Like Gravity(30)

I watched Dr. Angelini’s eyes widen – not even shrinks could hide every emotion – and the flurry of her pen assured me she was documenting each detail. I kept my voice impassive as I offered her the facts – and nothing more.

“I hit him in the face and he let go of the wheel. We crashed. He grabbed me and used me as a human shield during a shoot-out with the police, but I don’t remember much of that. I think he held me so tight I passed out. I remember losing a lot of blood and not being able to breathe, though.”

“What triggered the panic attack last night?” she asked.

“Some * in a bar grabbed me from behind and lifted me off the ground,” I said, absently rubbing the bruises hidden beneath the sleeves of my jacket. “I couldn't breathe. I heard sirens and his voice in my head.”

“His?”

“Ernie Skinner. The guy who killed my mom.”

“So you’re saying the attack triggered a memory?”

“I think so,” I shrugged. “I’ve never really tried to remember much about that time in my life. In fact, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid it.”

“And now?”

I looked her in the eye. “Now, I think I want to remember.”

Dr. Angelini smiled for the first time since I’d walked into her office.

“That’s a start, Brooklyn.”

***

I walked through the door of my apartment and tossed my keys on the kitchen island. My meeting with Dr. Angelini hadn’t been as bad as I’d been expecting – for some reason, I’d opened up to her in ways I hadn’t with any of my other shrinks. Maybe I just hadn’t been ready to talk about it before now.

Lexi wasn’t home, which didn’t surprise me; she was spending most of her spare time at Tyler’s apartment these days. I didn't mind being alone, though. I’d learned self-sufficiency at age six.

Walking into my bedroom, I immediately noticed two things: Finn’s unreturned leather jacket still hanging from a hook on my closet door, and a bouquet of flowers lying on my bedside table. They definitely hadn’t been there this morning when I’d left for my appointment with Dr. Angelini and, to my knowledge, Lexi hadn’t been home all day.

I quickly crossed the room and looked at the flowers. They weren't in a vase and their only adornment was a black satin ribbon, which held bouquet together. The flowers themselves were unusual – a dozen black roses. There was no card with them, nor was there any indication as to how they had arrived in my bedroom. The hairs on my neck instantly stood on end and despite the warmth of the day, goosebumps flourished across my skin.

Someone had been in my room.

I whirled around and scanned the space for intruders, an umbrella clutched in my hand as a makeshift weapon. I checked under my bed, in the bathroom, Lexi’s room, the kitchen, and the living room. I wasn’t an investigator, but I figured I’d watched enough episodes of CSI to know what to look for. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed; there were no mysterious footprints in the carpet, the doors and windows were all locked and didn’t look tampered with, and not a magazine was out of place. It was as if the flowers had simply materialized.

Returning to my room, I scooped up the bouquet and tossed it into the small wastebasket next to my desk. As I released the stems, sharp thorns tore at my hands. I winced as several drops of blood fell from my fingertips, landing on the black petals in the trash bin and staining them crimson.

All kinds of red flags were going up in my mind as I thought about the flowers. Who had left them? How had they gotten into my room? What did they mean? Who gives someone black roses with the thorns still attached?

I wrapped a tissue around the worst of the scratches to stop the bleeding and pulled open my laptop. A quick Google search told me exactly what I wanted to know.

Black roses, which do not exist in nature, are most often used to symbolize intense hatred or death, though they can also mean farewell, rejuvenation, rebirth, or the return from a long journey in which one did not expect to survive. In folklore, black roses are a foreshadowing of death on the horizon; a person who comes across this ominous flower is likely to suffer their demise.

Death.

Someone was sending me roses as a harbinger of my coming death. My heart beat faster at the thought and I felt the walls closing in around me. My mind began to flip through a list of people who might want me killed, or at the very least scared. Gordon came to mind immediately. After the beating he took last night because of me, he might want revenge.

Another possibility, a suspect infinitely more deadly than Gordon, lurked in the recesses of my mind, but I didn’t dare examine it yet. I didn’t want to even consider him an option. Plus, he was safely locked up in San Quentin. If he’d been paroled, I would have been notified.

I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed Lexi’s number. When she didn’t pick up on the first try, I hung up and immediately redialed. She eventually answered, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Brooklyn? Is everything okay?”

“Lex, have you been here at all today?”

“No, I’ve been at Ty’s since last night. What’s going on?”

“There was a bouquet of black roses sitting on my bedroom table when I came home just now. The apartment was locked. I don’t know where they came from.”

“Did you say black roses?” Lexi whispered, a tremor in her voice.