The orchids were dying.

They died in clusters. First the leaves curled. Then the stems snapped. Not broken by wind. Broken by intent. I saw it happen. Or I thought I did. The light was thick in the greenhouse. It pressed against my skin.

"You're doing it again," said Elias.

He stood by the door. His coat was wet. Rain dripped from the hem. I did not look at him. I looked at the flowers. One stem lay on the gravel. The petals were white. They were already turning grey.

"I am trying to save them," I said.

"Saving them how?"

"With my hands."

Elias stepped inside. He closed the door behind him. The latch clicked. The sound was loud. It echoed in the damp air. He walked toward me. His shoes crunched on the stones. I watched his feet. I always watched his feet. They were the only steady things.

"Sarah," he said.

"Let me work."

"No."

He took my hands. He peeled my fingers away from the soil. My nails were black with dirt. I did not wash them. I never washed them. The dirt was part of the process. It was the medium.

"You are destroying them," he said.

"Look."

He looked. He looked at the broken stem. He looked at the other stems. They were all broken. A dozen orchids. All broken at the base.

"I saw you," I said.

"Saw me what?"

"Breaking them."

Elias frowned. He tilted his head. The rain stopped. The silence was sudden. It was heavy.

"I have been here for five minutes," he said.

"I know."

"Then I did not break them."

"I saw you."

"Sarah. You are shaking."

I was not shaking. I was vibrating. It was the frequency of the soil. The earth was humming. I could feel it in my teeth. I could feel it in my bones. The orchids were listening. They always listened.

"They are afraid," I said.

"Flowers are not afraid."

"They are."

Elias sighed. It was a long sigh. It smelled of cold air and old wool. He reached into his pocket. He took out a handkerchief. He wiped my hands. The dirt rubbed off. It left brown streaks on the white cloth. He looked at the cloth. He looked at me.

"Come inside," he said.

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"The garden."

"What about it?"

"It is not finished."

"Sarah, you have been in there for hours."

"Time is not linear."

"It is here."

"It is not."

He grabbed my arm. His grip was firm. It was not angry. It was desperate. I saw it in his eyes. He was afraid of me. I was not afraid. I was clear.

"Come inside," he said again.

I pulled away. I turned back to the plants. The soil was warm. It was alive. I dug my fingers in. I felt the roots. They were tangled. They were tight. They were holding on.

"I am trying to untangle them," I said.

"Stop."

I did not stop.

He moved closer. He stood between me and the door. He blocked my path. I looked up at him. He was tall. He was always tall. He loomed over me. But I did not feel small. I felt vast.

"Let me go," I said.

"Sarah, please."

"I have to fix it."

"Fix what?"

"The garden."

"The garden is fine."

"It is not."

"It is dead."

"It is sleeping."

He stepped back. He raised his hands. He was surrendering. Or he was preparing to strike. I did not know which. In this house, the two were the same.

I turned back to the orchids. I found the main root. It was thick. It was black. I pulled. It resisted. It pulled back. I pulled harder. My arms burned. My back ached. I did not care. I had to free it. I had to free them all.

"Sarah!"

He shouted. I heard the shock in his voice. I heard the fear. I smiled. It was a small smile. It was a quiet smile.

I pulled again.

The root snapped.

It did not make a sound. There was no crack. No snap. Just a release. A sudden, violent release. The flower lifted. It rose from the soil. It hung in the air. The petals opened. They were not white anymore. They were red. Deep, dark red. Like blood. Like rust.

Elias screamed.

It was a high sound. It was thin. It was the sound of something breaking. Not the flower. Him.

I held the flower. It was warm. It pulsed in my hand. I could feel its heartbeat. It matched mine. It was stronger than mine. It was the truth.

"Look," I said.

He did not look. He backed away. He hit the wall. He slid down. He sat on the floor. He covered his face with his hands.

"It is beautiful," I said.

"It is a hallucination," he said.

"It is real."

"You are not well, Sarah."

"I am the most well I have ever been."

I looked at the other flowers. They were moving. The leaves were unfurling. The stems were straightening. They were reaching for the glass roof. They were reaching for the light. They were hungry.

I reached for another stem.

"Stop!" Elias cried.

I did not stop. I took the next flower. I pulled. It resisted. I pulled harder. It snapped. It rose. It turned red.

I took another.

And another.

I filled my hands with red flowers. I held them up. I waved them. They danced in the air. They did not fall. They floated. They surrounded me. They formed a wall. A barrier.

Elias crawled to the door. He fumbled with the latch. His hands were shaking. I could see them trembling.

"Sarah, please," he whispered.

I walked toward him. I did not run. I walked. I was calm. I was centered. The flowers followed me. They trailed behind me like a train of smoke. They did not touch the ground. They floated inches above the gravel.

He opened the door. The cold air rushed in. It smelled of rain. It smelled of the world outside. The world without the garden.

He fell backward out the door. He landed in the mud. He did not get up. He lay there. He looked up at me. His eyes were wide. His mouth was open. No sound came out.

I stood in the doorway. I looked at him. I looked at the rain. It was falling hard. It was washing the garden. It was washing the red petals from the air. They dissolved. They vanished.

The flowers in my hands turned white again. They withered. They crumbled. They turned to dust. The dust fell from my fingers. It drifted down. It landed on the gravel.

I was alone in the greenhouse.

The glass was fogged. The air was still. The soil was dark. I looked down at my hands. They were clean. There was no dirt. There was no blood. There was no red.

I looked at the orchids. They were broken. All of them. Every stem was snapped. Every leaf was curled. They were dead. They had been dead for a long time.

I looked at the door. It was closed. The latch was locked.

I had locked it.

I did not remember locking it.

I walked to the center of the room. I sat on the bench. The wood was cold. I put my head in my hands. I waited.

The rain tapped on the glass. It was a steady rhythm. It was a patient rhythm. It was the sound of time.

I closed my eyes.

I saw the red flowers.

I saw them blooming.

I saw Elias watching.

I saw him screaming.

I opened my eyes.

The room was empty.

The flowers were dead.

I stood up. I walked to the door. I turned the handle. It would not turn. I pushed. It did not move. I pulled. It did not move.

I pushed harder.

My shoulder hit the wood.

I pushed again.

The door opened.

It opened outward.

The rain was on my face. It was cold. It was clean.

I stepped out.

I walked down the path. I walked past the broken garden. I walked past the broken stems. I walked toward the house.

The house was dark.

I walked to the front door.

It was open.

I walked in.

The living room was empty.

The chairs were empty.

The table was empty.

I walked to the kitchen.

The sink was full of water.

The water was red.

I turned off the tap.

The water stopped.

It turned clear.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

I looked in the mirror.

I saw my face.

It was my face.

It was not Elias.

I had not been in the greenhouse.

I had not broken the flowers.

I had not locked the door.

I had been here.

I had been here for days.

I had been waiting.

I had been waiting for him to come back.

He would not come back.

He was gone.

He was gone for good.

I looked at the mirror again.

I saw the red flowers in my hair.

They were not there.

They were in my mind.

They were always in my mind.

I smiled.

I took the knife from the drawer.

I held it in my hand.

It was sharp.

It was cold.

I looked at the mirror.

I raised the knife.

I did not strike.

I lowered it.

I put it back in the drawer.

I closed the drawer.

I walked to the window.

I looked out.

The garden was empty.

The rain had stopped.

The sky was grey.

It was clear.

I breathed in.

I breathed out.

I was alive.

I was here.

I was alone.

I was free.

The doorbell rang.

It was loud.

It was sharp.

It broke the silence.

I did not move.

I watched the rain.

I watched the garden.

I watched the empty space where the flowers had been.

The bell rang again.

I did not move.

The bell rang again.

I did not move.

The bell stopped.

I was still.

I was quiet.

I was alone.

The garden was silent.

The rain was gone.

The sky was clear.

I was free.