of identifying what it was or what could be in it. The paper was folded pristinely and it was tied with brown twine. She picked up her wine glass and carried the package into the living room and set it on the coffee table. She thought about opening it, but then wondered who would have brought this out here in the middle of the night and in the rain? Why was it not labeled? It had to be someone who knew she was out here right? If so, who was it? She had so many more questions and she knew she should just open it. It didn’t have anything on it telling her not to open it and it was not addressed to anyone.

She decided to open it and slowly she untied the string and gently pulled at the paper to reveal an intricate detailed wooden box with roses carved into the top as vines worked their way down the sides and wrapped around the corners of the box. It was quite beautiful. It had a gold clasp in the front and she cautiously opened it to reveal a navy blue velvet lining and on the top was a red rose. The stem cut away so it was only the bud. She picked it up and examined it. As she put it to her nose to inhale its aroma, she noticed that it smelt different than any other flower she had ever smelt in her life. It was not a typical floral smell, but it was sweeter, like a white moscato. It was intoxicating.

She had never smelt anything that was so alluring and enticing in her entire life. She took another sip of wine and put it close to her face to inhale again and it was even stronger. It was like the wine had magnified its odor. It was amazing. Holding the rose to her nose, she got up and walked into the kitchen to get more wine. She poured another full glass, and she felt giddy. She was no longer concerned with who brought the flower or why but she was so thankful they did. Maybe it was a present for putting up with this cabin and the mildew smell that had involved staying here. She noticed anywhere he had the rose the moldy damp smell of the cabin disappeared. She carried it into every room with her, holding it close to her face. With each step into the kitchen, living room, dining room, and bedroom she became happier and intoxicated.

She felt the urge to dance and began swirling around the bedroom with her glass of wine in one hand and the rose against her nose and her eyes closed. She was swaying to unknown music in her head and a song she had never heard but it sounded like something she wanted to know. Even though her eyes were closed, she was seeing colors and even as the rain poured down it made a beautiful sound on the roof that enhanced the music in her head. She was twirling around so much she became dizzy and had to stop. But she didn’t want to, she felt warm and tingly and assumed it was the wine taking over. She soon started to forget small little details, the name of the wine she was drinking,what room she was in. All she could think about was the smell of the flowers against her nose and the more she danced and drank the sweeter it smelt and the more she was entranced. Feeling tired from dancing and spinning into different rooms of the house, she finally collapsed on the couch in the living room in a giddy laughter, the flower never leaving her face.After a few minutes everything went black and she did not even dream.

She awoke to the sunlight beating through the curtain in a blinding streak across her face. She sat up confused and unaware of where she was, how she got there. She looked around for some sort of clue about her surroundings. There was nothing that looked familiar here. There was simply a damp, moldy smell that seemed so pungent and ripe that it was unbearable. She stood up and felt the nausea hit her and immediately had the urge to vomit. She ran out the front door and hurled into the bushes right next to the cabin. She slowly stood up, waiting for the second wind of vomit to hit her and when it did not she decided to go lay down in the bedroom. There was something she was going to do today, but she does not remember what it was. She knew it was something important that she had been excited about, but her memory was not working. Where was she? Nothing seemed familiar. As she made her way upstairs she passed by the bathroom and she stopped to use the restroom.

As she turned on the light in the bathroom, she stopped and screamed. There in the bathtub was a woman covered in rose petals with her bloody wrists dangling out the side of the tub. Her head was leaned back against the tub and her lips turned up in a smile. It was a smile that she knew well. Her smile. She backed away slowly. How could the woman in the tub be her. She was right there, wasn’t she. Of course she was! She was imagining things, she was seeing things. She ran downstairs and ran out the front door. Where would she go and she tried to remember what had happened last night and she realized she couldn’t. What had happened the day before. She couldn’t remember. What about last week? How did she get here? Where was she? Then she tried to remember something about herself. Where was she from? Where did she work? When was she born? Hell, what was her name? She stopped and realized she could not remember anything, except a sweet smelling rose. A rose that she would never see or smell again.