All Fall Down. Erica Spindler

      As was the man’s habit, he had left the car’s windows partially lowered. A dangerous habit when parked so near such sweet flowers. Foolhardy. Especially if one had an allergy to bee venom. Especially if a single, unexpected sting at an inopportune time might cause the throat to close, the blood pressure to drop, the heart to eventually stop.

      Death carried a small, white bag—the kind used to bring home take-out food or bakery items. One printed with the name and logo of the restaurant behind him. From inside the bag came an angry hum. Death’s messengers demanding release. Retribution.

      “Soon,” Death murmured, unfolding the bag’s top and quickly tossing it through the car’s rear, driver-side window. It hit the edge of the seat, then tumbled to the floor. The bag opened fully and Death’s small but potent messengers came forth.

      15

      Melanie swung into the strip-mall parking lot, took the first available spot she came upon, hurriedly collected her purse and duffel bag, then climbed out of the car. The night air was slightly balmy, an indication that spring had more than arrived.