Marigolds for the Dead

It was a better spot than the bastard deserved, Glenn thought, as he waited for his brother-in-law to return. The thumping and hyperventilating from the boot of his car quieted.

Glenn lit a cigarette, looking around at the deserted little patch of paradise. Bushes rose up all around the dead-end road he’d followed here. No one from the city ever came out this way.

He plucked a marigold from one of the bushes. A muffled scream came from the boot, and he sighed, crushing the flower in his fist. Orange dyed his palm.

Opening the boot, he sneered at the man he’d dedicated the last year to tracking down. He’d expected a tough man, a strong man – not this whimpering wreck. It’d been drugs that’d ravaged him, not remorse, Glenn was sure.

“Dealers shouldn’t sample their own product,” he told the man. “For you, that’s the least of your mistakes.”

The man in the boot wriggled around, bulbous eyes fixed on Glenn. The tape over his mouth bubbled and contracted with his panting.

Glenn turned away, disgusted, wiping the remains of the marigold on his trousers. He tossed his cigarette. Where the hell was Tucker?

The man in his boot – Alan Lancer, a name still stinging in his memories – gave another stifled cry. Maybe withdrawal was setting in. When Glenn and Tucker had found the guy, he’d been slumped against the wall of some grimy nightclub, eyes hollow, limbs leaden. It hadn’t been hard to steer him towards Glenn’s car. He hadn’t even fought as they’d gagged him and taped his ankles and wrists together.

But could Glenn go through with this? He’d built this from his own vengeful visions, but the reality made him claustrophobic. He had to go through with it, whether or not Tucker came back.

His gaze returned to the marigolds. There’d been marigolds on her coffin.

The purr of an approaching engine jerked Glenn to awareness, and he hastily slammed his boot shut. He pulled his jacket down, trying to appear innocent. But then, what the hell would anyone be doing out here in the middle of the night?

Headlights swung around the corner, and relief cooled Glenn’s tension, only for a moment, as he recognised Tucker’s ugly yellow sedan. The car skidded to a stop beside him.

Glenn stormed to the driver’s window as Tucker unfolded, looking shaky. He grabbed his brother-in-law by the sleeves.

“What took you so long?” he demanded. “Were you followed?”

The passenger door swung open. Glenn reached into his jacket, blood buzzing with adrenaline.

“Oh no…”

“Tucker told me what you’re doing, Glenn,” said Laura, facing him across the car.

Glenn’s whole body went cold. All this time, he’d told her he was throwing himself into his work. He’d moved on past those silly ideas of justice, honest. Now, it was like she was seeing the real him, through the glossy shell he’d put on.

“What… What was I supposed to do, Laura?”

“All this time you said you were working…”

“Laura!”

There were tears in her eyes as she looked around. “Marigolds,” she murmured. “There were marigolds on her coffin.”

Tucker shrunk away from them like a dog from abusive owners. Glenn turned to him, a snarl on his lips. This idiot had ruined everything!

“I’m sorry, Glenn. I just… I don’t want to see you engulfed by this thing.”

Glenn scoffed. As if Tucker hadn’t stood by, aiding him along the way. No, Tucker had let him be engulfed.

“You can’t change things now, Laura,” said Glenn. “Just go home.”

“Let this man walk away, Glenn,” said Laura. God, how could she be so stubbornly wrong!

“Laura, he k…” Glenn trailed off, throat constricted by grief.

“He killed our girl, Glenn,” said Laura, her own voice choked. “He took our Celeste from us, but what will killing him do? Will it make you feel happier? She’s still not here.”

Glenn let out a ragged sigh. “Go home, Laura.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Shaking his head, Glenn barged past her towards his car. Alan began to writhe and shriek as he loomed over him. But the man’s helplessness didn’t fill him with any sense of triumph. He felt as hollow as he had the day he’d found Celeste lying in her room, a needle jutting from her arm. It hadn’t been an easy death either.

He remembered kicking a spoon aside as he’d opened the door. The stench had struck him like a wave. He’d trampled an old teddy bear as he’d run to her side. Something else had broken under his foot. He’d grabbed her, shaken her, tears stinging in his eyes. A belt had slithered down from her bed. He’d felt for a pulse, eyes tracing the bruises and needle-holes on her arm… the needle.

What had happened in the hours after, he could only vaguely recall. Police and paramedics tramping through the house. Laura wailing and collapsing at the sight of Celeste’s body. And Glenn had just sat there, hollow.

Alan stared up at him with wide eyes. Shaking, Glenn pulled the pistol from his waistband. He’d never used one before, but he told himself he would.

He stood like that for a long time, gun trembling at the end of his arm. Alan’s gagged pleas fell silent.

The man was mostly gone, Glenn realised. Whatever venom Celeste had died from, Alan was being rotted by it, slowly and painfully. Did he remember Celeste at all? Unlikely. The man had probably caused a hundred deaths like hers.

And yet, Glenn couldn’t pull the trigger.

He looked at his palm, coated with the orange of marigolds. If he didn’t do this, there would be other families who’d have to see their children buried. No, he decided, Alan’s slow death wasn’t good enough.

“Glenn…” said Laura.

The gunshot cut her off.

Glenn dropped his pistol, sobbing. His eardrums pounded with the shot’s echo, making everything else dull and faraway. Laura and Tucker were shouting at him.

Gently, Laura took him by the arms, but he crumpled to his knees. She hefted him up, and he stood shakily, looking to the boot of his car.

Alan Lancer blinked. A bullet hole was singed into the fabric inches from his nose.

“Get him out of here,” muttered Glenn. “Just let him go.”

Tucker moved to do as he asked. Glenn let Laura guide him to Tucker’s car, where he collapsed into the passenger seat.

“That took bravery, Glenn,” she said.

“Celeste…”

“Celeste wouldn’t want you to be like this, Glenn. Go home. Sleep. Focus on the good things, the simple things.”

Tucker wrestled the struggling Alan out of the boot. Severing his bindings, Tucker pushed the quaking addict toward the road. Alan didn’t even look back, sprinting away as fast as he could.

After so long tracking the man down, Glenn was surprised how little he cared to see Alan Lancer disappear. But Laura was right, much as he stubbornly resisted. He needed something else to distract him from the hollowness he’d filled with ideas of vengeance.

“I want to plant some marigolds,” murmured Glenn.

It would be a start.