"And I think my brother is sleeping with my husband!" the woman screeched. "I know I never bought my husband polka-dot boxers, and I know my brother wears them. I found a pair in my closet!"
On and on and on, the woman rambled, flapping her flabby arms this way and that, shouting at the ceiling, the walls, the doctor. If Hagravens were real, this was how Dr. Stoker pictured them. If her husband was really cheating on her with any family member (last week, it was her cousin she suspected him of sleeping with – the week before that, her mother), it really didn't shock her why. She watched her with numb eyes, not really seeing her – hearing her, but not really listening. A small red line caught her eye as it lingered on the couch behind the whining woman. She smiled at it.
"Are you even listening to me?" the woman shrieked. "I bet you are sleeping with my husband too!"
"Mrs. Lancaster," Dr. Stoker sighed, closing her eyes. She inhaled deeply for a moment, collecting herself, before opening her mouth again. "I am not sleeping with your husband. Your brother is not sleeping with your husband. Your cousin isn't, your mother isn't, and before you ask, your dog isn't either. No one is sleeping with your husband – not even you. Go home, make him a nice meal, hug him, kiss him, and show emotions towards him, rather than being a fussy twat and making his life miserable. Go back to your honeymoon, even for one night. Trust me, it will do you and your husband a world of good."
The woman sat there for a long moment, mouth agape, eyes wide. Dr. Stoker kept her eyes fixed on the woman, expressionlessly. After a while, the woman closed her mouth and swallowed hard. She stood and got her coat, clasped it tightly to her chest, and nodded, heading for the door. She thanked Dr. Stoker quickly, to which the psychologist replied with a polite nod, and walked out of the office.
Dr. Stoker watched after her for a long moment, not really seeing anything. She stood from her spot, and shuffled numbly towards her desk, where she finished up a bit of paperwork, and returned her clipboard to her desk. Her mind was constantly on the night before. The sight of Cicero leaving her house in a hurry replayed over and over in her mind, taunting her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, so close to hers. His eyes looked so conflicted. He knew he was happy, but he knew he couldn't be. Then, before she knew it, he was gone.
She stood in front of her massive window, looking out into the night. The city below her was lit by headlight and street lights and lights in the neighbouring skyscrapers' windows. Despite all these dots of light illuminating the world, she felt so dark, trapped in a distinctive lack of light, lost, unable to find answers to usher her away from the depths. His story… It was obviously the ramblings of a madman. And the kiss, it was obviously a response to the moment. Right?
Behind her, the door opened. She turned on her heel, veins turning into frozen tubes with the suddenness of the sound. Her heart stopped for a moment when she saw no one at the door. She frowned, and walked to it. She stuck her head out and glanced down the hallway, finding no sign of life. She assumed that Mrs. Lancaster hadn't closed the door hard enough, and, content with that logic, stepped away from the door to close it. She shut off the lights, locked the cupboard and file cabinet doors, and prepared her bag behind her desk. Before she left the room, she looked back out into the world behind the window, sighing. What was wrong with that world out there? No one person, not even the infamous Dr. Clarice Stoker knew how to fix it – so why was she so keen on trying? Look at where it was getting her.
Behind her, another sound came. This time, she did not turn around. Instead, she listened closely to the room behind her, waiting to hear anything which might indicate another presence. Of course, it could have just been the room settling, something falling, someone in a room next door or above. But, instead, she was left alone to listen to silence.
Suddenly, she felt an entity behind her. The sudden warmth of another person surprised her, but she didn't jump or gasp. Instead, she remained completely still, waiting to see what was going to come of this other person. She felt completely helpless, but she was not afraid. For some reason, she was calm – if anything, excited: intrigued by what was happening and anticipating what was about to happen next. Her curiosity was answered the moment she felt something, or two somethings, so soft and gentle, press against the skin on her neck. She sighed deeply.
"I didn't know if I was ever going to see you again," she said, quietly.
"I don't know what brought me here," the voice replied. "But I had to come."
Clarice turned around to face him, and smiled. "I'm glad you came."
Cicero smiled contentedly. "Me too."
With that, he finished what they had started. He leaned forward and kissed her again. His lips were much more determined and prepared than they had been, and moved over hers with a sureness he did not possess last time. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, kissing her fondly. He did not allow a moment to pass where they were apart from each other. He turned her around carefully, before swinging an arm out behind her, and shoving everything off of her desk, sending a phone, picture frames, papers, books, folders, and other miscellaneous items clattering to the floor, scattering all about the side of the room. Once the desk was void of items, he slowly laid her down upon it, laying over her.
He parted from her for a moment, and looked down to his current task. His hands fumbled, shaking incredibly violently, as he tried to undo the buttons which held her torso. She watched him, smiling slightly, before taking his hands and steadying them, teaching him how to unfasten a button. He seemed bound and determined to do it, but it was incredibly amusing watching him try. Eventually, he huffed and reached downwards for what looked like his boot. From there, he pulled out an instrument – a killing instrument.
She gasped, widening her eyes. He looked to her for a short moment, his eyes assuring her that all was well, before flipping the blade expertly around his hand. The blade looked twisted and curvy, but incredibly sharp. The whole thing was a sort of metal she hadn't seen before: a strange, shiny black metal. It looked old, as though it had seen its fair share of blood in its life (but she was truly hoping it wasn't human blood). He looked to her for another short moment, before bringing the blade to her clothing. It sliced through it like a razor through warm butter, and freed what he was so longing to see. He flipped the blade over in his hand again, until it was in stabbing position, and thrust it downwards into the faux wood of the desk. He inhaled deeply before continuing his work.
She tightly gripped the bottom of his shirt, and pulled upwards, removing it from his skin. He lifted off of her to allow her to remove it. She tossed it aside and regarded him, drinking him in before allowing him to continue. She grinned at herself when she noticed his chest hair, all the way down, was the same lush red as the hair on his head. She placed her finger tip on his in the center of his chest, and followed the red line downwards, down the muscular bumps on his stomach, which enticed her further. His breath caught slightly as her fingertip teased him under the waistband of his pants. His hands still shook violently.
She paused, looking up to him. "Cicero, have you ever done this before?"
His eyes met hers, and were showing a substantial amount of apprehension, though filled with longing. He nodded briskly. "Yes, of course! Long before the Jester… Cicero's life in that regard ended once he vowed himself to the Brotherhood." His voice was shaking as much as his hands. "It's just been… So, so long…"
His eyes wandered down her body. His hands shook as he gripped the dagger beside him tightly, and brought it back to her body. He snipped her bra in half with one slice, and his breathing picked up immensely when he saw what he revealed – something he hadn't seen in far too long (at least, while they were alive). His shaking hand gently moved towards her left breast, not touching it for fear that it was going to shrivel at his touch.
"Cicero," she said, breathlessly. "Touch me."
He exhaled deeply, before allowing his hand to drop on the globe of flesh and caress it with a yearning he couldn't contain any longer. He kissed her chest, nibbling at the skin, sucking at her nipples. His hands, still holding the dagger, migrated southward, where it found its next task, and achieved it with great ease – he sliced right through the zipper and button on her pants. He lifted his torso off of her for a moment and glanced forward, before shooting the dagger to the front wall, grinning with satisfaction when he saw it stab into the drywall and not move. Then, he continued with his work.
Before they knew it, the madman and the doctor were making love on her desk top. Both entities moaned in extreme pleasure, sending the desk shuffling gradually to the wall on which the dagger still stuck – across the room. Cicero felt all of his troubles, difficulties, sadness, pain, anger, madness flow through him and push out of him with each drive he thrust into her. She absorbed it and turned it all into ecstasy. Both bodies cried out as their motions took them to a destination which hid an inevitable treasure they never wanted to find. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and the pleasure overwhelmed them.
Afterwards, they lay beside each other on the floor under their desk, breathing heavily. She nestled into his arms, burying her head into his chest. He stroked her hair, smiling contentedly at the underside of the desk, still in the process of catching his breath. She planted soft, gentle kisses on his skin, touching the violent, red hair all over his body.
"Want to know something funny?" she said, her voice groggy.
"Always," he replied, his own voice hoarse.
"My friend told me to ask you if your hair was its natural colour. I told her it was," she said, grabbing a handful of the hair in his lower regions. "I guess I won that war."
Cicero chuckled softly, one arm behind his head so he could watch her. He yawned and closed his eyes.
"Cicero," she said, looking up to him.
"Hmm?" he replied, looking back down to her.
"Could I ever meet your mother?" she asked him, not sure what sort of answer to expect.
He paused for a long moment, contemplating this question. He weighed the pros and cons until he decided which one outweighed the other. "I suppose so," he told her. "Perhaps Cicero will introduce you two next week. Poor, sweet Mother hasn't seen anyone else in a long while. Who knows, maybe she'll speak to you!"
"Yeah," she said, sighing and closing her eyes. "Who knows?"
Wanda sat in the bar, a martini in front of her, and a beer beside her. She waited anxiously for her friend to join her. She had some huge news for her, and considering that Clarice had cancelled their daily meetings for two days in a row, she knew perfectly well that she would also have some interesting news for her. She was excited to hear it.
She nodded her head slightly with the music which played over the radio in the bar, and smiled sweetly at the individuals who passed her by. For a long while, she saw no sight of her best friend, which worried her. If ever Clarice had to cancel their rendezvous for any reason, she usually let her know. She told herself to relax, knowing that she was probably just late – that was not uncommon.
Her eyes continued to wander about the room. They caught, during their sweep of the room, a strange silhouette in the corner, watching her closely. It was hooded and dark. No solid forms of the creature were distinguishable from where Wanda sat, so it did just look like a dark blur. The only way she was sure it was watching her, were the two small glints of eyes shining through the darkness that consumed the creature. Wanda watched the eyes closely, terrified to see them move, or if the creature dared stand and approach her. She wasn't sure why, but the entity seemed to give her an incredibly negative feeling. The room around her seemed to vibrate as she watched the darkness, as though the world was becoming distorted around her and the creature. It made her feel sick.
"Wanda?" a voice snapped her out of it. She looked up to find where the voice came from. She relaxed immensely when she saw the beaming face of her best friend. "You bought me a beer? Thanks so much!"
"You're welcome," Wanda said, looking away from the corner of the room to see her friend. "What took you so long?" she looked back to the corner of the room after asking the question, and felt her heart stop almost dead, when she found the corner of the room completely empty.
"Well, I won our bet," she said, grinning.
Wanda looked to her, curiously. "What?"
Clarice blushed slightly and took a large swig of her drink. "The carpet does match the drapes."
Wanda's eyes widened and she leaned forward in shock. She laughed. "Oh my God, tell me what happened!"
"Well," Clarice said, pushing a chunk of her hair behind her ear. "He came over to my house two nights ago…" she told her best friend about Cicero going over, about him telling her his story (though leaving out the story itself), and him kissing her, then leaving quickly.
"So did you sleep with him?" Wanda asked, grinning.
"No, no," Clarice replied, before pausing and blushing violently. "Well, not then."
"You slut!" Wanda laughed loudly after Clarice went on to explain him showing up at her office, and having sex with her.
"I am not a slut!" Clarice gasped. "He stopped by my office again today and gave me the address to his house. That's why I was late. I think I'm going to meet his mother next week."
Wanda sucked in air sharply. "Ah, the famous mother," she remarked, sipping her drink. "That should be interesting. Let me know what she's like, and if she's actually as insane as she seems. You'll be stepping into Freud's fantasy, you know."
"Oh, I think there's more to the story than we think," Clarice told her. "I can't really tell you his story, and there are a lot of things about it I'm not really sure how to take. But either way, there's more to it than we expect. But, don't worry, I'll let you know."