Espinas de una Rosa

I.

It is an unfortunate truth that all men believe their women to be flawless, just, virtuous, and kind to a fault. A streak of malice, or even jealousy, cannot run through a woman-- wonderful beings that they are, far above primal desire and instinct. It is no wonder then, that swords are drawn and wars are fought for these women, by men who look up to them and swoon on the decks of ships, clutching at their hearts in lovesickness, and perhaps even their heads in seasickness.


But it is another unfortunate truth that a woman, and any human being for that matter, can indeed commit a crime; even those with fair cheeks and dimpled smiles and untainted hands as soft as their daily chores allow them to be.


Lucy Marlene was such a woman-- small and round with soft blonde curls framing her pointed chin, with prominent periwinkle blue eyes blinking around rapidly. She had a pale complexion and slender arms ending in small, childlike hands, with short, stubby fingers ending in uneven nails worn down by her straight teeth.


She had been a sweet little girl (with an adorable lisp she grew out of when she was six), cheerful and friendly, as a child ought to be. True, she was often treated rashly by her friends, who took advantage of her forgiving nature, but Lucy always repeated to herself-- ‘I must forgive and never forget.’ She grew into a lovely young girl with pink innocence painted on her cheeks, finally to be courted by and married to the owner of the town’s printing press, Hector Marlene.


They lived together on a little house on the hill over which the sun set, very much in love-- the epitome of a ‘happily ever after’.


It is with great regret that I inform you that Lucy Marlene grew up to kill someone.

II.

‘Hector, dear, there’s a letter for you. I’ve left on the mantelpiece.’


Lucy said it a moment too late-- her husband had already settled into an armchair; face relaxed and hands unclenched. ‘Would you be a dear and get it for me?’ he responded with closed eyes.


Her own eyes rested on his dark, handsome features-- his thick brow and long eyelashes, with a straight nose and chiselled jaw. She allowed herself a moment of womanly appreciation before she replied, ‘Of course, darling,’ and set off towards the fireplace at the end of the room.


There was a lengthy silence after the letter reached her husband’s hands, only to be interrupted as she sat down to tea with him, and also by the soft, muted rain beginning to fall on their lovely little garden.


Hector finally looked up and said grimly, ’It seems we have come into a good amount of money.’


Lucy gasped softly, her thin eyebrows disappearing into the bangs over her forehead. ‘Who has passed on into the void?’ she asked, delicately, worried if it was someone dear to Hector.


‘My great-aunt-- the one who insisted you wear her old veil for our wedding.’


‘She left us something?’ asked Lucy incredulously, who had been under the impression that the old lady was only a distant relative, not very close to Hector.


‘She always liked you, you see’ he replied gruffly. ‘Took a liking to me after we got engaged.’


‘Well, how very kind of her, bless her poor soul. How... did she die?’ she asked, haltingly.


There was a moment’s hesitation before Hector averted his eyes and said, ’She was killed...’

III.

Lucy climbed sloping path leading to Mrs. Farley’s cottage, her neighbour when she had lived with a family in the next town, training to be a teacher. Mrs. Farley was the proverbial old nanny, when old teeth and a large mole on her chin; wavy grey hair sticking out of her bonnet. Although Lucy was sure no old lady gossiped more than this old widow.


She received a warm welcome and tea, before Mrs. Farley got down to business.


‘...and Odette says to her, “You go in or I’ll leave,” and would you believe the blessed child, she packed her bags the very next day! Has a spine of steel, that one...’


Lucy nodded in agreement, her mind elsewhere, replaying the conversation with her husband from a week ago.


‘She was ...killed?’


‘Stabbed with a butcher’s knife while she lay sleeping in bed.’


‘Oh, how horrible! What an unsightly crime!’


Hector leaned back in his chair, fingers pressing the bridge of his nose. Exhaling, he said, ‘Can you believe that there’s something such as unwarranted, just-for-thrills, murder?’


‘...Actually, I can.’


His eyes flew open as he smiled. ‘You and a murderous thought? I’d like to hear about it.’


‘Well...’


‘...and finally Susan, she married Odette’s brother, and attended Odette’s funeral after a week. Such a wretched fate, the poor girl!’


‘Oh dear,’ Lucy replied as the word ‘funeral’ cut into her thoughts, having been to one recently.


‘Horrifying, isn’t it, my dear? Oh, what is the world coming to these days...’she finished, wringing her wrinkled hands together.


‘Thoughtless murder and crime, that’s what,’ said Lucy, struck by a sudden inspiration. Mrs. Farley’s diminutive head bobbed up and down in agreement. ‘All these criminals are getting cleverer, and the detectives just can’t seem to catch them,’ went on Lucy, waiting for an adequate response until she could stop talking. ’They’re undetectable now, no one can catch them!’


She didn’t have to wait for long-- Mrs. Farley exclaimed, ‘Yes, so many new poisons and instruments to kill! Why anyone would devote their life to making things like that, I do not understand!’ Satisfied by Lucy’s nodding, she went on, ‘Why, the other day I heard of this fatal poison that can kill a person in seconds, even when a single milligram enters our blood. And what makes it even more dangerous is the fact that it cannot be detected by anything a coroner does, because it makes the death look like a heart attack!’ she finished with wide eyes.


Lucy smiled triumphantly. ‘And where have you heard of this, Mrs. Farley?’


She thought for a moment before she replied, ’I read about it in the newspaper, three days ago, I believe. And did you know, this horrible thing can be bought for very little at the pharmacists?’


It was enough for Lucy to visit that town’s library that evening, followed by a quick stop to the pharmacist. She learned that the ‘poison’ was actually a part of a drug, ironically beneficial to those with weak hearts.

IV.

The next evening, Lucy walked into her garden and headed towards the pink roses with a small pocket knife.


Holding a bud with her left hand, she used the knife to gently slice a thin, long thorn off the stem, quickly catching it before it fell to the ground. As she walked back to the kitchen, she drifted back to that conversation...


’Well... if I were to decide that I have given more kindness than I could ever give in life and that I deserved some thrill...’


Hector laughed, setting his letter aside. ‘Sweetheart, you’re married to someone who loves you more than anything else in the world, because of your kind, sweet ways. What could be more thrilling?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye.


Lucy blushed prettily, and said, ‘But what if that isn’t enough? I’ve put up with so many people, even when I was a child-- and your little fits of madness, your horrid temper, and the way you’re always working--‘


Hector raised his other eyebrow to join the first, and finally smiled. ‘Ah, but you’re too good to think of killing me for that.’


‘Who said anything about killing you?'


‘Well, let’s suppose you’re tired of my ways and hate me more than my brother does,’ he grinned, ‘ I still don’t think someone like you could ever kill me for that, even if you felt that you’ve been wronged by too many people your entire life. You’re too forgiving.’


‘So I’ve been told. But I still think I can kill someone if I decide I’ve had enough,’ said Lucy, looking straight at him.


Hector only sipped his tea and smiled, ‘I can never agree with you on that, my dear wife-- you look like a little kitten trying to be a tiger.’


Like all naive men, he didn’t notice the wild, torn expression on his wife’s face.


Lucy reached for the bag she brought from the pharmacists, thinking grimly, I don’t think he understood how serious I was.

V.

‘Becky, have you heard? About poor old Hector Marlene?’


‘No, I haven’t, --‘


‘They say he came home and fell to the ground-- dead!’


‘Why on earth, Laura, would a perfectly healthy man drop dead? You probably mixed him up with old Henry near the butchers’. A good riddance, that one. Nosy old man--‘


‘Oh, but, Becky, I’m certain! Poor Lucy was crying and Isabella was holding her and taking her home to stay the night,--‘


‘But they’ve only been married for three years-- oh, she must be heartbroken, the sweet child! Such a loving young couple, too-- what a mess! Do you know why he died?’


‘My maid says-- and her brother works for the sheriff, so I’m sure she’s right-- she says that Lucy heard him come in, and when she came into the room to greet him, he clutched at his heart and fell down!’


‘Oh, dear lord. I suppose we shall have a funeral to attend soon-- I’ll have to make do with my old black dress, again. When will my husband ever learn that people die too often, and I simply can’t turn up in the same clothes every time?’


‘How about I lend you my sister’s black gown? She’s visiting, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind...’


‘That would be splendid, Laura.’


‘You’re welcome, dear... would you mind if I borrowed your pearl set? You see, I--‘


‘Of course. And I suppose you’ll want to wear my hat with it? It would look wonderful!’


Hector Marlene’s death went unquestioned in the town that knew him to be a workaholic.

VI.

The anticipated funeral passed without much event. Lucy’s family held the pitiable girl close, certain that their lovely daughter, despite how life had often been unfair to her, would easily find another man with her tender, beautiful face, and finally live out a much-deserved happy and content life.


Lucy set off to her house to collect her belongings, and also await a solicitor’s visit. As she stood in the doorway, eyes taking in the scene of the crime, she let a slow, malicious grin creep up on her face; eyes alight with an uncharacteristic madness.


Hector walked into his house with a sense of relief. His travelling in the past one week had left him exhausted. First they had to attend great-aunt Prudence’s memorial service, at which on receiving important news, he had headed south to strike a deal with a famous publisher. And then--


His thoughts were interrupted by a sound. He committed the one mistake that killed him.


One moment he was at the door, and the next he crumpled and fell to the ground with a thud, darkness spreading over his vision as his eyes darted rapidly around the room.


Lucy stepped out of the corner she was hiding in. The telephone fell to the ground with a clang.


Mad laughter echoed around the room, and even as Hector lay dying on the floor, jerking and twitching, it raised the hair on his neck.


She laughed. Oh, how she laughed-- at her helpless husband at her feet, one who dared to tell her that she was as harmless as a kitten!


Anger rushed through her like a full moon’s tide, bitter memories and little grudges building up to the shore, all those times she had to be ‘good and kind and forgiving little Lucy.’


There was no adorable Lucy in that house that night. She felt free and liberated of human responsibility, giddy with power-- but life owed her this. How could she have lived without such a feeling for so long?


Her husband’s breathing grew shallow and finally ceased. She stopped laughing and frowned at the corpse.


‘I told you. I thed I could do ith,’ she said coldly, slipping into the six-year-old’s lisp.


Lucy felt a sense of satisfaction and pride crash down on her-- her husband was in his grave, and she hadn’t been suspected of his murder in the least.


The solicitor came and went. She was a wealthy woman, and one with a sense of power that surpassed the gods. The money was just a bonus-- she had proved herself capable enough to be a human, too, and that was enough.


She pirouetted across the room and sat down in a chair. His chair. She looked around quickly, and then raised an unlit cigar to her lips, when the telephone rang. She frowned, before she realized it was probably her mother calling from home.


She raised the telephone to her ear, and opened her mouth to speak the words that would never leave her throat.


As she drowned, wave after wave of engulfing darkness hitting her, she felt a twinge of regret and an all-consuming, raging feeling of being cheated, swindled, robbed of the life she was to have!


If only she hadn’t been riding high on her powerful mantle of emotion. If only she hadn’t forgotten to remove the sharp rose thorn, dipped in aluminium eppel hydride, from where it was lodged in the earpiece of the phone.


If only criminal minds were more dangerous than those seemingly sane people who were of the opinion that life owed them something.

Fin