April

“She, didn’t like he idea.” Mr.Anderson sat leaned back in the seat across from Dr.Grohm. His hands were loosely clasped together and his brows were furrowed in thought.

“Of course she didn’t.” Dr.Grohm replied as though this were to be completely expected, and it was. No average person would willingly accept that they were to stay with the person who murdered their parent, one of the very reasons they existed. “But with time, she might become comfortable with the thought.” 

Mr.Anderson’s eyes shifted to peer into Dr.Grohm’s for a moment before he focused his attention to the desk, wooden and beautifully carved. “I don’t think she’ll warm up to me.” He paused, shifting his weight he rest his elbow on the arm of his seat and his hand covered his mouth as he thought into it more. She was in her every right to reject and fight it, but in reality she could still be a target. Mothers or fathers seeking revenge in some way, brothers and sisters wanting sick closure.

“She will with time. Keep seeing her, keep visiting when you can.” Dr.Grohm’s gaze was warm and weighed on Mr.Anderson like rocks on his shoulders. “Speak to her like an adult, that is what she would want right now. It must be suffocating being treated as though she is a fragile creature rather than a person.” He fiddled with the notes on his desk, the reminder that he had stacks of information on Mr.Anderson at his disposal.

Mr.Anderson didn’t respond, he just stared at his hands, at the thin skin on his knuckles and the small and faint lines that patterned them. Dr.Grohm watched him with a sort of careful curiosity in their silence before breaking it. “How has your recovery been treating you? I understand you’re back in your home.” 

Perhaps it was the undivided attention that Dr.Grohm gave Mr.Anderson, but his words failed to come out when he opened his mouth. As if they were caught somewhere in his throat, if there was any words to begin with. “It’s, been slow.” 

“But not too hard on you?” It sounded for a moment, as if he was genuine. As if it were someone asking how their friend was doing, as if it wasn’t a doctor sitting before him.

Mr.Anderson swallowed, periodically making eye contact with Dr.Grohm. “If you’re asking about the hallucinations, they’re mild.” His words came out quick and guarded. 

Dr.Grohm leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk, and his hands folded and resting on his chin. “What have you been seeing?” He was aware of Mr.Anderson’s home routine, and how severe these hallucinations could be at times. He was aware that he could be fully conscious, and then blink and the whole day had gone by. “If you’re alright with speaking about it.” 

“It’s, nothing much. Just the smells, mostly.” The smells, Dr.Grohm tilted his head and furrowed his brows ever so slightly.

“And what smells have there been?” Mr.Anderson shifted in his seat, his back rubbing against the cushioned seat. 

“Bad meat.” Mr.Anderson paused, swallowing down the uncomfort that had begun to rise in the back of his throat. “Human, meat.” The way he phrased it, Human meat, it tugged at the corners of Dr.Grohm’s mouth. 

Human Meat, it was as if he caught a glimpse deeper inside the skin. As if he peeled him back for a moment and peered into something cold and dark. Dr.Grohm thought about that wording as he put his coat on one of the hooks in his home’s walkway, and he thought about it as he made his way into his garden, and into his greenhouse. He thought about it as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves and stared at his work in progress piece. 

He snipped at his Periwinkles, choosing each one carefully. Which ones were the bluest? Which ones would last the longest after being picked? He stood up straight and turned his attention to the piece, up on a metal table, propped up by a home-made rig. The rigor mortis had begun to set in, and it would soon be time to place her in this state. Crouched and knelt, Venus, looking over her shoulder, over Rome.

Human meat…It was time for Dinner.