I wait until Will drives away before I try the door handle.

It's unlocked.

Again.

I've told Cassie a million times to lock it. She should know better, especially since she was at the grocery store with me last week when the ladies in line in front of us were talking about some break-ins. I locked it this morning so either Cassie is home now, or she came home for lunch and left it this way.

"Hey... I'm home," I call out as I close and lock the door behind me. The hall is dark, and the house is silent. The heavy perfumed scent of the roses drifts my way even as I remove my shoes and drop them on the mat. I sniff, breathing in as I strain to hear something, anything that will tell me I'm not alone.

"Cassie?" I try again.

I make my way to the kitchen, understanding what this means. Sure enough, the red light flashes on the answering machine.

The roses are still in the box they came in, only the lids off. I finger the velvety burgundy petals as I lean against the kitchen table to listen to what Cassie has to say.

"Hey, Leila," Cassie's stressed voice comes from the machine. "Sue called in sick, so I had to work a double shift. I'll be home by ten. I'm not sure where I've left my phone, but if you need me, just call the nurse's station and they'll find me. There's lasagna in the fridge. I'll see you when I get home."

I pull three roses out of the box and sit with them in my lap, stroking the petals as I stare out the back window at our dying garden outside, with its broken lifeless twigs. I want to call Cassie and ask her about the message in the box. Did she see it? Does she know what it means?

The kitchen phone trills behind me, breaking the stillness. I twist around, surprised since it's something Dad had installed for us that never rings and we never use. It rings again, loud and shrill, as I stretch across to the counter and raise the black receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

I wait for someone to speak, but on the other side, I'm met with a silence broken only by the slight static on the line. "Hello?" I repeat, as 'Private Caller' rolls across the display panel.

Click.

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it as a sense of unease winds its way through me. I place it back on the base only to jump when it immediately rings under my hand. "Hello?" I try again.

The caller is quiet, but I can hear their faint breathing coming from the other side.

I go still and wait for them to speak. The clock above the door ticks, its second hand slowly crawling across the numbers as I wait.

Tick, tick, tick, tick... 

When the line remains hushed, I whisper, "Who is this?"

On the other side, the receiver clicks as it slowly meets the base.

The low evening sun snakes shadows across the kitchen table and the deep burgundy roses I hold in my lap take on a black, ominous hue. I lay them in the long white rectangular box, suddenly too much like a small child's casket, and cover it with the lid, a shiver running along my spine.

Upstairs In my bedroom, I lock the deadbolt I had Dad install before I moved in and throw myself down on my bed. A hiss issues from the vent near the window as the furnace clacks on breaking the silence in the room. I breathe out as I wrap my arms around myself. I wish Cassie was home. She would reassure me it was nothing, just a wrong number. 

Click. The soft lowering of the phone replays in my head and I dart a look at the door to confirm it's locked.

I pull out my laptop from the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Instead of working on the projects Dad sent my way, I fold my legs and sit back against my pillows. On the open browser, I search for 'black roses.'

Pages of photographed roses appear, and I scroll until I find them. Black Magic Roses—the mirror image of the ones lying in my kitchen.

I click the link and my gaze scans the page until I spot the words 'a symbol of death.' My body goes still as I absorb their meaning until I snap my laptop closed, no longer wanting to find out more.

Inside, my heart thumps against my chest as I wonder once more who sent them to us. 

And why?

[Author's Note:

As I reread this I feel an almost claustrophobic tension building up. Does that come across? 

Is there enough information to keep the reader engaged?  

Do you get a sense of Leila's personality?

New chapter coming next Friday morning.]