The Murder Of Willowstream

Ch.12. A Hint of Roots

 "Rhys, holy shit!" Lily proclaimed, her voice cutting through the idle chatter of passers by as she made her way through the travelling bodies. Initially upon spotting him, she held a victorious swell in her chest, but as she drew closer to get a better look; her heart immediately sunk into painful palpations, each beat striking at her ribcage with a fervour that caused her to rub dutifully at her chest.

Rhys was leaning at the corner of a flower shop. It's arranged plants standing on display in front of the large glass window. They would be closing soon, and even though the shop keeper was in and out of the small door, her exit and entrance signalled by the chiming of a small bell as she picked up the foliage to bring them inside, she didn't seem to notice Rhys at all. Which struck Lily as a curious thing as Rhys looked anything but like he should be there. He was pale, and shivering. Sweat called the unruly locks of his hair to cling to his forehead, and he overall held a sickly disposition as the smooth, red-brick, wall did most of the work in helping him stand.

Lily couldn't help but note how he winced as if his entire body was on fire when she had finally made it to him, and placed a hand on his elbow. He did not look good.

His head was swimming, aching from the back and crawling to the front like scurrying fingers on a chalk board. It made him dizzy and nauseous in a way that seemed he could only fight off by focusing on the flowers he stood beside.

"Lily, hey." He chuckled in a slightly delirious manner as he carded the petals of a begonia through the tips of his fingers. Brushing along the gentle pinks seemed to have an effect akin to what Lily thought could be a snake charmer hypnotising serpents. The flowers seemed to turn to meet his touch, like cats preening for attention. Albeit a bit slower.

Lily suddenly regretted not bringing Bertie with her. She had decided that given that the police were on much higher alert than normal: a young woman transporting a wounded young man without a license, while probably low on their list of things to worry about; was still something she didn't want to chance.

But seeing Rhys gently grope at the flowers, she began to doubt her capabilities at escorting a failing body to a place of safety.

"Can you stop touching up the flowers please?" Lily groaned from the side of her mouth, as she continued to offer awkward smiles at the people who looked confusingly at the incredibly sweaty young man as they walked by.

"They hurt without roots, ya know. Not just the pain. The loneliness cuts far deeper than any set of clippers."

"You're doing great sweetie, but you need to leave the flowers alone."

Lily carefully took Rhys by the hand with her own, causing him to wince at the sudden turning of his arm. He hissed through his teeth at the pain, but thankfully to Lily: it seemed to bring some form of focus as he bolstered himself and took stronger steps. Lily lead him down the nearest alleyway, immediately being met by the stale scent of old food and stagnant water. But as far as alley's go, she had expected worse.

Rhys leaned his shoulders against the cool stone of the wall, a gentle sigh escaping from his chest as he relished the touch against his feverish body. Lily lifted the apron from Rhys' shoulder, noting how his fingers twitched as if lacking the strength to catch it as she let it fall to the ground, where it landed with a small squelch into a puddle.

The entire upper right half of his shirt had been clouded with a red that seemed bright even in the low light of the alleyway. The wound still glistened in it's sticky bloodiness as it peeked beneath the ragged slit of his shirt.

A deep seated worry flashed across her features as she scrunched her expression and pursed her lips. It was followed by a moment of impossibility as her lip trembled ever so slightly at the sheer force of how hurriedly her heart sunk when looking upon Rhys' face once again. The face that so often held the gentle and welcoming smile of a man, was sickly and distracted. His eyes rolled lazy beneath eyelids that continued in their fight to remain open.