Chapter Nine -- In the Rose Garden

[happy_never_after]

At work, and it was Wednesday, hump day. 

The day was slow. I called the hospital, asking about the shooting victim they brought into emergency.  The receptionist got all hard ass and wouldn't give me any information, except I heard a muffled voice in the background say, "Don't disturb Samuel Trent." 

I waited and called back an hour later, and said I had a delivery for Samuel Trent. They gave me his room number and extension with instructions that I get the flowers up to him in the next hour-- they were discharging him.

I called Sid to tell him, and he admitted he'd already been to the hospital-- but got stalled at the nurses station. No visitors allowed in his room, he said. 

I already decided-- I'm going over to the Lancaster's and get answers.  I fingered the card with the binary message in my pocket. I was taking the card personally-- the least I could do after all the Lancaster's have done for me.

I didn't tell Sid. If I told him, he'd try to stop me. I must have answers.  Some things I just know. 

I felt them.

I volunteered to take the delivery-- I felt kind of lousy lying to Mr. K, making it sound as if I'm doing him a favor by hand delivering the card to Emma Lancaster.  

"Since Alan's still at lunch, and I'm bored-- I'll take these deliveries."

Mr. K smiled,  "Fine, we're slow. Take your time," which made me feel even more like a shit. Then he reached for the van keys off the peg on the backroom wall. 

"I'll be back in time to help out with transplanting the mums," I said. I opened the showroom cooler, a flash of cold air blasted me as I picked out a rose bowl from the glass shelf for a delivery to the hospital.  Mr. K nodded as I picked up a blank get well card and envelope. Mr. K helped me load up Long Tall Sally with a couple of other deliveries, and her sliding door groaned and moaned as I slammed it shut.  It was the first time I'd driven since the accident; I was a bit nervous but that's not the only reason why-- I'm nervous about the other decision. The one I made when I reached in the cooler for that rose-- another stop. 

To the hospital.

I didn't know why, but I had to face this nagging inside my head I've had since I got up this morning, and that man being discharged early was the only person who could answer my questions.

Sally's driver's door creaked open; I climbed onto her  sun-bleached bucket seat. I placed the rose bowl on her  floor next me, sloshing the water around. Fuck, my fingers had a hard time finding the key. When she started, the old girl was shaking as much as I was.

Okay, so maybe it's not a smart thing to do, going alone to talk to a man who tried to gut me. Or maybe I too fucking dense to know better since I'm afflicted with the  'I'm Superman and I'm invincible' syndrome. Or maybe it's that I'm more worried about Sid than myself. I heal-- he can't. Yesterday was too close. I can't let him take anymore risks. Better that I take them.

Maybe I'm not such a super weenie after all. 

Delivering the flowers relaxed me. My last stop before the hospital was a mixed bouquet. I knew the house. Large white Victorian home with moss green trim and geometric arborvitae hedges lined up like clowns in a circus along the porch. I drove by it often, always wondering why someone would paint their front door chartreuse. I rang the doorbell-- from the thumping and bumping I heard inside, I figured  I was gonna find out why in a moment. 

Her over-bleached honey blonde hair was piled up on her head. The solid mass of hairspray, bobbie pins and ratted snarls reminded me of the topiary in the front of her house. Her color of house dress was a faded version of the front door. The moment she saw the bouquet in my hand, her thick eyeliner  became black flowing rivers of tears, creating gorges in the cakes of bright red rouge on her cheeks. 

"It's my birthday, and I thought my son didn't remember," she sobbed as I handed her the flowers. She sniffed them and sneezed, "thank you." She shut the door, and I walked back to the van. 

I loved delivering.

As I parked in the hospital visitors' lot, I rehearsed in my head what I'd do-- what I'd say.  I flipped open the glove compartment, taking out a pen. Carefully printed on the blank  envelope: 

Samuel Trent

Rm 304

 Morrison Hosp 

I picked up the rose bowl off the floor then started for the entrance.

I pushed the revolving door with my shoulder and walked straight past the visitor's desk where I usually leave deliveries. I waved at Mrs. Eva Archer, the prim gray haired volunteer at the desk

"Taking the flowers straight up to the room," I said. "Going to be discharged right away and don't want to miss him."

As the elevator door closed, I practiced Dr. Deal's breathing technique. Yeah, do a little self-hypnosis. One, two, three... In through nose, out through the mouth. Hmm funny, wasn't that the same technique Sid used to get me to relax? and push? God, no time for horny now-- man of steel must shovel in nerves of steel. The elevator squeaked open, and I smiled wide when I saw my buddy, Big Bernice, behind the nurses' station. Must be she's on the day shift now. 

She grinned right back and pointed her clipboard at me, "Hello there. You're looking dandy and well enough to be making deliveries, I see." I hold up the rose bowl. 

"Yes, slow day. Thought I'd bring it up personally and waste even more time," I lied.

"Nice to see you Wesley."

"See you later Bernice." I started toward room 304. The door was shut. I opened it slowly, cautiously walking in, closing the door silently behind. He was sitting up in bed, dressed. 

"I've been expecting you," he said dispassionately, straightening his tie. "Your lover was here earlier, very persistent. A personality trait of his?"

My lover. He knew about Sid and me. My mouth opened to speak-- 

"How--"

"You really shouldn't scream so loud."

I flinched.  He'd heard. God, he must have been outside the house. 

"Is intercourse more intense with your suped-up senses? Have a need to release that charged tension?" He laughed.

"Fuck you," I said. "That's none of your business." 

"Everything you do is my business," he said slowly. "What you think, what you feel, and what you do.  I knew you would come here to see me. You're inquisitive. I made certain at the desk I'd only see one visitor-- you."

"But the police," I swallowed hard, "you've see them, haven't you?"

"They've been taken care of," he said. I placed the rose bowl on the cheap plywood dresser then shoved my hands deep down into my pockets to keep them from shaking. 

"For me?" he asked. "A rose does seem appropriate."  His eyes invaded mine, judging me. Steel blue and cold, unforgiving. His gaze haunted me, recalling the fierce grip as his hand twisting the blade. He had stared inside my soul as my body shuddered. His eyes met mine with the same intensity now. 

But I don't take my eyes from his; I don't look away.  I know he saw the monstrous fear inside me, but I damn well would not let the fear overwhelm me. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Why?" I asked. 

He sat forward, on the very edge of the sanitized hospital bed, and his lips curled into a whisper of a smile. "I should ask you why. Why do some live, why do some die? You want to know why I stabbed you? Because that's what I do. You were a just a job to be done. In your case, a test."

"To see if I'd die?" I asked.

"No. I already knew you wouldn't die. Your car accident proved that. What I needed to learn was, do you feel pain?"

"Pain? That's crazy. Of course I feel pain." I've felt far too much of that in the last weeks. Right now the memory of it was crushing me. 

"You are an unusual creature. One among a very few left," he said. "There are others like you who heal-- yet they feel no pain. Nothing. Pain is the rapturous ingredient. There was once another who did feel pain. With that pain came other gifts-- over the years we've watched and waited. You might be the one. Are you the one Wes?"

"I hope not," I said. "I don't want you asking for directions ever again." He laughed a bit and held his side. 

"My society isn't the only one with an interest in you. Be thankful those who I work with are interested in you. Without us, you would have been at the mercy of men like the one in the parking lot yesterday. Those men would cut you apart piece by piece and put you back together just because they can." He moved to the edge of the bed, closer to me. "You don't understand yet what you are-- what you are capable of. What can you do, Wes? Just heal yourself? Each time you heal, you heal faster. I see by your eyes, I'm right. You have scars now. Soon you won't even have those. You have a strength. I see how afraid you are, but you still came here."  He paused. I didn't feel strong. My legs were weak. I needed to sit down.  Or leave this room. Get as far away as I could. "What about someone else? Could you heal them? That's what that gunman wanted to know yesterday in the parking lot." 

I felt like he slapped me.

"He shot at Sid to see if I'd heal him?"  Panic crept into my mouth. Sid's life almost forfeited for a test? 

"I must say that I was curious what the outcome would be,"  he said,  "but it was too soon. Even if you can heal someone else, I don't think you could yet. I may be a killer, but I don't kill wastefully."

"I don't understand any of this," I said. "I'm nobody."

"You understand," he said. "Take my hand,"  he ordered. I searched his face. What can he do to me in this room that's anymore horrible than what's been done to me already? I haltingly pulled my trembling hand from my pocket and touched his. "What do you feel?" he asked me.

A surge of tingles and points of light filtered through me. "You want me to do something. Take you somewhere," I said. At contact, images mingled and a calm settled over me. "You won't hurt me. Not today."

"Very good," he said. "Yes, I was right about you." He stood up. He was much taller than me. Not thin, nor muscular, but his body radiated a fierce energy, jolting my senses. I reeled back, letting go of his hand.

"I'll take you to Lancaster's then," I said in a hushed voice.

We walked right out of the hospital. No signing insurance or release forms. No wheel chair. Just walked out. The calm I'd felt was replaced with reason. I was afraid again-- my heart palpated as irregularly as my feet's hesitant gate. Walking to the van, I was scared shitless. 

Suped-up superman? I sure as fuck didn't feel super. As he walked two steps behind, the clomp of his hard hollow steps vibrated up through my legs. I didn't look back. Didn't have to-- his energy seethed into me like I was some kind of cosmic sponge. 

Eye of the storm. That was what it was like in the van when we both ducked in. The hairs on my body standing up, electrical charges zapped me; the air ionized, yet still. 

"You know Lancaster?" I asked.

"We're acquainted." 

I drove through town on automatic. A sadness filled me, thinking that all that I might feel for Sid might only be the result of that fucking rose thorn-- my lust and hunger for him just an overactive sensory drive. I worry about what I feel and for his safety.  Every moment that I was near him, he was a target. It was selfish to think that I didn't want to lose anyone else I cared about, but it was true. I didn't want to be responsible. And this other group or what ever cult they were, they were watching too. I think this was  how  Daniel Camden, the school master, felt-- stalked and cornered. At least he only had to worry about himself. Me, I had to worry about Sid. And thanks to my big mouth, the whole world knew we were involved-- at least any one standing within shouting distance from Sid's house.

As we started down the back country roads, I didn't care any more how vulnerable I was. Sure I could feel physical pain-- but what was physical pain next the anguish of seeing pain inflicted on some one close? Maybe I should be like Camden, alone.

I wound around into the Lancaster driveway. I hadn't looked at my passenger once on the drive over. I knew he'd been studying me the whole way.  Now I turned my head and acknowledged him. 

"We have company," he said, nodding to Sid's Cutlass parked by the house. 

Suddenly, there was a hell of a lot more at stake than just my ass. The wooden screen door opened. Sid and Lancaster stepped out with Glenda behind. I threw the van into reverse and stepped on the gas. Trent put his hand over mind, stopping me. No backing out now.

"I won't hurt your friend..." he said, "much." Then he winked as he got out of the van.

I wasn't sure whether Sid wanted to hug or punch me. Lancaster and Trent nodded a silent secret elite signal. I'd read too many books on conspiracy theories. During the last few weeks, I'd gained a new appreciation for them. 

Sid wore his frayed old kaki shorts and a white Nirvana t-shirt. Unshaven and hair shaggy, his eyes assessed Trent, then me. "You're fucking crazy getting into a car with him." 

"A van," I corrected. Like it fucking matters, but I just wanted to argue. His cheeks were flushed-- our eyes locked. Twitch. That's my nose instead of his. Trent was right about my hormones in overdrive. Panting over Sid right now was so fucking out of place.

"Do you have the card?" asked Lancaster, bringing me back from a particularly good fantasy where Sid's flicking his tongue in that way he has.

"Um, yes. But what is the importance of the message?" I asked. Sid moved closer to me, standing protectively beside me, leaning his shoulder into mine. 

Not helping.

"The message is sentimental, not a secret code," Lancaster answered. I reached into my back pocket and handed him the card.

"Just a moment. Can I see it again?" He handed it back, and I placed my thumb on top of the bloody imprint. It wasn't mine.

"Here," I said, returning it. Now that was interesting. Maybe what was important wasn't inside of the card. Something about it had to be important for them to want it back this bad. I saw the way Glenda's eyes flashed at it. No, not sentimental.

"I think we should take this little discussion to the garden, don't you Dr. Lancaster?" Trent suggested. Lancaster tipped his head and began walking toward the direction of the rose garden. 

I observed Sid carefully as we poked our way down the overgrown path. He spent half his time making sure I was fine and the other half watching Glenda.  Today she resembled a sultry wood nymph. If I didn't know Sid had no proclivity toward woman, I'd have been jealous.  As we neared the inner garden, the roses' sweet fragrance swept over us, the scent nauseatingly overpowering.  My head clouded. As we walked through the threshold, I stumbled, dizzy.  Sid stepped next to me, but Lancaster held him back.

The climbing roses  bloomed in every corner of the garden. The blood red blossoms jetted with bright orange stamens and pistols, trailing along the ground and up lattice trellises.  The fragrance was heady but no longer sickening.  A pressure mounted in the back of my brain-- not unpleasant.  The heavy scent tingled inside my nose.  

Sid was enraptured by the place. Each one of us fell under its spell, silenced by its uncanny beauty. As I brushed past a tendril of one of the thorny vines, I spied a tiny movement. In this dreamlike place, I could almost believe these roses were human, thinking, feeling. 

There. 

Again. 

From the corner of my eye the branch reached for me. I looked at Sid; he didn't notice. I stood still and slowly waved my left hand past a thorny offshoot. Yes, it moved toward my hand slightly.  I passed my hand by it again, and the same happened. Sid looked at me oddly. He didn't see it.  Neither did Trent who cast a questioning look at me, but Glenda and Lancaster both watched intently. They saw. 

I pushed the experiment further, passing my hand near the bramble a third time. The briar caught my knuckle, leaving a bloody beaded scratch. The branch reacted. Even Sid and Trent noticed. The tendril curled as if in a swoon. I found myself feeling much the same. A biting heat swept through me as Sid grasped my elbow. The smell of him aroused me as much as the sensual touch of his hand. My cheeks heated, and my cock hardened. The image of me throwing Sid down in the dirt and fucking him right in front of them all came to me vividly. Then, I recovered. I bitterly remembered the roses' intoxicating bite. 

I felt naked; I felt scared, and finally angry that this thing has played with my emotional life. I was no longer sure if what I felt for Sid was real or some genetic aphrodisiac induced by this anthropomorphic rose.  

My thoughts drifted.  I vaguely heard  voices that I couldn't understand. My world spun. 

---------------------------

I opened my eyes, and Sid was near me, hand in my hair, saying my name. I saw an old Steinway piano with cracked varnish. Yellowed sheet music scattered on its bench. An old wing back chair sat near where I lay. Battered throw rugs like a crazy patchwork covered the worn hardwood floors. The pillow behind my head was lumpy and the blanket on me musty. I was inside the Lancaster's home sprawled on their couch, recalling a garden, roses and my lust. 

"He's awake," Sid said. I sat up, cautiously stretching my legs to the floor. Sid moved protectively next to me, and I scooted away a bit.

"What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my wrist. 

"About four," answered Glenda, sitting down near me in the wing back chair. "Not unusual for your first time in the garden since your exposure to Mica."

"Mica?" I wondered. 

"Yes, the name of the rose is minuo micamundus. We prefer the shortened version Mica," she said. Lancaster and Trent came into the room. 

"You are like me?" I asked, looking to Glenda then to Lancaster.

"Yes," Lancaster answered, "we are."

I needed to find away out of here. The roses' effect filtered even into this house-- a part of the furniture, the people within. The need to know what I am, seemed unimportant now. All I could think of was false love and hope. I hated the place, and the two that made me this thing. I know now it's not the rose that's human; it's me that's inhuman. 

"I need to get back to work. I should have been back a long time ago. My boss is probably wondering," I said.

"Yes, he was," said Glenda. "He called not long ago. I explained to him that you weren't feeling well. He's a very nice gentleman."

"Yes he is," I said. 

Why be polite? I just stood up. I was wobbly, but Sid was there. 

"I'm leaving. Now," I stated flatly and walked to the front door.

"You sure you should drive?" Sid asked.

"I'll be fine," I said. "Follow me to work, and we'll drop off the van then go home." 

Home. Hell, where the fuck was that anymore?

-----------------------------------

I sat in the living room with Sid mindlessly watching MTV while eating chilidogs with extra onions and munching Doritos. I popped the cap off a Miller Lite and took a gulp to chase the nasty nacho aftertaste from my mouth.  What else could I do to be less appealing? 

Maybe fart. 

Pick my nose.

Damn. The more I thought about what that Samuel Trent said, the more it made sense. I did begin to find Sid uncommonly hot right after my accident. In the rose garden, he was forbidden fruit. Shit. Even now as he swallowed his beer, his neck looked like it could use a few choice nibbles.  He wasn't safe-- from me or any unknown assailants. 

I took another bite of the chilidog. I don't usually like onions on them, and these stink like hell, making my eyes water and my nose run-- hopefully a real turn off for Sid.  

I wondered, if two people who eat the same gross food, does the gross food cancel each other out? Sort of like when you multiply two negatives, they equal a positive? 

one Bermuda onion    X   another Bermuda onion = hot sex.

I should have picked a less phallic food for dinner. Shit, seeing him eat that hotdog.  An now he's intentionally sliding it in and out...

Fuck. 

"Have some more Doritos, Sid." I spun around, crunching the chip bag. Stupid fucking hard on. I took a swig of beer, swallowed some air and tried to belch loud, but it came out pathetic. I could tell from the half smile Sid gave me, he thought I was cute. He snaked his hand onto my crotch and pressed firmly. I moaned. Shit, so much for trying to resist. Looked like I'd blown off another band practice tonight. Not even pungent, eye burning onions could save Sid from me now. My mouth clamped on to his, and I threw all my weight against him, pinning him into the couch. 

Mmm, two negatives--

I've wondered what it would be like-- to feel him like he'd felt me. I whispered to him, "I wanna fuck you," and he groaned low, deep down in the back of his throat. I licked his ear, bit his neck then sat up, grabbing his arms and pulling him to the bedroom. We undressed each other. Off flew my t-shirt. I unzipped his kakis and reach in, jerking his cock. He played with my ass, kneading it with his fingers. He slid his hands down my pants. I pushed him back onto the bed and kicked off my jeans, twisted at my feet. Sid was kicking off his shorts and then slipping his t-shirt over his head. He got on his hands and knees on the bed as I reached for the lube on the night table.

He said, "Fuck me now"  in an urgent dry rasp, and my stomach dropped out.  His thighs trembled. His perfect shoulders aligned.  Sid looked obscenely delicious. I positioned myself behind him. There was something so base and animalistic seeing him like that--  I felt like I'll come right then. 

White and blue sparks shot through my brain as I my hands clawed his waist.  I stopped and wondered, was this what Sid wanted, or what he thinks I wanted? 

What do I want?

I knew I wanted Sid. I dropped the lube to the mattress, and Sid gave me an puzzled frown. Both my hands slid up past his waist, across his shoulder blades. I bent over his back, hugging my arms around his shoulders and pulled him upright against me. He sat on his heels, and I molded myself to him. My chest safe against the line of his back, my hips and cock snug against his ass. 

"Fuck me?" Sid asked. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

My mouth kissed his earlobe, and I answered, "No, I'm not going to fuck you, Sidney. I'm going to make love to you." He turned around, facing me, kissing my mouth. He had corn chips in his teeth, and I didn't care. Nacho cheese, onions and beer were secondary. I rolled on top of him, my erection on his. Skin to skin. And I sighed. 

Maybe I really do love him.