White Iris

Only one of us will make it out alive, and it's not you...

Mary Rose slowly became aware of the heavy silence pressing in on her as she sat rigid in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, watching the rural road flying under.

She kept her head high, glancing sideways at the man driving, sizing up her captor's sharp, impassive profile. The name Damien, presumably his own, was tattooed under his jaw in Sharpie.

"You scared?" His black eyes flicked briefly in her direction, before returning to the road ahead.

She did not answer, nor turn her head his way.

"Cause you should be. You're awful calm."

Mary could think of nothing to say to that. What good would it do to plead or cry? Instead she asked a question.

"Where are we going?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out. I take it you grew up in these hills."

Mary directed her gaze out the window at the wild Tennessee countryside. It was true: the local roads were deeply familiar. Yet this one was different: narrower, steeper, lonelier. Days of rain had filled the rocky ditches with water, catching the noonday sun in fleeting, blinding flashes.

An abandoned nursery, all barbed wire and weeds, sent her thoughts back to her garden, where her loyal terrier, Barkley, awaited. Long hours of devoted toil created a paradise through which she mentally wandered now, lingering by the birdbath ringed with stately white irises. Their vigor and pure beauty made them her favorite flower.

Her reverie dimmed into harsh reality as Damien swung sharp left, clattering rhythmically over a bridge. Mary watched the churning mountain river below, mirroring the turmoil within. She gathered her willpower in a deep breath.

"Why?" A single word, raw, angry.

"Revenge."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing at all. Your father thought he could blackmail us. Should've known better."

"What will happen?"

"You'll die."

"Anything… else?"

"Like what? I'm not throwing you a party."

"You know what I mean."

He let out a short laugh.

"Let's just say, if I wanted your body, there wouldn't be much stopping me."

Mary opened her mouth and found she couldn't get a word past her constricted throat. Instead she leaned over and grabbed the steering wheel, pulling it to the side. The car pitched heavily into the shoulder.

Damien hit the brakes, spinning the tires in the mud. He shoved a hand squarely into her chest, knocking her back against the hard plastic door frame. She sagged into her seat with a gasp.

"You took that seriously?" He glowered, returning the car to the road.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It was a rhetorical statement. Listen, I don't violate you, and you don't crash the car. Capiche?"

"How do I know you won't?"

"Take my word: I have one job. I'm not doing anything else to you."

She turned towards the window again, fighting to regain equilibrium. Her skin prickled with sweaty chills as she weighed her options. The idea of sending herself slamming into a tree or off a bridge to an untimely end in the wilderness was only slightly more appealing than accepting the word of a murderer.

The car swung once more onto a rough, pitted gravel driveway choked with weeds, just wide enough to crawl between the trees. Damien pulled up to where the driveway narrowed to a footpath. He let the car idle, cold AC blasting against the relentless onslaught of sun.

An abandoned house sprawled ahead, boarded up and falling down, with Virginia creeper climbing over it and grasses sprouting in the gutters. The front yard might have once been a garden, but now was in sickly disarray, scarcely recognizable amid grossly luxuriant weeds, the same ones Mary quelled in her own yard.

Along the driveway, mere feet from the car, an iris patch stood its ground against the weeds, blooming with the same pure white ruffles as those in her yard.

Damien leaned over and reached into a pocket in the driver door. He pulled out two things: a gun, and a dog collar which he flicked into her lap.

"Know what that means?"

A bitter surge of nausea flooded her mouth. The collar would have fit her own Barkley. His indomitable terrier spirit made her twist it in her hands and throw it back in Damien's face.

"You gave me your word!"

"That prevented you from flipping us into a ditch. You really believed I wouldn't?"

He turned the gun over in his hands, laughing, as if daring her to try to take it from him. She lunged sideways across the seats, grabbing his wrist.

Her position was one of stubborn weakness. Within seconds he tore off her grip. She came right back for it like a moth to a flame.

Damien broke her hold again. This time he cracked the gun handle across her forehead.

An explosion of searing light went off in her brain. She fell limp against the passenger door with a choked cry, throwing her arms over her face.

She must have blacked out for a few seconds, time for him to exit and open her door. She almost fell backwards to the ground, grasping for a handhold on the car's frame. A sickening wave of dizziness swept through as she twisted around and pulled herself upright. Her forehead throbbed in time with her pounding heart, blurring her vision.

Raising her head at last, she met eyes filled with the gleeful viciousness of a monster beginning to taste blood. He pinned her against the side of the car, leaning in.

Raw, primal terror heaved in her lungs. A ragged scream tore out of her throat, shattering the stillness. Damien grimaced. He yanked her away by the arm, twisting it back. He flung her down like a rag doll, squarely into the patch of white irises.

It knocked the wind out of her. Mary hauled herself to her knees, struggling to breathe, every flailing movement crushing the life of the flowers she loved. They released their sweet sugar cookie scent, sending disjointed memories flashing through her fogging mind.

Damien knelt down over her, holding the gun. She tried to roll away. He gripped her shoulder, digging in and shaking her.

"You can't escape," he jeered. "Best get the fight out of your system."

Mary's head sagged, mind clawing to maintain awareness as her heart skipped beats. Her hands, scrabbling in the dirt, found a clump of the irises she'd landed in. Instinctively she wrapped her fingers around the base of the sturdy, boat-shaped rhizomes and yanked with a last-ditch surge of energy.

The shallow roots gave way, heavy blobs of clay mud clinging to them after the rain. She hoisted the clump of mangled flowers and swung it full into his snide, unsuspecting face. A burst of dirt, pebbles, roly-polies and worms crumbled down on him. He fell back, releasing her and dropping the gun to throw his arms over his face.

Mary reached out, snatching the gun off the ground. She dragged herself up, leaning against the car, clutching the weapon to her heaving chest with both hands.

Damien leaped to his feet, swearing, spitting, smearing the filth out of his eyes and mouth. She planted her feet and leveled the gun in his face, arms trembling.

"Get away! Hands up—I'll shoot!"

"You dirty little—!" He lurched towards her, hands ready to grab her by the neck. "You couldn't shoot straight if you—"

Mary squeezed her eyes shut. She pulled the trigger. The shot and recoil reverberated to her core. A heavy thud, then silence, ears ringing…

When she opened her eyes, Damien lay in front of her on the ground, a bullet point-blank through his shattered face. The gun slipped from her fingers. She stood paralyzed by the bloody sight, unable to tear herself away from what she'd done.

A robin called out from somewhere overhead, the sound's incongruous beauty breaking the spell of death. Mary raised her eyes. One untouched white iris flower remained where the rest of the plant had been trampled under.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, melting tension leaving her limp and aching. She ran a finger over the swollen, sticky welt on her forehead, then drew an arm across her eyes to block everything out.

Mary Rose knew the remnants of iris, left at peace, would eventually regrow. She only hoped the same could be said of herself.

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