The Gardens of Digby Green: Like Nobody Else
“I’ll make some calls, and when I’ve learned more, I’ll let you know.” He ended the call.
“Come on, come on,” Frank said.
Ray shook his head. “Guys, my wife didn’t show up for her girls’ night out, and according to the friend who called, Rose isn’t answering her phone.
#
The next time the loading door rattled and opened, it was as dark outside the truck as it was inside, until a flashlight shone into her eyes.
“It’s time.” He knelt on her back again as he clipped through the ties holding her to the rack and shelves.
She was stiff from the confined posture, but Rose tried to thrash away despite her remaining bonds.
He yanked her hair. “I’m going to know you like nobody else.”
That horrible voice. She was still shuddering as he slung her over his shoulders like a bag of bark chips. He took four steps from the delivery truck and stuffed her, head-first, into the capped bed of a pickup truck.
The truck suspension rocked when he slid in beside her. The man held the flashlight in his mouth as he wrapped chains around her wrists and ankles. Gravel lodged under her shoulder.
The man hummed an Elvis Presley song as he reached into a corner for some tubing. He buried his fingers in her hair and hauled Rose’s head back. With the other hand he forced the tubing up her nostril and down, down into her throat. Why had he taped a funnel to the other end? He slid off the tailgate, and she heard him close the delivery truck’s loading door.
“It won’t be much longer now, hateful florist lady,” he said before he slammed the pickup’s tailgate.
#
Ray sank onto his chair, phone in hand. Where could Rose be?
“Turn in your cards, everybody. Let’s get this mess packed up.” The police chief twitched Ray’s cards from beneath his forearm, shuffled the deck together, and boxed it. Ray sat, unmoving.
The Gardens of Digby Green is a short story in multiple parts which will post on Fridays until the story is complete. Next week, part eight, This Mailbox.
Ruth DeMaat
Heidi Kortman