May

“Can I ask you to do something for me?” Hanes sat across from Dr.Grohm at the ladder’s dining table. “A favor?” His eyes were glued to his plate, and his brows were furrowed.Chapter 5: A Lapel of Lavender Roses

“Of course. I owe you one don’t I?” Dr.Grohm smiled and folded his hands under his chin. “What is it that’s on your mind my dear friend?” He had noticed Hanes’s lack of chatter, his shoulders were tense and his brows had been quick to furrow after any small talk. 

“It’s Michael.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Hanes worried about Mr.Anderson a lot, he was always brought up in passing when he was with Dr.Grohm. The two had known each other for some time now, long enough to have seen each other outside of work, and yet he still had yet to bring him along to his home for dinner, let alone one of his dinner parties. “I don’t think he’s ready, to be- doing this again.” He shook his head and curled his lips.

“You don’t think he’s stable.” Dr.Grohm spoke quick before taking a bite of his food, his eyes peering through Hanes’s.

“No. I don’t.” The two were quiet for a moment, only the sound of fabric shifting as Hanes bounced his leg with a slight nervousness or anxiety. “I want you to work closer with him. I know you used to be a surgeon, you’ve got the medical background. We’ll just, say that you had the area of expertise I was looking for.” Hanes raised his brows with a look that made this truly a last minute offer. “I just don’t want him losing himself again, I don’t want to know what might happen if he does.” 

“You care for him rather intensely.” Dr.Grohm spoke frankly and simply. “Why don’t you think he can handle himself?” Suddenly this dinner felt more like a therapy session, though perhaps that was his subconscious instinct, to help people.

“I watched him beat a man to death.” Hanes didn’t blink, he didn’t stutter or trip over his words. It came out flat and assertive. “I don’t want that to happen again.” He remembered the look he had on his face, wide eyed and empty. The stare that went right through rational, he couldn’t imagine what had gone through his mind, he can’t imagine what goes through it now. 

“I’ll do it.” Dr.Grohm smiled, his eyes curving into crescents. “Perhaps it'll give me a better perspective." For a moment, his gaze was hopeful and optimistic about the current offer that sat gently on his dining room table. He felt as though once again, fate had everything falling directly into his hands. As if his virtues had paid off, and his sins overruled. 

He thought about the current flow of events as he hauled a black bag which safely carried Venus over his shoulders. It was then in which he realized that he spent most days thinking of Mr.Anderson, of Michael. If he wasn’t busy, or even if he was, he thought about their sessions. The way in which he avoided eye contact, the way he always had his hands clasped tightly together or fiddling with his clothing or hair. The professional side of his brain told him it was purely for his patient’s benefit, that this was all because he wanted to find the root of his problems. However, everything else told him otherwise. Why would it be that even in his own home, where he made it a point not to think about work, that he thought about him?

“You’re doing it again.” A woman, not more than 4 inches shorter than Dr.Grohm stood waiting for him in the woods. She stood with a cigarette lit between her pointer and her middle fingers, under two trees which slouched in a way that framed her. The dappled light of the sun through leaves made her purely picturesque.

“Doing what my dear?” Dr.Grohm said with a gruff and labored voice. He had forgotten how heavy the dead can rest, and how uneven terrain can affect your travels. 

“You’re thinking about him.” She had a smug and sly look on her face. “You’re going to mix up work and home again dear. We can’t have it spoiling our quality time.” 

“I promise I am still well capable of separating-” He took a sharp inhale as he set the precious bag down before the woman. “Work, and home.” The woman smiled and held his face. 

“And what about Johnathan?” She raised a brow. “Will he become part of Home?” 

Dr.Grohm chuckled, his smile lines deepening as he grinned “He and I are merely friends. Long time ones at that.”

The woman pouted, “Shame, he would have been an excellent addition don’t you think?” She unzipped the bag and stared at the work before her. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves and brushed the hair from the girl’s face. “That, or he would have been a marvelous meal.” As her eyes shifted to stare into Dr.Grohm’s, there was a glint of an animalistic hunger that seemed to seethe through her veins.

“Johnathan is my friend, he is not a meal.” He spoke through his teeth. “You’re out of line.”

“I’m out of line? You’ve been meddling with the public far too much. You are putting us all in danger.” 

“I am providing you your fill. Without me, you would find yourself craving and starved. Without me, you would be hunted, you would be caught, and you would serve far more than simply 25 to life.” His voice was venomous and hot. It carried a growing anger that one could feel in their throat, the urge to yell and fight, the urge to succumb to violence.

But he didn’t succumb, no, instead he continued his work. The work of art that celebrated the ending of spring, and the graceful beginning of summer. A season, he much enjoyed.

He sat in his car, staring at the flashing red and blue against the trees. His eyes pried at the police officers, then gazed at the two agents standing before his work, watching as he presumed they studied it and admired the artful choice. Venus, in a way he hoped that his message was clear. In a way, he hoped his message was clear to himself.

His mind stirred with the hope that he was poised and calm, yet he felt his heart beat ever so slightly, and gradually faster. In his office, he was in control, he could divert questions and he kept a safe distance. However, now? Now that distance was closing in, there was no desk between them, their dynamic was changing before him, and it couldn’t have been more intriguing. His mind wandered and questioned, what would happen? What would happen had he began to influence him, if he were to change the way he viewed what he did? 

“Rather artful.” He watched as the friend, and the project flinched at the sound of his voice. His grin widened oh so slightly as Mr.Anderson turned, a sour expression on his face, or was it surprised? “Statue of Venus, looking over her shoulder over Rome. Though unfortunately the statue no longer looks as beautiful as it did in it’s day.”

“Atticus! I didn’t think you’d take up my offer.” Hanes was horrible at acting. He knew full well that Dr.Grohm agreed to accompany Mr.Anderson on behalf of his dear friend. Though it didn’t seem to matter to him as much as the word Offer did. He watched his expression twist into a subdued anger, an annoyance and even a betrayal. 

“Your Offer?” You say it with such conviction. He felt his heart flower and scratch at his chest, why was he feeling this excitement? Did he truly want to tear past the professionalism to their relationship? Did he truly want to break down that barrier?

“I offered Atticus to start working closer with us, he’s got some knowledge we could use with uhm-” Hanes searched for words, his head turning to Dr.Grohm for some kind of remembrance.

“Floral messages, and an extensive knowledge of art and anatomy.” Staring at the scene just past them, he could have stated he was a doctor at one point before. He could have just said he had an extensive knowledge in human anatomy. He felt his sense of rational thought begin to flee from him. “I promise I won’t be anything more than an observer.” This, was also a lie.

He watched as Mr.Anderson worked, peering down at him as he sifted through his design. He watched as he held one of the delicate flowers he had been so careful with in placing. “Periwinkle, Blue.” He bent down beside the man, his hands on his knees. His gaze placed softly on the flower, and then shifting to his hand.

“They’re sending a courtship of friendship. An artistic offer of allies.” He looked into Mr.Anderson’s eyes, and to his surprise, he stared right back into his. Not through, not passed, directly into. And it was like staring into the most beautiful forest.

However that second of facade was broken as he spoke. “Do you mind?” His voice was accusatory and stern, his eyebrows furrowed and intense with an annoyance. 

“Not at all.” He grinned, the silence between the two just barely souring the moment as he pushed his glasses into the nook of his nose and brow. Clearing his throat he continued “Ferns, Fascination.” He pursed his lips as he thought, what would Mr.Anderson say connected these things?

“They’re luring someone out, someone who would know about these things. They’re- obviously fascinated…” Dr.Grohm felt his smile return to him, enamored by the sudden sarcasm. They’re very fascinated Mr.Anderson. His mind echoed with the words he couldn’t speak, not now. “They can’t face them, they’d rather tear out their gut instincts than face them.” I’d tear them out again. For a brief moment, Dr.Grohm’s brows furrowed and his smile tensed as he realized the thoughts he was having, as he watched Mr.Anderson place the flowers and ferns in evidence bags.

Mr.Anderson turned his head, to Dr.Grohm’s perhaps, dismay. Their faces only mere inches apart from one another, their eyes peering into each others. Again, Mr.Anderson didn’t look through, or passed, but as if his complete attention was placed on a table as an offer for Dr.Grohm to gaze down upon. That was, until he noticed the pink flower in his hand once Mr.Anderson had shifted his weight and their distance grew.

With a gloved hand, Dr.Grohm gently took the flower from his hands. Pushing his glasses back into the nook of his nose, he cleared his throat. “What is it?” Mr.Anderson’s voice rang in his ears.

The flower, not yet in full bloom, was not Dr.Grohm’s touch. She knew well before he did, she knew exactly what he was feeling before he could feel it, before he could think of the words. His expression grew furrowed and his slight smile fell into a frown. “Zephyr… Expectations.” His eyes shifted and stared into the forests that Mr.Anderson held inside of his irises. 

He thought about that pink flower, not yet with full open petals, as he drove home in silence. The street lights passing by him in quick moving flashes, he didn’t listen to music, but he wondered if Mr.Anderson did. He also wondered if she would have told him what he was feeling, or if she wanted to watch things play out, would she pin him to the crimes? Or would she let him flee?

Or would she make him devour him, bones and all?