I didn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the man's voice from Robert Hendricks's house: Walk away or end up in the ground.
At six AM, I gave up trying and went to the flower shop early.
The back door was already unlocked. Teresa was inside, unpacking a delivery of roses. She looked up when I walked in.
"You look terrible," she said.
"Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious, Marcus. When's the last time you actually slept?" She set down a box and crossed her arms. "And don't lie to me. I've known you for three years. I can tell when something's wrong."
The roses in the box whispered: Fresh cut. Still remembering the greenhouse. Cold. So cold.
"I'm fine," I said. "Just had a lot on my mind."
"Is this about the funeral order? The woman from yesterday?"
Yes. But I couldn't tell Teresa that. Couldn't explain that I was now involved in a possible murder investigation because I could hear dead plants talk.
"It's nothing," I said. "I'll handle the morning deliveries. You take care of the counter."
Teresa watched me for another moment, then sighed. "Fine. But Marcus? Whatever's going on, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"
I nodded, even though we both knew I wouldn't.
The morning passed slowly. I made three deliveries. Anniversary flowers for the Johnsons on Oak Street. Birthday roses for someone's grandmother. A get-well-soon arrangement for a kid in the hospital.
That last one was hard. Hospital plants always absorbed too much pain, too much fear. I dropped off the flowers at the nurse's station and left quickly, before the other plants in the room could start talking to me.
By lunch, I was exhausted.
I sat in the back room of the shop, eating a sandwich I couldn't taste, checking my phone every five minutes. Claire hadn't texted yet. Maybe she'd changed her mind. Maybe she'd realized how dangerous this was and decided to walk away.
My phone buzzed.
Claire: Found the address. Riverside Medical Research Facility, 1847 Coleman Ave. Building's abandoned now. Meet me there at 9 PM?
Me: I'll be there.
Claire: Bringing supplies. Flashlights, tools to get inside, cameras to document everything.
Me: Just be careful.
Claire: You too.
I put my phone away and stared at the half-eaten sandwich. Nine hours until we broke into an abandoned medical building to interrogate plants about twenty-year-old experiments.
My life had gotten very strange, very fast.
"Marcus?" Teresa's voice came from the front. "Can you come here for a second?"
I walked out to the counter. There was a man standing there, mid-forties, wearing a police uniform.
My heart jumped into my throat.
"This is Officer Chen," Teresa said. "He's asking about our funeral order from yesterday. The one for Robert Hendricks."
The officer looked at me. "You're Marcus Webb?"
"Yeah."
"I'm investigating Mr. Hendricks's death. His daughter, Claire Hendricks, placed an order here yesterday. I'm talking to everyone she had contact with, just routine questions." He pulled out a small notebook. "Did you speak with her when she came in?"
"No. Teresa handled the order."
"But you were here?"
"In the back. Working."
The fern hanging behind the counter whispered: Lying. He's lying. Nervous. Scared.
I forced myself to stay calm. "Why are you asking about a flower order?"
"Like I said, routine. We're tracking Ms. Hendricks's movements." Officer Chen flipped through his notebook. "She's been asking questions about her father's death. Trying to conduct her own investigation. We need to make sure she's not interfering with our work."
"I wouldn't know anything about that," I said. "I just arrange flowers."
Officer Chen watched me for a long moment. The fern kept whispering: Lying, lying, he knows you're lying.
"If Ms. Hendricks contacts you for any reason," the officer said slowly, "I'd appreciate a call. This is a serious investigation. We don't want civilians getting hurt."
He handed me a business card.
"Sure," I said, taking it. "No problem."
Officer Chen nodded to Teresa and left.
The moment the door closed, Teresa turned to me. "What was that about?"
"No idea."
"Marcus."
"I really don't know, Teresa. Maybe the daughter is causing problems for the police."
The fern whispered: So many lies today. So many lies.
Teresa didn't look convinced, but she didn't push it. "Just be careful, okay? If you're involved in something—"
"I'm not involved in anything. I sell flowers."
"Right." She went back to arranging a display of lilies. "Keep telling yourself that."
I spent the rest of the day trying to act normal. It didn't work. I knocked over two vases, cut three stems too short, and almost killed a perfectly healthy orchid by overwatering it.
At five PM, Teresa sent me home.
"Go," she said. "You're useless today anyway."
I didn't argue.
---
Back at my apartment, I changed into dark clothes again. Jeans, black jacket, boots. I felt like a criminal.
The plants in my living room were agitated.
Danger tonight. Big danger. Police are watching. Someone knows.
"I have to do this," I told them.
The fiddle-leaf fig answered: No you don't. You can walk away. Stay safe. Stay alive.
But the white carnations in my bedroom were louder: Promise. Keep your promise. Find the truth.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I almost didn't answer. Then I thought maybe it was Claire calling from a different phone.
"Hello?"
Silence on the other end. Then breathing.
"Hello?" I said again.
"Marcus Webb." A man's voice. Not the one from last night. Different. Younger. "You need to stop helping Claire Hendricks."
My blood went cold. "Who is this?"
"Someone who knows what you're doing tonight. Coleman Avenue. The old medical building." The voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "If you go there, you won't come back."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a fact. Robert Hendricks asked too many questions. He died. His wife asked too many questions. She died. You're making the same mistake."
"Claire's mother didn't ask questions. She was sick."
"She got sick because she asked questions." The voice paused. "Her husband worked with the research facility. She found out what they were really doing. So they made her sick. Tested their work on her. She became part of the experiment."
My hands were shaking. "You're lying."
"Am I? Then why did Robert Hendricks spend a hundred thousand dollars trying to save her? Why did he keep records hidden for twenty years? Why did he call his daughter three weeks ago, finally ready to confess?" The voice got quieter. "He grew a conscience. It got him killed."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to stay home tonight. Forget about Claire Hendricks. Forget about Riverside Medical. Live your life."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the last thing you'll hear is someone asking for help. Just like Robert Hendricks did."
The line went dead.
I stood in my apartment, staring at my phone. They knew about tonight. Knew where we were going. Which meant they were either watching us or listening to us.
I called Claire. She answered on the first ring.
"Marcus? I was just about to leave—"
"They know," I said. "Someone just called me. They know about the medical building."
Silence. Then: "How?"
"I don't know. But they threatened to kill us if we go."
"So we don't go. We figure out another way."
I should have agreed. Should have said yes, let's be smart about this, let's stay alive.
But the carnations were whispering, and I was so tired of being afraid.
"No," I said. "We go tonight. But we go prepared. And if anything feels wrong, we leave immediately."
"Marcus, if they know we're coming—"
"Then we'll be ready for them."
I hoped that was true.