☘︎·༻☘︎༺·☽·༻☘︎༺·☘︎☘︎·༻☘︎༺·☽·༻☘︎༺·☘︎
“Lucian,” the voice almost drowned out my thoughts as I woke from being half-asleep during the meeting with my fellow surgeons.
“Are you okay?” Doctor Elie Weber asked, patting my shoulder.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little light-headed,” I quickly responded, turning toward her.
“You look tired. Lack of sleep?” she queried, her voice making my stomach churn. Had she been observing me the whole time?
I smiled. “No, just tired. I’ll be fine,” I responded, trying to stay calm.
My eyes wandered as they adjusted to the brightness of the fluorescent lights, flickering against the heaviness of my eyelids. Doctor Weber turned her attention to her laptop and scrolled through the PowerPoint. Meanwhile, the doorknob turned, and the ambient noise of the hallway spilled in as Doctor Schmidt entered. He approached the table as the other doctors watched from across the room, their gazes following him as he neared me.
“Doctor Hoffmann, you are expected to meet with Doctor Weiss today,” he said as he handed me some files.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat, then continued. “Thank you,” I said, walking out of the conference room.
Doctor Weber looked up at me and smiled as I reached the door and left. I had always felt her eyes on me every time I had a meeting with Doctor Weiss. Was she bitter that she didn’t get the promotion and couldn’t move on?
The silence in my head contrasted sharply with the noise in the hallway as a nurse approached me and smiled.
“Doctor Hoffmann?” she asked.
“Yes, why?” I answered, letting the dryness of my tone show.
“Ah, yes. Uhm, Doctor Weiss can’t see you today. He had an emergency surgery, and his assistant Lea told me that if I saw you before she did, she would be sending a meeting invite,” she said, nodding to herself. “Yeah, I think that’s it. I’m Sophie, by the way.” She held out her hand, but I just looked at her.
“I see. Thank you, Sophie. I’ll check that meeting invitation with my assistant,” I said, not taking her hand as I glanced at my phone. What a weird girl.
Sophie forced a smile and waved goodbye, clutching the charts to her chest.
Before leaving the hospital, I hung my coat, slipped into a jacket, and opened the desk drawer to grab my present for Rose, tucking it safely into my bag.
“Claire, can you check my email to see if Doctor Weiss’ assistant sent that meeting invitation? If so, update my calendar. I’ll be taking a long lunch today. Thanks,” I said, before closing the door behind me.
Reaching the entrance of Smith & Son, I spotted Rose adjusting the book display. She remained unaware of my presence until I tapped gently on the glass. She turned her head to look at me, then paused her work and stepped outside the bookstore.
“Hi,” she said, her eyes brighter than yesterday. She wore white trousers and a white shirt beneath an open orange blouse. Her hair was gathered in a beautifully styled Dutch braid.
“Hey, Rose,” I said. “Do you remember me? I was your customer yesterday. I told you I’d come back for that book you mentioned.”
“Oh... Yes! Arthur, right?” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t forget you; you kept asking if I was okay.”
“Yes. So, what was that book you mentioned?” I asked, offering a smile while keeping my peripheral vision locked on the store’s interior, scanning for her manager.
“Are you looking for somebody?” Rose asked suddenly, her brows narrowing.
“Ah, no. I mean, your boss. I was kind of creeped out by him,” I deflected quickly. She was sharp; how had she noticed?
“Yeah, he isn’t here. He left early,” she responded, almost laughing at me. “But you’re out of luck, the last copy sold this morning. You can buy the e-book version, though.”
“E-book? I prefer physical copies,” I responded, checking my watch.
“Are you always that conscious of the time?” she asked, staring at me. The wind caught a few loose strands of her hair. She looked divine as she brushed them away from her face; for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped.
“No, just making sure I don’t overstay my break,” I answered hastily. I scratched my eyebrow, unable to avoid staring into her eyes. Her lips moved slowly right before she spoke or smiled. She had a small, remarkably cute dimple on her right cheek.
“Strict work schedule?” she asked again, smiling.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“So, where are you going for lunch?” she asked, before glancing back toward the store. “Wait here for a second. I’ll just go grab my purse.”
“Sure,” I nodded, my hands gripping the strap of my bag.
I moved away from the front door to wait. Rose returned a few minutes later, her jacket draped over one arm with her purse tucked beneath it. Before pushing the door open to join me, she called out to another girl who was dusting the shelves.
We walked the rest of the way to the bistro. She was far more talkative than I had anticipated. The Rose I had observed was still and self-contained. This version required something of me I hadn’t prepared for.
The bistro was already packed with patrons by the time we arrived. The onset of the live band triggered a sharp ringing in my ears. Rose appeared captivated by the musicians, pulling me toward a table in the center of the room so she could watch them play.
“Excuse me, Rose. I need to use the restroom,” I told her, securing my bag. “Please order for us.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, raising a hand to cover her left ear.
“Yes!” I shouted over the roar of the crowd.
In the isolation of the restroom, I extracted a pain reliever, swallowed it, and washed my face with cold water to regulate myself before returning.
Seated across from her again, I noticed Rose was lost in the music and the crowd. It gave me the chance to study her at a closer proximity. A pulse was visible against her slim neck. Her hands were soft, the tips of her fingers flushed pink. She had changed her nail polish to a shade of blue.
“Rose,” I called out. Her focus snapped back to my face.
“Oh, you’re back.” She smiled warmly. “They play good music here.”
“Yes,” I replied. I reached into my bag and withdrew the wrapped parcel. “Here, I wanted to give you this.”
“What is it?” she asked, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips.
“A book. I thought it might interest you. I want to know your opinion on the story,” I explained, monitoring her reaction.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before peeling back the paper. Her fingers lingered delicately over the cover.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes scanning the book carefully.
From across the table, I observed her pupils dilate with excitement. A first edition of The Black Spider by Jeremias Gotthelf explained it all.
“This is the rare 1842 copy. Where did you get this?” she asked. Her eyebrows knitted in curiosity, her eyes flicking up to me as if she were trying to assess me thoroughly.
“It belonged to my uncle,” I said, biting into a cracker. “I thought you might find it interesting. Can you read Swiss German?”
“Yes, I can. I’ve heard that this book is unforgettable and creepy,” she said as she scanned the pages. “Gosh! I’ve been dying to read this. How’d you know I’d be interested in this book?”
“It’s just a hunch,” I replied, allowing a small, measured smile to form on my lips.
“Yeah, I suppose so. Duh, considering I worked at the bookstore. Won’t your uncle get mad if you give this away?” Her eyes studied me as she waited for my response.
“No. My great-uncle Augustus died a long time ago,” I replied.
“Oh! I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“Were you creeped out by the story?” she asked. “Do you always give away rare books to people you’ve just met?”
“Kind of. And no, only when I find them interesting,” I responded, wiping my chin with a napkin.
Rose closed the book and slipped it into her purse before taking a sip of her drink.
“Okay, that’s enough. Please don’t spoil the story!” she laughed. “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a GP,” I said, gulping anxiously.
“GP?” she asked, furrowing her brows. “You mean, like a general practitioner?”
“Yes, correct.” I nodded.
“I see.” She stared at me for a few seconds, then turned her head toward the band before continuing. “Aren’t you too busy to be hanging out in a place like this?”
“Usually, I have an hour and thirty minutes for my break. But sometimes I take two hours if I need to do something important,” I replied, moving closer to her. “Why?”
“Nothing,” she said, checking her phone. “Gosh, I need to get back to the store now.”
“Before you go,” I said, catching her gaze. “When do you want to discuss the book?”
“Let me think,” she replied. “Maybe this Friday? Do you want us to discuss it here? Or somewhere not too noisy?”
“Perhaps the library?” I suggested. “The café... or, if you’d prefer somewhere completely undisturbed, perhaps my place. Or yours.” I let the silence hang, listening to the staccato thrum of her pulse.
“Library? No... my boss’s wife works there, and she hates me,” she said. “Hmm... the café, maybe?”
So, she was avoiding the library, an unexpected choice for a bibliophile like her. Had she done something to make her boss’s wife despise her?
“Sure,” I replied, clenching my jaw at the suggestion. I was hoping she would suggest her apartment, but perhaps I hadn’t earned her trust yet. Rose seemed cautious enough to make me want to pursue her even more. “Would you mind if I asked for your number?”
“Yeah, I mean, no… here, type your number.” Rose handed me her phone. “Give me your phone, I’ll type mine.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked it before giving it to her.
“Here.” She smiled. “Don’t spam me with texts!”
“I won’t,” I said, saving her number to my contacts.
After lunch, I returned to the hospital. My world contracted to the sterile, high-contrast reality of the ENT wing. I spent the afternoon performing a mastoidectomy. By 18:00, I had finished my rounds. I reviewed the post-operative charts for a laryngeal reconstruction and adjusted the packing for a septoplasty patient. I left the hospital at exactly 19:00.
Back at the manor that evening, I sat in the dark of my study. The faint scent of surgical scrub still clung to my skin. I sent a brief, polished text.
“Hey, Rose, this is Arthur. Just wanted to say I hope you’ll enjoy the book. Looking forward to seeing you again on Friday.”
Her reply came an hour later, hesitant and stiff. Rose responded with an excuse of “unexpected emergency” that she had to cancel. I stared at the screen for a moment, before retreating to the bedroom. Rose was so unpredictable. I needed to think this over, she had become the Lilith of my plans.
In the shower, I felt nauseous. I was lost in my thoughts, and the loud dripping of the water soon began to fade beneath the rhythm of my fist hitting the tiled walls. My vision turned white. I felt lightheaded, shaking from the weight of the frustration.
Rose was in front of me, fully naked, her face slowly fading into something grimmer. She laughed at me. I couldn’t control it; I strangled her until purple marks were visible on her neck. I didn’t notice that I was stomping on her head, destroying the features I had once admired. I saw her lips intertwined with Franz’s. A cold, heavy weight crawled through my chest. Gasping for air, I almost choked, coughing violently as I lost my balance. I was forced to steady myself against the wall. The sound of the water returned as I sat back, trying to make sense of the moment.
Leaving the manor was the only plausible way to confirm what I had in mind. I had not worn anything fancy that night, and I was hurrying to catch her. I wore nothing but a black hoodie and thick-framed glasses. My eyes were dry from fatigue, but I managed to stay awake the whole time.
The bus dropped me off at the stop near the old building, close to Rose’s apartment. I saw her on the sidewalk as she paid the old woman. I was standing behind a post, watching her and waiting for the man to show.
“Thank you,” she said.
The old woman almost noticed me, so I quickly turned my back and walked to the other side of the building. In the mirror’s reflection, I saw the old woman cleaning up her stall. I waited until she finally locked up. As soon as she disappeared, I checked Rose’s mail and found a letter from Franz Moroz. I quickly tucked it into my jacket pocket and left.
A few moments later, I was back in the study, staring at the letter, my face tightening as I opened it. It confirmed the gut feeling I had that Franz was still reaching out to Rose. I felt betrayed by her. Why hadn’t she mentioned this? She was like Apate, a deceitful snake. My hands were trembling as I gripped the letter tighter, crumpling it in my hand.
The final words on the letter read:
Rose, I’m deeply sorry for what I did…
Days had gone by without a word from Rose. I came to accept the fact that she was playing with me. I was unbothered this time. I wanted her to be hoisted by her own petard.
When she finally had the spine to respond, her text was nothing but a stutter of apologies. I had been expecting her to send me a long, heartfelt message. Nevertheless, I dialed her number and, although I was disappointed, I still wanted to hear her voice.
“Rose, is everything okay?” I asked.
“Arthur, I’m sorry for standing you up,” she stuttered. “I… overthink. Look, I don’t know you that well. I was just scared.”
“Why?” I asked, my chest tightening. “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No! I don’t know… I get anxious sometimes,” her voice echoed in my head. “I overthink a lot.”
“Rose, you don’t have to lie to me,” I replied quickly. “It’s fine if you don’t want to.”
Her voice trembled, and she swallowed hard. “I… I shouldn’t have… I feel like… I’m sorry for judging you. I don’t know, it just…”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said, hearing her voice apologizing for her own mistake was a relief.
There was a long pause on the line. “I’ll see you next Friday, if you’re not busy. I don’t want you to think that I’m a bullshitter,” she sighed.
“No, you’re not. But are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you,” I said, keeping my voice steady and reassuring.
“Yeah,” she said, sniffing. “I’m just overreacting, and I don’t know if you noticed, but I was avoiding people like Monsieur Robert.”
“Sure,” I replied. “Why?”
“Long story short, he won’t stop harassing me,” she sighed. “But please don’t confront him, okay? I don’t want to lose my job. I can’t go back home.”
“I won’t! I promise,” I mumbled as I smiled.
By the time Friday arrived, we met at a café an hour from Rue de Rivoli. It was nearing dusk, and most of the seats had already emptied. A few lingered, absorbed in their phones, while others picked at what remained of their meals. Plants hung overhead, arranged with deliberate care, and a large bookcase stood at the back, more ornamental than used.
A group of teenagers occupied the corner, scribbling their trivial notes, laughing among themselves as one pinned a scrap of paper onto the corkboard: “Be inspired by nature, be friends with nature!” The display was saturated with the same insipid sentiment, arranged as if anyone genuinely cared to read it.
Rose slumped in the gray accent chair, idly turning the pages of the book resting on the table. Her coffee had gone untouched, a thin film settling over its surface as she murmured the words under her breath. My voice cut through her focus, and she looked up at me, startled for a moment before composing herself.
“So, how’s the book?” I asked, looking at her intently as I crossed my arms.
Before Rose responded, she slowly turned a page, her thumb lingering at the margin.
“It’s disturbing,” she said, almost fondly. “Not because of the spider itself, but because everyone deserves what happens to them.”
Raising an eyebrow, I took a piece of bread from the basket and set it on my plate before replying, “Yes, Gotthelf had no patience for innocence.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “The village isn’t cursed by the devil. They invite him in. That’s why it’s creepy. The story really crawled under my skin.” She looked up at me and continued. “It doesn’t pretend morality is gentle. It’s brutal. Punitive.”
The light caught her spectacles as she adjusted them, her gaze steady on mine.
“And deeply Calvinist,” I added, taking a bite of the bread.
She laughed softly. “Yes. Sin as a contract. Break it, and the price comes crawling out of the wall. I didn’t know you had an appetite for dark fiction. You don’t look like it.”
Resting a hand on my chin, I asked Rose, “What do you mean? I don’t look like it?”
“Nothing. You just look like a nice guy, with your Ivy League hair.” She laughed. “You don’t look like the type who would enjoy books like this. You’re more the guy next door.”
So, that’s what she thought of me, a guy next door. I scoffed. “Oh, really?” I laughed.
“What? What did I say? Was I wrong?” she asked, her mouth slightly open, her blue eyes piercing. Rose set the book aside, pulled a napkin from the table, and wiped the side of her mouth.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes because of laughing. “I didn’t expect that from you.”
“Huh.” Rose moved to the side, and turned her face to the window before turning back at me.
“Nevermind. Forget about what I just said.”
Rose was quiet for a moment, finishing the remaining fettuccine. I continued to watch her at every chance I got. It was getting dark outside, but my focus remained entirely on her lips as they moved. I observed the moisture on them, the way they shone in the light, and I wondered what they tasted like. Were they bitter? Were they sweet? Her eyelashes were thick and long. Her skin was supple; she never looked tired. At such close range, the scent of florals and vanilla filled my nostrils. Seated directly across from her, my line of sight afforded me a clear, unobstructed view of her pronounced clavicles and the rising lines of her chest.
For a while, I waited for Rose to bring up Franz. I was still bruised by her not telling me about the letter, but I wasn’t going to start the conversation unless she did.
“So, how’s work?” she asked, clearly trying to change the topic. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but maybe another time.
“It’s been busy, pretty tiring,” I said, smiling at her. “What about you?”
“As usual, during sale season, people pile into the store,” Rose replied. “But most of the time it’s not too bad, and I’ve got a boss who’s pretty much an a-hole.”
“Why don’t you leave your job if he treats you that way?” I asked, setting my utensils aside as I focused on her.
“I’m not from here, and I don’t have references. No impressive background,” she replied. “I wasn’t as lucky as you are. It’s not easy for me to just get a job whenever an inconvenience comes my way.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound insensitive,” I said. “I’m just concerned about you. Was he harassing you?”
“Yes, I don’t know… I just,” she sobbed. “I feel like it’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not your fault. Why didn’t you report him?” I asked again, offering her a napkin.
“I’m scared. No one will believe me,” she murmured, lowering her head and turning her gaze away from me.
I continued to watch her, unsettled, as she stared off into the distance. Every time her boss was mentioned, she acted like this, yet she had never even thought of standing up for herself. Even Franz couldn’t help her. No one was here to listen except me.
“Rose, am I making you feel uncomfortable?” I asked, meeting her gaze.
She was quiet for a moment before settling back into her chair to face me. “No, you’re not. Though I think you’re just an eccentric, shy guy. I felt safer with you. I don’t know, I can’t explain it clearly.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, I leaned back in the chair, still focused on her, thinking and repeating her words in my mind, eccentric, shy.
“Arthur, I have to get back to the store,” she sniffled, tucking her hair behind her ears. “See you around. Thank you for listening.”
I nodded and accompanied her back to the bus stop before returning to the hospital.
At the hospital, the hallway was overwhelmed, with patients crowding the emergency room and spilling into the reception area. Many voiced complaints about the long wait. In my clinic, the hallway was just as crowded. Several scheduled patients sat alongside walk-ins, all shifting restlessly as they waited for their turn.
“Doctor, Mr. Murphy is ready to see you,” Claire said over the intercom.
“I’ll be right there.” I pressed the button and grabbed the charts, standing up from my chair.
I was hoping the patient would be Rose, but it was a man in his fifties who greeted me as I entered the room. Claire assisted him into the consultation room for further checkups.
“Hi, Mr. Murphy, I’m Doctor Hoffmann,” I said, as I assisted him to the consultation room. “I’ve reviewed your file. Please have a seat here.” I pointed to the chair near the desk.
Mr. Murphy was a stout man, wearing a shabby sweater. He followed my gesture and sat carefully in the chair. His attention then turned to me as he pulled his lab results out of his bag and placed them on the desk.
I nodded. “Thank you. Your tests show here that you are suffering from an ear infection,” I said, pointing to the results.
Mr. Murphy leaned closer, smelling of coffee, his eyes darting across the area as he sweated with anxiety. He didn’t say a word; he simply sat there, quietly waiting for the next instruction.
“Can you turn to your right, let me further check your ears and neck,” I instructed.
My hand reached for the otoscope on the wall, the device clicking as the small, concentrated light flickered to life. Mr. Murphy shifted, the chair creaking under his weight.
“I’m going to pull back on your ear slightly,” I said, my voice maintaining its professional mask. “You might feel a little pressure.”
“There is significant erythema and some fluid buildup behind the drum,” I noted, more to the mental file I was building than to him. I clicked the light off and set the tool aside. “Now, tilt your head back slightly for me.”
I moved behind him, my fingertips finding the soft space just beneath his jawline. I began a systematic palpation of his neck, feeling for the cervical lymph nodes. On the right side, just under the angle of the jaw, my fingers met a firm, pea-sized swelling that didn’t belong.
Mr. Murphy winced, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth.
“Tender there, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It feels like a marble is stuck under the skin,” he mumbled with his eyes closed.
“That’s a reactive lymph node,” I explained, stepping back toward the desk. “It’s a clear sign your body is mounting a defense against the infection I’m seeing in the ear canal.”
After the checkups and consultations, the crowd had finally cleared. I had hoped to leave early, but the examinations took longer than expected. Time itself felt slower that night, leaving me exhausted.
“Ms. Claire, I’m going now. Please continue checking and updating the patients’ records, and make sure to update my calendar for tomorrow’s consultations,” I said before leaving my clinic.
Walking down the hospital hallway, a Doctor Halbrecht greeted me.
“Hey, Lucian. What’s up?” he asked, his freckled face red and smiling as he waited for my response.
“Going home. Why?” I replied, my voice low and dry, showing no interest in his invitation.
“You’re not going to dinner? Everyone is going,” he said, smiling as he fixed his glasses.
“No, I think I’ll pass. Maybe next time. Too busy,” I answered as I walked toward the lift.
“Okay! See you around.” He nodded and left to join the others.
☘︎·༻☘︎༺·☽·༻☘︎༺·☘︎☘︎·༻☘︎༺·☽·༻☘︎༺·☘︎
Copyright © 2026 by Mari Montclair. All Rights Reserved.