Chapter Eleven

I was engrossed in making sense of the doodles and the crime scene picture when I heard the doorbell. I left the notebook and the photograph on the coffee table and opened the door. The welcoming scent immediately warmed me up. It was Mr. Caesar.

"Hi." He lifted his lips a little for a smile.

"Come in." I invited him and led him to the living room. He laid a box full of books, and on the other hand, he carried take-out.

"Have you eaten?" He asked and glanced at the papers on my table. "Oh. I guess not."

"Then, let's eat first." I suddenly blurted out an invite.

We cleared the table and put the food. Mr. Caesar brought mutton soup, brown rice, green salad, grilled fish, and stir-fried red shrimps. I do not understand the theme he was going for, but I think he's made sure it was filling and healthy.

"I hope you like it," He murmured. I find it cute for a big guy like him to be like this.

"I'm not picky. It's fine."

As soon as I sipped the soup, I knew I wouldn't forget this meal forever. We sat side by side on the sofa as we ate quietly. After dinner, Mr. Caesar cleared the table and cleaned it. He even took the liberty of washing the dishes and throwing my trash.

He's a good guy. I guess getting marked by someone like him worked for the better. If he becomes the father of my child, I wonder what we would look like.

I saw the notes and the books he brought, and I figured maybe I should think about stuff like that after the case.

"Mr. Russien, you have a lot of pills here. Do you have to take them?" He briefly reminded me of my medication. I went to the kitchen and took them from the cupboard. I put my meds all over the place since I sleep pretty much anywhere in the house. It was my precaution in case I got hallucinations because of sleep paralysis.

"I didn't mean to pry. I was just putting away the plates." Mr. Caesar briefly explained, and then he finally pried into my business, "You have Xanax and many anti-anxiety pills. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I immediately hid the bottles in my room.

When I returned, I saw him sitting down and observing the doodles. He was also drinking a cup of coffee he made. "Do you mind?" He asked, referring to how he used my kitchen and made a coffee. "No. It's fine."

I thought he'd be asking more about my medication, but he did not.

"I made you a cup of milk tea. Do you want?" He offered the other cup on the table. "I wasn't sure if you like it sweet, so I did not put any."

I took a sip and though I don't always drink tea or milk, drinking this together was quite good. "It's good, perfect actually. I like sweets but not with my drink."

"I'll bring you sweets next time then," He promised and inspected the doodles more. "Mr. Russien, may I ask where you got this?"

"From a family member of one of the missing omegas in Lacierta." I honestly answered while omitting Kaye's identity. "Mr. Caesar, don't you think the similarity is uncanny?"

"How old was that person?" He further inquired.

"Teenage, about fifteen years old."

"The police consider that the culprit might be a white-collared middle-aged Beta who can discreetly move those bones. They are interrogating the employees in the city hall one by one. And a teenager might have nothing to do with the case." He calmly shared, but it sounded like he was dismissing that my source was connected with the case.

"But you cannot deny that it's similar!"

"Hmm." He nodded. "Have you ever heard of the infinite monkey theorem? It states that for an endless amount of time, a monkey typing on a typewriter can write a text from any works, songs, and even literature that has not been written yet. It's all a matter of probability at a given time. Coincidences occur like that."

I was annoyed with his reasoning. "Infinite monkey theorem is not a law! It's just a theorem that you may apply to written texts but not a motherfucking drawing and form!"

I took the written note and showed him. "Look at this. I found it in the lounge. It says, 'Look up.' Sure any monkey can type that, but nobody still knows who wrote this or what it had to do with the case. Good luck looking for your middle-aged horny beta there, but I will still abide by what I have deducted so far!"

He took the card from my hand and looked at it with utmost concentration.

Out of nowhere, he then held my hand. It made me quiver and shocked since it happened without any warning. He then looked at me with a softer expression, "Mr. Russien, if you can't live with me, can I live with you instead?"

"What?" I was almost speechless.

"I mean, can I take these for analysis in the lab." He changed the subject all of a sudden. "And I'm sorry for arguing with you with a useless point."

He left and exchanged his padded jacket with the overcoat he lent me last time. I pondered upon the idea of us living together the whole night. I certainly did not think it would be a bad idea. I honestly thought it was okay. But I always have nightmares, and I do not want to openly share that with others.

After the incident thirteen years ago, I remembered telling everyone what I saw whenever I woke up from sleep. I was pulled out of school and got sent to an asylum. People thought I was crazy and gave me varying psychotic diagnoses. I know I am not okay, and I don't want to dump this on him.

I caressed my belly and talked to it for a while. I'd give everything to my child, but I wouldn't want it to inherit my craziness if I could.

There were no movements and valuable updates on the case in the following days. Dr. Mendez and his crew paraded in front of the police station and held a silent protest. They occupied a lane on the highway and held their placards. It was all I could write about. In the meantime, I continued having lunch and dinner with Mr. Caesar when he was not busy. Our topic would always be criminal psychology and the progress of the investigation so far. He blatantly fed me pieces of information, but I couldn't write them as they did not support my theories. So, I just slipped that info to Jacob instead.

The daily supply of used clothes from Mr. Caesar helped me feel better until I started feeling nauseated and vomiting just by smelling something odd. I was covering a homicide case where the corpse had been rotting for four days, which did not affect me. But when Jacob shared the chocolates he bought, I thought it was the most pungent odor I had ever smelt. Since then, I have puked out at most random times.

One Saturday morning, it was Mr. Caesar's day off, so he wanted to take me to a hospital check-up. The snow made the road slippery, and he assisted me as much as possible. He was always gentle in handling me. Oddly, the sweets he gave me did not give me any of those unpleasant reactions. I sat in the passenger seat as he drove me to the hospital. He was primarily concerned about what to feed me at this point.

"I can still eat anything." I insisted.

"I saw you puked near the crime scene before. You almost dirtied everything. What would you do if you get arrested?" I thought he was joking, but his face was as stern as before.

"It all worked out just fine anyway."

On our way through the corridors, Mr. Caesar received a call on his mobile phone. After the call, he looked apologetic as he explained that he had to go to work for an urgent case.

"It's okay. I can do this on my own." I assured him, but I was a little disappointed.

He patted my head and instructed me, "Can you ask the doctor about your anxiety... Your hormones might be unstable because you're pregnant. Ask what's safe for you."

All my apprehension about hiding it completely melted away. I nodded and smiled, expressing my compliance.

He suddenly kissed my forehead and asked, "Can you also take note of the diet recommended by a nutritionist?"

I was caught off-guard, but I laughed, seeing how concerned he was. I lifted my toe, gave him a peck on his cheek, and made a sound of affirmation near his ears. It was a payback for shocking me out of the blue with a kiss on my forehead.

"I'll go. I'll pick you up later. Just wait for me, okay?" He quickly gave me a light kiss on my lips and ran away.

How can a thirty-five-year-old Alpha act like a middle-schooler? I didn't know how much I spent standing still in that position before getting over that little intimacy with him. What the fuck are we doing?