Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
After getting the tiger lilies out, I trim the ends, put them in water. As they open, I put on gloves and carefully remove the pollen pods that pop up on the little stems out of the middle of the bloom. While I once used to let lilies leave with this pods, I learned they stain clothing and that little pod is where most of a person’s allergies to flowers come from. Now, I try to remove them before the lilies ever leave my shop or even go in an arrangement. Knowing he will come today, I go ahead and put together the usual wrapped bouquet and put it in my front cooler.
With less than five minutes until I open, I grab the last box. Strangely enough, the bottom of the box isn’t taped like the rest. Moving it, the weight is different than I expect. This should contain a case of eight bundles of Peruvian lilies which aren’t heavy at all. I do find this curious but it doesn’t stop me.
Lifting the lid from the box, imagine my horror when I find a full on decapitated head in my box.
The scream, wail, whatever noise that emits from the very depths of my soul comes out before I can form a thought. Deep, guttural I scream. I can’t even begin to describe the fear that courses through my body. The hairs on my arms and legs stand as goosebumps cover me, my palms sweat as the screams keep coming.
There is a pop sound, glass shattering, and suddenly he’s in front of me.
“Breathe, buttercup,” my customer whispers, but I can’t.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off the head in the box in front of me. Hands cup my face, gently. He moves my head to turn to the right him moving to stay in my line of sight.
“Look at me, don’t look at that,” he whispers calmly. “Gotta breathe.”
Suddenly, I gasp sucking in a deep breath.
“Good girl,” he murmurs gently.
Then I begin to hyperventilate.
“Stay with me, focus on me. You gotta inhale through your nose, buttercup,” He instructs and I listen. “Good girl, now exhale out of your mouth for me.”
A few breaths under his instruction and I feel myself coming back to reality. “Oh my God,” I manage to speak.
“Alright, stay with me, don’t look. But I gotta ask some stuff, okay?”
He is calm, soothing. I nod.
“Were you expecting a package?”
“Um,” I hiccup as tears begin to pool in my eyes. “I got it Friday with my flower order.”
How is this happening? What in the world is going on? Who is that person in my box? Why? The walls are closing in. I begin to get dizzy.
“Buttercup, gotta breathe,” he reminds. “Clear your mind. Were you expecting a package?”
But he’s too late. Before I know it, everything goes black as I fall into him. When I come to there is a flurry of activity around me. I blink and my mouth feels dry. It takes me a few moments to get my thoughts together.
“There she is,” he whispers stroking my hair. “Don’t move, buttercup.”
Absently, I observe I’m stretched out on the floor in front of my counter rather than in the back where I was with the box. The biker is sitting leaning up against my counter and has placed my head in his lap.
We aren’t alone though.
There are other men in those same vests scurrying around my shop.
Instantly, I jerk up which makes the room spin in my head again. “Gotta move slow, babe,” he instructs. “Focus on me and we will stand together.”
I do what he says because frankly I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Once upright, I feel like my legs are jelly. As if reading me, he puts his arm around my waist, steadying me and pulling me against his side.
“Vasovagal reflex,” he explains like I should know this. “Common response when the body system is in overload for fight, flight, freeze mode.”
I feel the cold sweat and the room is still unsteady. I don’t speak because I almost feel like I can’t.
“Gonna get you outta here.”
I nod because I don’t want to be here. The thing is, I don’t think I can drive. I don’t know what I should be doing. I don’t have dead people’s heads around my shop regularly. Thankfully, this man seems to have things under control. Only, I think I need to call the police. That is the right thing to do.
“My brothers are bringing a new glass to install in the door. They’re gonna clean up everything. We’re gonna put up a sign reopen tomorrow. When you come back it will be like nothing happened.”
I open my mouth but close it without speaking. Then finally I compose my thoughts enough, “I think I should call the police.”