The Season of Antlers

9

When I look at Mom and Dad, I see two people who worked hard to get to where they are. When I was younger, we lived in the outskirts of a small town. Dad worked in a warehouse and Mom busted her ass of as a nurse at a hospital in the town over. Money came short, but they spent it with needs not wants. When they looked at me then, I assume they thought I was going to follow in their footsteps. Get a blue collar job, or switch from half time to half time. But in this new house, where there are two bathrooms, a finished basement and an older married couple, our past seems unreal.

I feel like people have higher expectations for me as soon as they hear, "Criminal Analyst", like on those crime shows. But I'm not fucking my coworkers, not saving people at the last second. Most of the time I am doing paper work, but I can't tell people that, because then there goes my rank in their mind. With Mom and Dad, they know about the paperwork, and are just as proud of me even though I'm not having epic chases to catch the bad guys.

Mom holds a cup of warm tea in her hands, I pretend not to notice how she fidgets with the handle. Her smile is soft, but rises every time I add something to the conversation. I don't know what it is with Dad and football, but he can't manage to tare his attention away from the TV to me without going back to watching it five seconds later. 

"How has work been?" Mom asks, taking a sip of her tea. 

I rest my head on the couch, and glance over at her. "You know I can't talk about work." 

"Oh, sorry, I forgot." She furrows her eyebrows, and looks down.

"Any boyfriends?" Dad pushes into the conversation suddenly. "Girlfriends?" he asks raising an eyebrow. My heart pace quickens and my head goes blank, well, not certainly blank. I can think of a person, but not an official person. 

"Kind of?" I shrug.

Mom's face lightens up. "Who is he? Or...she?" 

I sit up. "She uh, is a forensic psychologist that works with my unit. Her name is Dr. Bloom, Ana Bloom." For some reason, I feel excited when talking about the brunette woman. 

"Is she pretty?" Dad questions.

"...Yeah, really pretty." I feel saved at the buzzing in my back pocket. 

I pull my phone of out my pocket, and look down to see Jack Crawford's name, waiting for me to answer. Dad pretends to keep his attention on the TV, while Mom gives me a silent plead to leave work in the building, not in my private life. "Sorry, I have to answer this." I mutter as I push myself off of the couch, and walk away to the kitchen. Swiping up, I bring buzzing phone to my ear.

"A woman was found under Will Graham's bed, in his house. She has suffered physical trauma and may be connected to one of our latest cases. I need you here now." I close my eyes, and take a breath. I resist to ask if Will's okay, because in the back of my mind I can already assume he's sitting well.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I'm forty-five minutes away visiting my parents." I grasp my phone tighter, hearing an irritated sigh from the other end of the call. 

"I hired you in my unit because not only do you know how to get shit done, but you know the urgency and when to get it done. Now, get your ass to the lab." Biting down on my tongue, I see patterns on the lids of my eyes for how tight I'm squeezing my face in anger. 

"I'll be there." I struggle to say without as much annoyance I can, and hang up. 

I back away from the sink and exit the kitchen. Turning the corner, and Dad's eyes are now on me. I don't look him in the eye, and sit down on the couch beside Mom. I try to cover the disappointment in my face, so it won't spread to them like a sick disease.

"What happened?" Mom stands up with me, reaching her hand out. "Work, I'm sorry, I have to go." Mom and Dads eyes sadden, grieving their daughter. I used to visit every weekend when I was in college, now I barely make it to see them once a month. 

"(y/n),

                               y o u

                                                        k i l l e d 

                                                                                            h i m ." My eyes widen on the front door, and my upper back goes cold. Hannibal Lecters voice rings in my ears, and I cannot move. I hear footsteps behind me, and suddenly at the sensation of a hand on my shoulder, I reel my arm backwards, elbowing him in the face. I swiftly turn, my body on alert. 

But there is no reason for me to be in fight or flight, no excuse for my aggression. Dad holds his bleeding nose in his hands, and Mom's wide eyes are stuck in shock. "I didn't kill anyone." I mean to speak loud, but my words come out in a barely audible whisper.

Dad furrows his eyebrows, pulling his hands away from his face. "Who are you talking to right now?" Mom says it before Dad can get the chance, and I feel extremely lost. 

"Someone, someone said I killed him." I exclaim, my face wrinkled in confusion.

"Oh, honey, you must've thought something else when Dad was talking." She tilts her head, and I don't like the wave of emotion that she pushes onto me.

"No, someone else..." There's no point in saying anything, so I stop.

"Your father said, 'talk to you later', not that you killed someone." Mom finds it in herself to step forward. "Have your nightmares come back?" She knows. She fucking knows. Is it that noticeable? Does she think I can't do my job? People already look at me as weak for being a woman in the field, do I need my mother in that bunch too?