The Roses

Usually

He watched the target through his scope. The target had just got home from work. The target closed the door without even thinking about it; the action was so routine. They threw the jacket that they wore to work over an armchair that had been there so long the target didn't even consider it. The target gave the same sigh they always did after work. Like always, they walked into the kitchen. When the target entered they followed their routine and wa-

... they froze

...why?

Because something was different.

On the kitchen island, that had always been there, in the vase, that had always been there, was a single red rose, that had never been there.

He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

Usually, the target would be walking to the fridge to make a snack.

Usually, the target would be standing.

Usually, the target would be breathing.

Usually, the target's heart would be beating.

Usually, there wouldn't be a hole through the target's head.

But, this wasn't usually.

He packed up his things and headed down the stairs with his case slung across his back. When he exited the building, he saw a car parked in front with the engine running. He tossed his case in the trunk and slid into the passenger seat.

For the target, this day was very different.

But for him, this was usually.

***

"Forty-six year old Mark White was shot and killed in his own apartment yesterday evening. The police say that the shooter shot him from the building across the street. The only thing the police found at the crime scene was a single red rose. The red rose could mean that this was the work of the Roses, an infamous gang known for leaving the flower at the scene of each of their murders, but the police say that at this point they can neither confirm or deny this suspicion. If this is-" The TV clicked off.

"You shouldn't be watching something so gloomy." The employee turned around to see that the manager had turned the TV off. "You'll scare the customers."

"So, the delivery was successful, Ms Sammy." The manager insisted that her employees call her Ms Sammy.

"Of course, Vicki," she smiled. "He is always successful."

A chill went down Vicki's back as she watched Ms Sammy walk away. Sometimes, it scared her how the manager could talk so warmly about something so cold. Vicki turned back to the counter and waited for the costumers to come through the door. The flower shop that she worked at was called "the Bouquet." It was owned and managed by Ms Sammy and her boyfriend. The picture of romance a couple running their own flower shop, so no one ever suspected it.

Vicki smoothed out her apron before she looked up. She jumped because a man was standing in front of her. She hadn't even hear the door chime to announce the arrival of a costumer. He always seemed to just appear.

"Good morning, Vicki." He greeted her.

"The usual, Mr Ray?" He nodded and placed the money on the counter as Vicki retrieved a bouquet of pink roses.

Despite the fact that he owned the shop he bought the same bouquet every day to give to his girlfriend, and everyday Ms Sammy loved it. To Vicki, the gesture of genuine love only further proved her point of why you should be scared of them because of how the love between them made their illegal actions seem even more cruel. Vicki couldn't complain too much since she was also apart of this two faced business that happened in the back room.