Chapter 14: A Rose and a Reminder

 

It started on a Monday morning, quiet and cold. Lulu opened her front door like she did every day, expecting nothing strange. But there, lying neatly on the welcome mat, was a black rose. At first, she laughed nervously, thinking maybe a secret admirer had sent it. But then she saw the small tag tied to the stem with a thin red string. She picked it up slowly. Her eyes scanned the date written on it  the date of the accident. Her smile disappeared. Her hands started shaking. She stared at the rose like it might explode. The same day. The same terrible day. The day they hit the homeless man. The day they ran away. She dropped the rose as if it burned her and took a step back. Her chest was tight. Her thoughts were spinning. This wasn’t random. This was a message. Someone was reminding her. Someone knew.

Later that same day, Zinhle went to the gym, hoping to clear her mind. She opened her locker and froze. Sitting inside, untouched, was another black rose. Same shape. Same color. Same red string. Same tag. Same date. Her stomach dropped. She grabbed the locker door and looked around the room, trying to stay calm. No one was looking at her. But she felt like eyes were everywhere. Watching. Waiting. At work, Kea was called to reception. “Someone left this for you,” the lady said, handing her a small box. She looked outside and saw a man in a hoodie walking away. No words, no note, just the box. Her fingers shaked as she opened it. Inside, the rose lay gently on a white cloth, with the tag tied to it. That date. That nightmare. It was haunting her again. Her head spun. She sat down before her legs gave out.

Bonolo unlocked her car, ready to drive to a meeting. But when she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat. The rose was right there on the front seat. Her car had been locked all night. No windows broken. No signs of a break-in. Just the rose, sitting like it belonged there. Like someone had every right to put it there. Her fingers hovered over it. She didn’t touch it. She didn’t even sit down. She stood outside the car, heart racing, eyes darting around the street. Amogelang found hers at home. Delivered in the mail. A plain white envelope with no name, no return address. Inside was a small box. Inside the box the same black rose. She stared at it for a long time. Her hands were cold. Her chest heavy. It was beautiful, perfect, but full of silent threat. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t cry. She could only feel the fear crawling into her bones. None of the girls said anything at first. They kept the fear to themselves. But deep down, they knew. They all knew. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was a warning. Someone was watching them. Someone hadn’t forgotten. And the black rose wasn’t just a flower. It was a reminder. A whisper from the past.