Flowers of Desires

Chapter 3: Blooming F(riendships)lowers

Thursday, August 28

Clay stood in the storage room of The Solstice Place, clipboard in hand. He had been tasked with taking inventory since the bar wasn't that busy. Weekends were no doubt the busiest of days, while weekdays seemed to drag by. The storage room smelled of stale alcohol and wood, but Clay ignored it, instead trying to focus on the racks and racks of beer. The task was at least somewhat distracting from thoughts of letters and flowers, but they were still there. Clay had spent yesterday researching everything he could find about The Osiris Killer, familiarizing himself with the many murders and writing his psychology report.

From his research, Clay could conclude a few things about Osiris. 1. Osiris has been actively killing one person a month for almost two years, successful in never leaving behind a shred of evidence. 2. Osiris was somehow drawn to the color red, always incorporating it into his presentations without fail. It was one of the main ways the FBI distinguished his work from other murders. 3. Osiris really had never sent a letter, he had never contacted anyone.

Clay wasn't exactly sure what that last one meant yet, but since the FBI seemed to care less, he was working on it for himself. He needed more to go on though, besides two little letters, so perhaps he would have to wait on that. His many thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open on the other side of the room. Clay turned to see his co-worker, Jeremiah, walking in.

"Hey Clay, there's some guy out here asking for you," Jeremiah informed, giving him a questioning look before darting back out the door. Clay sat his clipboard down and walked out to the bar, his curiosity growing as he went. When he rounded the corner, his eyes fell on Dr. Fleet, sitting at the bar in the same place as last time.

Clay wandered over to where the doctor was seated, allowing a small smile to cross his face. Dr. Fleet's gaze was cast down at something Clay couldn't see, something in his lap, and his light hair was covering his features. "Hello, Dr. Fleet," he said as he approached.

Dr. Fleet looked up at Clay's words, his eyes falling on Clay's face. "Clay, it's nice to see you again," he responded in his cultured accent that Clay had still not placed. He raised his hands to the top of the bar from his lap, revealing a book that he had been reading. He sat it to the side, full attention on Clay. "How is your hand?"

Clay raised his own hand, palm facing Dr. Fleet, showing the now faint scratch, all that was left from his injury. It would soon fade away completely, likely to only leave an almost nonexistent scar.

"Ah, it healed nicely," Dr. Fleet examined, his eyes scanning Clay's hand in a satisfied way.

Clay nodded in reply. "It did, thanks to you," he agreed, lowering his hand to rest atop the counter of the bar.

"I never mind helping those in need of it," Dr. Fleet responded, tilting his head slightly to the side, eyes observing Clay again.

Clay gave him a quick smile before straightening back up. "Do you know what you would like to drink today?"

A slight smile crossed Dr. Fleet's face, his crimson eyes shining in the overhead light. Clay wondered if the man's eyes always appeared red when in the correct lighting. "I trust you to choose something satisfactory for me," Dr. Fleet responded.

Clay dipped his head at him. "I'll be right back, Dr. Fleet."

Clay returned only a few minutes later, a glass of red wine in hand. He sat the glass down in front of Dr. Fleet, who had once again begun reading his book. He noticed the title of the book, which was facing him now. "Le Comte de Monte-Cristo" was printed boldly across the front cover. Clay recognized it as The Count of Monte Cristo, though it looked to be written in French. Perhaps that was where Dr. Fleet was from, yet his accent didn't match it exactly, so maybe not. Dr. Fleet looked up as Clay sat the glass down, his smile the same as before as he sat his book to the side.