Chapter 2: Sunflowers and Suspicions

2

Morning.

Derek left for work, in a rush as always, barely pausing for breakfast. The scent of his aftershave clung to the hall.

The coffee maker sputtered in the background. I set out two mugs, though Derek never lingered long enough to finish his.

I fed Mr. Carter breakfast, sunlight spilling across the tiles. I smiled at him, "The weather’s so nice, Mr. Carter. I’ll take you out for some sun."

The rays hit the kitchen tiles, making them almost too bright to look at. I imagined the warmth would feel good on Mr. Carter’s skin. He turned his head, making a few indistinct sounds.

His eyes were bright, following the birds outside. I wiped the drool from his mouth with a napkin, smiling brightly. "You want to go out too? I’ll tidy up and take you out in a bit."

I patted his hand gently, hoping the routine comforted him, even a little. After finishing the housework, I sat at the vanity, changed into an orange dress, pinned up my hair, put on makeup, and then pushed Mr. Carter out the door.

There was a rhythm to it now: lipstick, keys, phone in the purse, brakes off the wheelchair. The hallways always smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. We strolled through the neighborhood, all the way to the flower shop at the entrance.

The air outside was crisp with the first hints of fall. The bell over the door jingled, and the owner grinned, her Chicago Cubs cap tilted back on her head. "Mrs. Carter, taking Mr. Carter out for some sun again? Sunflowers today too?"

Her accent carried a hint of the Midwest, warm and open. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave me a friendly wink.

"Yeah." I nodded with a smile.

I reached for my wallet, but she was already wrapping the blooms. She teased, "Mrs. Carter, you always buy sunflowers. When will you try something else?"

I laughed, rolling my eyes a little. "No need. I like the smell of sunshine." I smiled and brought the sunflowers to Mr. Carter. "He likes sunflowers too."

The owner smiled, then seemed to remember something and asked, "By the way, Mrs. Carter, your family has two condos, one upstairs and one downstairs, right? I noticed the upstairs one is always dark at night. No one lives there? My niece is going to the community college nearby, her family wants to rent a place."

She adjusted her glasses, looking curious. Her question felt nosy, but in that harmless, small-town way. "Oh. That used to be Mr. Carter’s, but it was rented out half a year ago," I replied. "The tenant paid a full year’s rent, just doesn’t come often."

She pursed her lips. "That’s a shame. Alright, I’ll ask around elsewhere."

I pushed Mr. Carter back into the neighborhood and found a spot in the garden to sit and rest for a while.

The benches were always cold at first, but the autumn sun shone on the sunflowers, warming them. Leaves crunched underfoot, and the air tasted faintly of cider from the cafe down the block.

I leaned against Mr. Carter’s wheelchair, basking in the sun, humming a song. I sat there for more than half an hour.

My humming was soft, an old tune my dad used to whistle—something about days getting shorter, memories getting longer. Tap—

Just as I was squinting, enjoying the autumn sunlight, I heard clear footsteps from a side path. The sound was somewhat familiar. I turned my head and opened my eyes.

There she was, her dark hair pulled back, badge gleaming on her belt. "Detective Owens, what brings you here?" I greeted the approaching policewoman.

"Been a while since my last check-in. Figured I’d swing by and see how you’re holding up." Detective Andrea Owens took off her hat, sat beside me, tilted her head to look at Mr. Carter, who was dozing with his eyes closed, and asked in a low voice, "How has Mr. Carter been lately?"

Her tone was gentle, but I could feel the edge of investigation underneath. I glanced at the sleeping Mr. Carter, then pointed to the gazebo not far away.

I led Andrea over and said helplessly, "About the same as before—can’t move, looks at people with slanted eyes, can’t speak clearly, but his complexion is okay."

We sat in the shade, the breeze rustling the pages of a discarded newspaper nearby. Andrea looked toward Mr. Carter and said calmly, "Such a pity. Back then, we thought if Mr. Carter recovered, he could give the police some clues. Didn’t expect three years would pass and he still hasn’t improved. Natalie, what about you? Have you remembered anything new about that incident?"

Three years ago, someone hunted women on campus and took their hearts—literally.

That case haunted this town. People still whispered about it in line at the grocery store, or when the streetlights flickered at night. I was the only survivor.

Mr. Carter had arrived just in time at the abandoned science building to save me, scaring off the murderer but injuring his own head.

His heroism saved my life, but cost him everything. I shook my head helplessly. "I already told you everything. That night, I was passing by the science building when someone covered my nose with a rag and I blacked out. The person wore a black mask. I was groggy and didn’t see any other features. I only woke up a little when my chest was cut open. Luckily, Mr. Carter showed up and scared off the killer—otherwise, I’d be dead. If only I’d stopped him from chasing after that person, he wouldn’t have been hurt."

Even now, I can’t walk past the science building at night. Every shadow looks like him.

As I spoke, tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.

Andrea handed me two tissues—the kind they give out at funerals, soft and unscented. I wiped my tears and asked, "Detective Owens, did the police find any clues?"

"No useful ones." Andrea shook her head. "Three people died before—one professor, two students. All women from the university, all had their hearts removed. Now, three years have passed, and the killer still hasn’t struck again. The old detectives think killers like this don’t just stop. If there’s been no more cases, there are only two possibilities: either the killer got what they wanted, or the killer can’t kill anymore."

Can’t kill anymore?

My stomach twisted, and I gripped the armrest so hard my knuckles went white. I knew Detective Owens was hinting that Mr. Carter, in the wheelchair, might be the killer.

Sure enough—

Andrea asked again, "Natalie, please try to remember carefully. Are you sure you saw the killer and Mr. Carter appear at the same time? After all, you were half sedated and not fully conscious."

"Detective Owens, I’m sure." I looked at her seriously. "Mr. Carter is not the killer. He was paralyzed because he saved me. Please don’t suspect him. Don’t ruin his reputation."

My words came out stronger than I expected. I remembered the way Mr. Carter looked at me, even now—full of trust, asking for nothing in return.

Andrea nodded. "Alright, pretend I never said it. But until the killer is caught, you and Mr. Carter could still be in danger, so be careful. Anyway, I believe this case won’t drag on much longer."

Won’t drag on much longer?

I was stunned, and looked at Andrea curiously. "Detective Owens, didn’t you say there were no clues?"

"No clues. But lately, the department’s getting a real case-solving expert." Andrea smiled. "I heard he’s young but has already solved lots of cold cases. Our chief said once he arrives, this case should be solved."

Case expert?

She sounded almost hopeful, for the first time in a long while. Seeing Andrea looking at me, I smiled. "That’s great."

Andrea chuckled. "Alright, that’s enough for now. I’m leaving. If anything happens, call me anytime."

Her voice softened as she stood. I nodded and reached out, but when I saw the marks on my wrist, I quickly pulled my hand back, my mood dimming.

The bruises were turning yellow at the edges, blooming like wildflowers. "What’s with your wrist?" Andrea noticed the bruise.

I hurriedly pulled my hand back, stepped away, and shook my head. "It’s nothing, just bumped it."

She wasn’t buying it. "What happened? Did someone hit you?" Andrea also noticed a mark on my neck and pressed, "Who hit you?"

If I told her the truth, what would she do? What would I do?

I could feel heat rising in my cheeks. Flustered, I shook my head. "No. I... just had a little argument with Derek. He didn’t really hit me. Detective Owens, don’t worry about it—it’s just a family matter. I’m used to it."

My voice faltered at the end. Andrea stared into my eyes.

She was quiet, her gaze searching. I could only lower my head and say, "Really, it’s nothing, Detective Owens. I’ll take Mr. Carter back now."

I turned and pushed Mr. Carter away, but Andrea followed.

Her boots crunched on the gravel behind me. I looked at her, surprised.

"Mind if I come in for a glass of water? Looks like you could use some company." Andrea smiled.

She was giving me an out, maybe. Or maybe she just wanted a closer look.

Water?

I couldn’t refuse, so I nodded.