When the past comes back to haunt you: part 3

Jim never thought it would be so easy to write a novel. Once he dove in, the story practically wrote itself. He edited constantly, wanting each word, each punctuation mark to be perfect. Sara deserved nothing less.

Jim spent long hours at the keyboard, often starting before dawn and working well into the night. He left the house occasionally to buy food, but mostly he ordered from places that would deliver so he didn’t have to stop writing. When he finally needed a break to clear his head, Jim drove down to the river.

It was the first time he had been back here since that night. There was a knot in Jim’s stomach as he neared the place where he’d found Sara’s belongings so many years ago. He knew the exact spot and approached with hesitation. Jim was surprised to find a little memorial to Sara there. Even more shocking were the fresh flowers – stargazer lilies, Sara’s favorite.

Very few people knew that about her. She told everyone she liked roses. Not just ordinary roses - anyone could buy red or white ones. Purple long stem roses. They weren’t easy to find and they weren’t cheap, but if a guy wanted to get her attention, he would spring for those exact flowers.

Of course, if you really knew Sara, you also knew that was just a game - another hoop you’d have to jump through if you wanted to be with her. Jim, however, knowing her better than almost everyone, always skipped over the roses and went right for the stargazers. He grew them in his parents’ backyard when they were younger and every year for her birthday, he’d bring her a bouquet.

He brought one for her today, planning to leave the flowers in this exact spot. Jim was both aggravated and confused that someone had beaten him to it. He knelt in the grass and moved the offending blooms to the side. Under the space they once occupied was a picture, one he’d never seen before except in his memories from that night. Someone had captured the exact moment of their kiss, just before Sara pushed him away.

He only recognized himself in the photo because he had been there. Jim’s face had been obliterated, angrily scratched out of the picture. Who would have done this? he thought before turning the picture over in his hands. Jim’s blood ran cold at the sight of the words scribbled on the back in red: WATCH OUT OR YOU ARE NEXT. When Jim looked at the ground again, a single bullet lay there taunting him.

Jim ran back to his car, locking the doors quickly, wheels screeching loudly as he peeled out of the lot. He started driving for the local police station and then thought better of it. What if the cop was involved? What if the cop had killed her? No. He couldn’t go to the police.

He returned to Sara’s house, beginning to calm as soon as he reached the driveway. This place – her place­ – always had that affect on him. But as he made his away up the front walk, an ominous feeling came over him. A photograph, the same one which Jim found under the flowers down by the river, was held in place on the front door with a very large knife.

That was the last thing Jim remembered before his world went black.

(Check back tomorrow for the continuation of this story... Unless I decide to stretch it out and somehow work in the Theme Thursday "collection" theme...)