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She started her run, each exhale a white plume fading into the cold air. Her footsteps kept a steady rhythm on the pavement, a metronomic assurance beneath the street lamps' glow. Erica moved with purpose, her breaths shallow and quick, muscles warming despite the frosty evening.
As she jogged, Erica's thoughts drifted to the electrolyte drinks waiting for her post-run. Absorbed in visions of replenishment, she altered her path toward her preferred local haunt – a store that stocked her favorite brand. But halfway there, a jolt of irritation struck. She patted her pockets, finding them devoid of her credit card's familiar shape.
"Damn it," she muttered, the words dissolving into vapor before her. With a sigh, the convenience of a well-earned drink slipped from her plans. Resigned to her forgetfulness, Erica pivoted back towards home. The warmth of a hot cup of tea now beckoned, a small consolation amidst the biting cold.
Her pace hastened, eager for the sheltered comfort of four walls and a roof. Each step carried her closer to respite, away from the biting evening that seemed all too eager to swallow her whole. The city lights blurred past, indifferent spectators to her solitary figure cutting through the darkness. Erica focused on the promise of warmth, letting it fuel the final stretch of her unintendedly abbreviated run.
Erica's key turned in the lock, and she stepped into the dimly lit hallway of her house. She expected the welcoming embrace of her home's warmth, but instead, a peculiar chill seeped through her sweat-dampened clothes. It was an alien cold, one that didn't belong indoors, and it crawled over her skin with spidery fingers.
"Odd," she mumbled to herself, the word barely audible as she closed the door behind her. Her breath, visible in the foyer's air, swirled around her like spectral whispers. She frowned, unease coiling in her stomach. The thermostat, set on a timer, should have banished the winter's bite hours ago. Yet here it lingered, an uninvited guest.
Erica's eyes darted upstairs, wondering if negligence had left a window ajar. But no memory surfaced of her opening one before leaving. Casting off her shoes, she padded forward, her ears straining for the familiar hum of the heating system. Silence greeted her, deep and unnerving. A shiver shook her—not from the residual adrenaline of her run, nor the lingering Portland chill outside, but from something far more instinctual.
Her gaze swept the shadows pooled in the corners of her vision, searching for anything amiss. That's when she noticed the movement on the floor. At first glance, it seemed like a trick of the light, a mere flicker. Then another moved, and another, until the horrifying reality dawned on her: spiders. Dozens of them, skittering across her tiles, their legs clicking faintly against the hard surface.
A knot tightened in Erica's throat, her pulse thundering in her ears. This couldn't be real. Spiders weren't unwelcome in her home—she'd never dealt with more than the occasional stray—but this was an infestation. The sight sent a primal alarm through her veins, and without thought, her voice broke the silence, sharp and loud—a scream that splintered the stillness of her home.
The arachnids seemed undeterred by her panic, continuing their eerie dance upon her floor. Erica's mind raced; where had they come from? Why now? Her heart hammered against her ribcage, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos that writhed at her feet. Every instinct screamed to flee, to escape the crawling terror, but she was frozen, caught in the web of her own dread.
Her scream still hung in the air, a fading echo of terror that seemed to mock her paralysis. Before Erica could regain her composure or make sense of the eight-legged nightmare at her feet, darkness shifted into form. The man materialized from the shadows as if conjured by her fear, his presence abrupt and menacing. His hand clamped onto her arm with an iron grip, jolting her from fright to fight.
"You came home early," he growled, voice low and laced with threat. The words slithered into her ear, cold and sinister. Erica's skin crawled under his touch, and she felt the weight of his intention pressing down on her like a shroud.
Erica's mind reeled, struggling to piece together the inconceivable scene unfolding before her. Who was this man? How did he get into her house? The questions spiraled, each one amplifying her alarm. But beneath the surface of her panic, something else stirred—a hardened resolve honed from hours of rigorous training and sparring in the kickboxing gym.
Her breath quickened; her muscles tensed, preparing to react. Yet before she could channel her honed instincts into action, a new sensation sliced through her focus: the unmistakable kiss of cold metal against her throat. The sharp object pressed with a deadly promise, and Erica's world narrowed to the chilling touch of steel on her skin.
Panic flared, white-hot and blinding. Her heart thrashed wildly in her chest, a drumbeat of primal fear. She could taste the danger in the air, metallic and thick, choking her silent before words could even form. This was not about in the ring. This was real, raw survival.
The pain came without warning, a searing bolt that tore through her defenses. It ripped a gasp from her lungs, a sound strangled by shock and the beginning of comprehension. Danger had breached her sanctuary, and it threatened to snuff out her light with the ruthlessness of a shadow swallowing the day.
As the pain carved its message deep into her flesh, Erica knew with chilling certainty that her life teetered on the edge of a knife. And the abyss that yawned below was hungry.
CHAPTER TEN
Fiona's legs were heavy as she stepped out of the car, the city lights of downtown Portland glinted off the glass facade of Jake’s high-rise apartment building. They moved through the silent lobby with the kind of fatigue only a day chasing shadows could bring. The elevator hummed softly, ascending to Jake's floor, and Fiona leaned against the cool wall, closing her eyes briefly.
The door to his apartment clicked open, and they stepped into the muted calm of Jake's place. It was all sharp angles and clean lines, the furniture minimal – a contrast to the chaos of their day. As Jake tossed his keys onto the kitchen island, he continued the thread of their earlier conversation.
"Rhodes's alibi is solid," he said, peeling off his jacket. "Security footage confirms he wasn't even in town."
Fiona nodded, processing this new information. She removed her own coat, feeling the weight of it lift from her shoulders. She could still picture Calvin Rhodes’s defiant face, spider tattoos crawling up his neck, the embodiment of suspicion. But the evidence couldn’t be argued with, and Fiona knew that the facts had to lead the way, no matter where intuition pointed.
"Seems like we're back to square one." Fiona's voice was level, but she felt the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Her gaze wandered to the large windows, the night sky expansive and dotted with stars.
Jake glanced at her, a crease forming between his brows. "We'll catch a break soon. We always do."
Fiona wanted to believe him, to share in his confidence, but doubt gnawed at her. She joined Jake by the window, the city spread out below them like a vast, slumbering beast. They stood there for a moment, taking in the moment, before Fiona went over and sank into the plush couch, her body molding into the soft cushions. Beside her, Jake mirrored her movements, their shoulders brushing in silence. The apartment's dim lighting cast a warm glow over their features, offering a semblance of peace amid the chaos of their lives. Fiona's mind, however, refused to settle. Now that she had a moment away from the case, images of Joslyn haunted her—an echo of a laugh, a flash of a smile that seemed forever out of reach.
"Any word from the hospital?" Jake's voice pulled Fiona from her reverie. “About your sister?”
"Nothing," she murmured, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the fabric of the couch. "No news is good news, they say."
Jake turned to her, his eyes searching her face. "I can tell when you’re worried, Red.”
Fiona nodded. "I just... What if she never speaks again, Jake? What if she's trapped inside her own mind forever?"
He reached out, gently taking her hand. "You'll be there for her, Red. That’s all you can do. Be there and hope."
