Volume 1: Proscenium

Issue 3: Interrogation

Florian Reyes Honeywell

By Roach

I peered through the peephole. A man I had never seen before stood outside the apartment door. He wore a long coat over a button-up shirt, complemented by a tie. A police badge hung from his neck on a silver chain. He knocked again, sharper this time. I took a startled step back.

My thoughts were racing. What was he doing here? Had the security footage caught the bees after all? Had the police already reviewed it? How long had I just been sitting in the living room? Hours? My sense of time had been completely warped.

I glanced back at the living room. Bees covered the table, TV, walls, and floor. There was no time to line them up and direct them back to my body. Thinking on my feet, I guided them under the couch, chairs, and table. I ordered them to attach themselves to the underside of each furniture piece. Unless anyone purposefully looked underneath them, the swarm would remain out of sight. While the bees repositioned themselves, I turned on the AC. The temperature didn’t really warrant air conditioning, but I hoped that if any of their buzzing had been audible through the door, the sound could be mistaken for the whir of the AC.

There was another knock. I turned back to the door. Then I opened it.

“Evening,” the man greeted me. He reeked of cigarettes, the smell amplified by my sensitive nose. That was the cost of being able to detect the chemical traces of pheromones in the air. I looked him over. He was of average height, his hair short—near buzzed—and his skin a copper tone. He continued, “I’m looking for a Florian Reyes Honeywell.”

“That’s me.” I wrinkled my nose.

A part of me thought his next words would be you’re under arrest, although I still hadn’t figured out for what. If anyone had seen me, running away wasn’t exactly my best moment. If they had seen my bees, that was a whole other can of worms. But instead, he said, “I’m Inspector Matt Ramirez from the SFPD. Are your parents home?”

“No, sir.”

“Where would they be?”

“Is… Is this about them?” Although I was playing dumb, I didn’t need to feign the nervousness in my voice. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think that this concerned Mr. Howells. The question remained how I was involved with it all.

“No, no, nothing like that. If it’s not a good time, I can stop by later or make a call.”

The implication that it wasn’t just me being dragged into this, but possibly my parents as well, was the only thing which could make the situation worse. When I didn’t respond right away, the inspector prompted, “Do you know when they’re getting back?”

“I don’t think they’ll be getting here anytime soon. If you want to talk, now is probably better.” I would have preferred not to talk to him at all, but it was better to keep my parents out of it if possible.

“I see.” He furrowed his brows slightly. “Would you mind if I came in? I won’t take much of your time.”

I glanced back, scanning the living room. A single misplaced bee sat on the edge of the table. I moved her beneath it with the others. Now, the room looked like usual. Decorations were borderline cluttering it; a small figure of Santa Rita stood in prayer among the various houseplants on the windowsill, a broken cuckoo’s clock hung on the wall, and a collection of photos from my mom’s grad studies hung on the other. Nothing out of the ordinary. At least, on the surface.

“Not at all,” I said. I felt acutely aware of the swarm’s presence. But they stayed true to my will; paralyzed in their respective hiding spots. I stepped aside, allowing Inspector Ramirez to walk past me. I closed the door and followed him into the living room.

“So, where are your parents?”

“At work.”

“What kind of work?”

I considered making something up. If my bees had somehow stirred any suspicion at the school, outright admitting that my parents were beekeepers wasn’t a good look. At the same time, lying about it would only make things worse later. Even my name, Honeywell, was attached to the business. “Beekeeping,” I said.

His puzzled expression told me that, whatever he had expected, that wasn’t it. “This late?”

“They distribute beehives to different farms that could use the extra pollination.” My response was practiced, and a simplification of their research contributions. I only had a vague understanding of their contributions myself. “They’re currently in Oregon.”

“I see,” he said. Neither of us had taken a seat but stood awkwardly on our respective sides of the table. “Well, if you don’t mind, there are a few questions I would like to ask you.”

“Sure.”

He retrieved a notepad and pen from his chest pocket. As he took it out, the pen fell to the floor. To my horror, he bent over to pick it up.

As he reached for the pen, his head lined up with the surface of the table. All he had to do to discover the bees underneath was turn his head ever so slightly. I tried to think of any plausible explanation: Yes, my parents are beekeepers. And yes, we do keep the bees in the living room. Why, of course, their registration is up to date according to California beekeeping regulations, and yes, everyone asks that. Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? That wouldn’t cut it. I briefly imagined attacking him with the swarm, which was unarguably an even worse outcome. Not just because he was armed, but more importantly, I hadn’t done anything wrong. Bees weren’t a crime (maybe aside from releasing them into a high school—I wasn’t entirely sure about the legal implications on that one).

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Inspector Ramirez straightened up again. His expression was unfazed. When I realized that my teeth were gritted, I forced my jaws to relax. He didn’t appear to have noticed anything. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” I managed to say. He took a seat in the armchair by the TV. One hundred bees clung to the underside of his seat. I sat down in the same corner of the couch as before. As if in deep thought, he placed the tip of the pen against his mouth, pressing it lightly against a scar on his upper lip.

“So, where were you about two to three hours ago?” he said, tilting his head.

“What time is it?” I asked, genuinely unaware.

He checked his wristwatch. “7:34 pm.”

I thought it over. The timing would land me in the library. I told him so.

“Reading?”

“For my history test.”

“Was anyone else with you?”

“No.”

He jotted something down. “When you were at school today, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

I envisioned my day. History, English, algebra, lunch, biology, P.E., the library, Mr. Howells’ murder; the last pitiful breath he would ever take, his decimated body, his entrails on the floor, his blood filling the hallways, his blood on my shoe, blood everywhere, blood flooding my mind, the buzzing in my head, a vortex churning through me, the relentless buzz, eating me from the inside out…

“Not really.” My voice trembled. I composed myself. “Everything was pretty normal. Just had my regular classes.” If the last half year or so of living with the swarm had taught me anything, it was to keep a secret; how I would only release the swarm when my parents were away or asleep, all the excuses I had come up with for my lacking appetite, or my made-up migraines to excuse the pain of my physical transformation. As far as this man was concerned, my day had ended with the library. I couldn’t let him know what I had seen—not after I had released the swarm at the scene and used it to bypass the security cameras. It was too late to turn things around now.

“Did you see anyone around who wasn’t a teacher or student? Or hear anyone talk about someone like that?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… Umh… Can I ask what this is all about, sir?”

He nodded sympathetically. “There was an… incident at Chapel Hill High. We’re following up with anyone who was there around the time, and Ms. Lin mentioned that she saw you.”

“Oh.” It took me a moment to realize he meant Holly. In other words, no one had seen me control the bees or run away. Unless he withheld information from me, but his reasoning was plausible enough. No one except the library intern should have seen me. “Is Holly okay?” I asked after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, she’s gone home for the day,” Inspector Ramirez confirmed. A weight lifted from my shoulders. She was the only other person I had seen, and if she was okay, I took it as a good sign. He continued, “I have another question for you, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah. Anything that can help.”

“Do you remember what time you left, or when you got home?”

“Uh, let’s see… I think I left the library sometime around 5:20 or 30.” I didn’t want to lie to him when he already could have gotten the information from Holly, although I was being generous with the time frame. I knew I hadn’t left until 5:30 at the earliest. “So I would have been home by 5:40 or 45? Something like that?” Again, I probably hadn’t made it home until 6ish, but at least no one could call me out on that.

“Alright.” Inspector Ramirez scribbled on his notepad. “Anything else you’d like to share with me?”

“I mean… Can I ask what happened?”

“We won’t be disclosing information until all of the affected parties have been properly informed… But I’m sure the school will reach out as soon as they can.” He flipped the notepad over, wrote something down, and tore off the page. “In the meantime, if you remember anything or need anything, this is the number to the station. You can ask for an Officer Carroll.”

I looked him over, trying to decipher whether or not he was testing me. While his smile seemed tired, it didn’t come across as disingenuous either. I relaxed a little as he handed me the paper.

My relief turned out to be short-lived. Just when I took the paper, I spotted a single bee crawling over his neck. I stiffened. Fly to the ceiling, I instructed the bee. But she didn’t react. Fly away, I tried again. Still nothing.

The inspector got out of the armchair. He glanced around the room, while the bee remained on his neck. His brown eyes flickered to the photos on the wall. They showcased the Austral University of Chile’s botanical gardens (where my mom attended college), closeups of different insect wings, and bird’s-eye views of the Andes mountains. The only photo which actually included people featured my mom and dad at an insectarium. I forgot exactly where, but a few years before I was born, my dad had proposed to her in front of the butterfly collection. But even this photo appeared grainy and out of focus. Instead, the bright colors of the pinned butterflies drew the viewer’s attention to the wall behind my parents. While he studied the photographs, he reached for his neck.

Fly away, I told the stray bee. She didn’t. Instead, she barely evaded his hand, then landed under his ear. She crawled back towards his neck.

“Hopefully your parents get home soon,” the inspector said, oblivious to the bee now clinging onto his neck hairs. I tried to take control of her again, but my pheromones remained ineffective.

“Should just be a couple of days,” I said. The paper wrinkled where I pinched it between my thumb and fingertips. Please please please, fly, fly, fly. I kept repeating the command, but she rejected each signal, even as they grew increasingly desperate. Had I exhausted my power?

“Good. Just give the station a call if anything comes up, and take care, kid.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. He went to the door. On his way out, he rubbed his neck, as if he had tried to brush something away. The bee was gone. He offered me a weary smile before closing the door behind himself.

I scoured the room with my gaze, finally spotting the disobedient bee. She flew in circles below the ceiling. I stared. I kept still, halfway expecting Inspector Ramirez to return at any moment—that it had all just been some sort of ruse to expose my swarm. The lone bee continued circling while the rest of the swarm stayed hidden, as petrified as myself.

The Queen broke the silence. Consider this a reminder of who is in charge, she said. She guided the bee towards me. You will never be more than a hive.

Her puppeteered bee landed on the back of my hand. I watched intently as the worker crawled up my arm. The Queen chuckled in a series of hums. Her pheromones lay thick in the air, overshadowing my own.

Long live the Queen, the swarm praised.

I crumpled the inspector’s note in my fist.