Pretty Little Dead Girls (3 page)

“No, I’m not,” he said sadly, and his finger moved on the trigger.

Bryony closed her eyes.

CHAPTER SIX

Piece You Together

Bryony walked out of school with a degree and several quirky friends who despised each other greatly. But she often found herself thinking about how the smell of fireworks would forever remind her of gunfire and blood and of her dear Jeremy who, even with his skull in pieces, remained tall and darling. His death decorated her spirit with sharp, crystalline stars of sorrow, and this moved the hearts of her dear friends, who loved Bryony and vowed to come to her funeral when the time came.

“Poor girl, she is not long for this world,” they all thought. “I wonder how they will do her hair when she is dead. I hope that they fill her casket with roses/irises/daffodils. I will write her a tragically romantic love note and slip it inside. I will shake the hand of her father. I will cry bitter tears and mourn her.”

Then they all scurried back to work on their dissertations and fell asleep at their desks, dreaming sweet dreams of an exquisite corpse.

Bryony had dreams of her own. She took her degree and promptly rejoiced. “Yay, yay, and hooray!” she said, and called her father, who did a little dance right there, holding the phone in one hand and his sagging trousers in the other.

“We’re educated! We’re educated!” he yelled, and they laughed and she bubbled and he bubbled back, and both were equal parts excited and relieved. When the talk finally died down some, Stop asked Bryony about something that he had been thinking upon for quite some time.

“So,” he said calmly, like it ain’t no thing, “what are your plans now, my girl?”

Bryony thought for a minute, and then she said, “Daddy, I think that I would like to fall in love.”

Stop had often thought of this himself, and he nodded, although of course she couldn’t see him. Stop was all for his little girl falling in love, because she had a lot of love to give. Hopefully she would meet a nice young man who had love to give back, and plenty of it, and it would be a happy and desirable affair. Still, being a father, and more importantly
her
father, he felt that he must do the responsible thing, which was to ask, “And what about your fate, Bryony? What will this boy do when he comes home one day, and he calls your name, but you are nowhere to be found? Or you are to be found, but scattered all over the room? Will he drop to his knees, kiss your hands and say, ‘Oh, my darling, what have they done to you?’ Will he then walk across the hall and collect your toes, and your arms, and sob into your bosom and legs, and piece you all together so that he can hold you one last time? Have you thought of this?” He knew that she had.

Her reply was instant. “Yes, Daddy. But the man that I fall in love with will be strong enough to survive when I no longer will. He will be prepared. And he will love me all the more because he will understand what a fragile thing life is, and that every moment might be our last. And whenever we fight, he will call me up immediately and say, ‘I’m so sorry, love, because I don’t want those hateful things to be the last words that you ever hear from me. I love you, I love you, I love you.’ Don’t you think this will be the case?”

Stop knew this would be the case, because he felt that very same way about his daughter. It does teach you what real love is, knowing that it will be yanked away some day without your consent. It does make you appreciate that which will no longer be there.

“He will be a lucky man,” he said, and he knew that Bryony was smiling on her end of the phone. “I wish you both well.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said, and promptly set about to fall in love. She read a book about orcas and fog and funny little sharks spotted in the Puget Sound, so she decided on a trip that would take her to Seattle. After moving, she followed a suggestion to wander Pike Place Market in the mornings, and her very first day there she saw a young man with too-long hair strumming his guitar with his case open at his feet. His name was Eddie, and he was constantly filled with sorrow, and he was beautiful, and she immediately knew that he was the man that she always wanted. She was ready for him.

Eddie, on the other hand, was not quite so ready for her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eddie Meets Bryony

Eddie Warshouski didn’t have anything that he really loved besides his guitar. He called her Jasmine, and grudgingly shelled out the money so that he could buy the permit necessary to play her down at Seattle’s Pike Place Market. The crowd was good there; happy, wide-eyed tourists, wide-eyed locals who came for the flowers and to support each other. They stopped by the first Starbucks and ogled the mermaid. They stopped by the tables and sampled honey and candies and pointed at the jewelry and crocheted hats that were always beautiful, but seldom sold. They made a solid wall of noise behind Eddie’s brain, and he liked that. Anything to shut out the visions. Anything to shut out the voices.

Eddie put his head down and played.

His music got him through the days, and it was even more essential during the nights. He closed his eyes and picked out an intricate melody. He heard some change drop into his guitar case, and forced his lips into a congenial smile. Thanks, guys.

He peeked through his lashes at the slim girl who was enamored with the display of flowers. Yellow daffodils, mostly, and something purple and feathery that he didn’t recognize. She pulled a little coin purse from her pocket and reached deep inside. The smiling man working the flower station handed her a large bouquet, and the girl’s hair fell in front of her face as she inhaled deeply. He had noticed her almost as soon as she arrived at the market, standing and staring open-mouthed at everybody rushing around her. She was a spot of color with her bright red coat and hat, white gloves and a scarf wrapped tightly around her throat. It wasn’t that cold, so she wasn’t from around here, not used to the weather. Her hair was curling in the sea air, looking like a frightened thing, and for some reason it almost made him smile. Almost, but not quite.

Chad, one of the fish throwers at the market, lasered his gaze at her. He was notorious for such things, and it didn’t surprise any of the regulars when suddenly a fish came sailing her way.

She was unprepared, this ephemeral girl, and Eddie could tell by the way that she uselessly put up her hands that she wouldn’t know how to catch a fish even at the best of times. It hit her square in the chest, knocking her flowers everywhere, and surprise more than force knocked her back. She fell onto the ground and began to cry.

Eddie wanted to help her almost as much as he didn’t want to, but his fingers kept working on his guitar. He sent hateful vibes Chad’s way, which was pretty much the worst that he could do at this point. A woman in a sari with blue hair helped the crying girl up while others scrambled around for her flowers. She was on her feet by the time that Chad had wound his way through the crowd.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sounding truly sincere, which was part of his gift. Oh, if only Chad used it for good! “I didn’t mean to frighten you, and I especially didn’t mean to knock you down. It’s only a stuffed fish that we throw for fun sometimes, to surprise the crowd. Are you all right?”

He took her by both hands, and smiled down at her with what he assumed was a charming air. The women in the crowd leaned into it, a compass pointing to True North. Eddie turned his face away.

“I’m fine,” the girl said, and everybody sighed in relief. She was fine. The poor, tragic thing had been shaken, true, but now she had her wits about her. Several hands dusted her off and patted her hair caringly, pressing her bouquet back into her hands. This man will take care of you, the hands said. He’s a good-looking man, a nice man, a man who will sweep you off your feet and carry you to places of wondrous delight. Stick with this man, this fish-thrower named Chad. He’s the one for you!

Eddie’s snort was inaudible beneath the hum of the crowd. He didn’t look as Chad apologized and offered to make it up by taking her out to dinner. He let his eyes roam up to the white clouds in the sky. It was a clear day, a rare day. Beautiful, really, if he cared about such things. Which he didn’t.

He heard her voice, soft and sweet. “No, that really isn’t necessary, thanks. I don’t go out with people I don’t know. It’s very dangerous. Perhaps we could become friends first.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up, and this time he couldn’t help it; he smiled.

Chad’s voice was smooth. “Don’t you go out with people? To get to know them?” Eddie was certain that he was grinning charismatically. The girl would have no chance but to fall.

“No, I don’t.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever.”

Eddie played something wryly morose on his guitar. It accentuated the situation perfectly, and the man next to him laughed. Eddie went back to his earlier melody again, refusing to acknowledge that he was listening. They were all listening, and they knew it, and everybody knew that they knew it, but still they pretended otherwise. The crowd was instantly absorbed in rifling through their purses, fluffing out their hair, making sure that all packages and large bouquets of flowers were wrapped and carried properly. They were all here by happenstance, and it wasn’t anybody’s fault that they were obligated to overhear this rather embarrassing conversation taking place in plain view. The crowd pressed closer.

Chad’s smile was starting to falter, lips closing around his white teeth until they barely peeked through. This was not turning out as planned. The girl with the starry eyes obviously sensed his discomfort, because she clasped his fishy hands with her pristine gloves.

“Oh, I do hope that we can become dear, dear friends!” she said sincerely, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Chad blinked and the smile came back to his face. Eddie’s guitar made an uncharacteristic TWANG! that quickly became something quirky and full of snarky delight. Nice save, Eddie.

Chad was called back to work by his manager, who grew tired of his employee’s frolicking. Chad shot the girl a genuine grin and bounded off.

Eddie kicked the melody up a notch, and it became a fine, jaunty song. The girl’s head turned until her eyes rested on his guitar, and slowly they traveled up until they met his.

She smiled at him, and tossed a flower into Jasmine’s guitar case, but her good humor dropped away when she saw the expression he wore.

The girl automatically reached out for him, but he jerked away from her, and she recoiled.

Her eyes said that never in all of her life had anybody treated her like that. Never had anybody glared at her with all of the horror and hatred that this young man did.

A stranger from the crowd put his hand on her shoulder and a young woman impetuously threw both of her arms around the Star Girl, who looked stricken, stricken, as she watched the young guitar player sling his instrument over his back and run

run

run

run away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Significance of Words

The reason for Eddie’s abrupt and discourteous departure is this: When he met Bryony’s eyes, he was nearly knocked down by the force of her soul. A sweet soul, to be sure, but a strong soul. A courageous and carefully optimistic soul, and a soul that would be forced to endure the most gruesome and unspeakable tragedy. She would be broken, and razored, and her pink lips and her soft fingers and the insides of her elbows, and oh, oh, oh! Her fate was carefully engraved onto the irises of her eyes with jewelers’ tools, and Eddie couldn’t deny what he saw. She seemed like such a nice girl, a delicate thing that had fallen down from the stars, and the horrors that would befall her were . . . they were too much. Eddie couldn’t do it again.

Wait, what was that? Eddie couldn’t do it
again
, you wonder?

Such a difference one little word makes. Such weight and significance that word carries. If Eddie couldn’t do it, well, then, certainly it could be understood. Who wants to see a lovely young girl fall to the scythe? But if Eddie couldn’t do it
again
. . .

My, my. Certainly that does change everything, doesn’t it?

CHAPTER NINE

Disconsolation

Chad the Fish Guy almost regretted knocking the mysterious girl down and making her cry, except that he never really regretted anything. Chad did what he did and then it was done, and what a simple and unimposing world this was for him. This meant that he ate whatever he wanted to eat with no regard for his health, and yelled at whoever he wanted to yell at out on the street, which happened more times than even he would perhaps care to admit. When he found a particularly pretty girl (which happened more nights than not) he smiled his charming smile and took her out to dinner and then brought her home and then kicked her out. He never saw her again, and if her feelings were hurt and she cried into her teddy bears or whatnot, well, that didn’t really concern Chad now, did it?

“Well, perhaps it concerned him, maybe a little bit,” you say, because you are a sweet and gentle reader, and are apparently hoping for the best. And that is very gallant of you to think, but no, you’d be wrong. For Chad thought of nobody but himself. And why is this, one might wonder? Is it because he wasn’t loved enough as a child? Is it because he was born with blackness where his heart should be?

This naturally segues into the concept of killers and evil and those who prey on sweet little things.

At this your ears will prick, and you will immediately seize upon the idea that Chad is the killer, the one who will end Bryony’s life. You will shout: “No, don’t go in there!” whenever she enters into a room with him, and you will flinch whenever he hands her a flower or a particularly fine piece of fish from his stand at the market, and you will die a little inside if or when he leans down to kiss her one excellent evening under the moon, if things don’t chance to work out with Eddie.

It is very easy to jump to conclusions, is it not? Yet if one does this thing, life will constantly disappoint. One does not know the heart of Chad the Fish Guy, and what his true intentions are deep inside.

Perhaps the one who is the least in touch with Chad’s heart is the infamous Chad himself. Did he spend too much time alone as a young boy? Are his parents somehow to blame?