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He fixed the collar of his jacket, hiding the slight tremor of excitement in his hands. He was ready, the predator within fully awakened. As he glanced one last time at his mother's photo, a smile ghosted across his lips. Her death marked the beginning of a new chapter in his dark odyssey.
He turned away and strode toward the door. His gaze flitted to the terrarium where his spiders resided, their silent forms a reassuring presence. They were his kin in spirit, his mentors in the hunt. With one final look at their intricate webs, he stepped into the world. His resolve was ironclad; the hunger within him burned like a flame.
The morning light filtered through the trees as he walked, casting long shadows on the path. The world was unaware of the monster among them, a wolf in sheep's clothing searching for his next lamb. He blended into the crowd, just another face, but inside, the wheels were turning. Today marked the beginning of his next conquest, a tribute to the woman who molded him into the perfect hunter. The game was afoot, and he relished the opportunity to prove his mastery once more.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jake stood rigid before the bank of monitors, his gaze fixed on one in particular. It displayed grainy footage of a man, cap pulled low over his brow as he handed over cash for a clutch of spiders. The orb-weavers, synonymous with death in their investigation, seemed to mock them from the screen.
Jake’s heart pounded. Could this really be the man who was killing these women—who possibly killed his own mother?
"Anything on the line?" Jake's voice was terse, impatient.
"Nothing but dead ends," Fiona replied from her adjacent desk, her fingers clicking over her keyboard as she sifted through data.
The tech team had been buzzing around them since they opened the tip line, fielding calls with a mix of hope and skepticism. A prank call had come in earlier, some idiot mimicking spider noises before erupting into laughter and hanging up. Jake had slammed the receiver down so hard it echoed through the bullpen.
"Got another," a tech called out, passing a note to Jake.
"Fourteen-year-old skateboarder seen with a tarantula." He crumpled the paper, tossing it into the growing pile of useless tips. "This is going nowhere."
Fiona looked up, her amber eyes meeting his. "He's out there, Jake. Someone knows him."
"Sure," Jake muttered, not convinced. He knew the profile by heart—a male, possibly twenties at the time of his mother’s death, likely thirties or forties by now, possibly with a personal connection to the victims. But knowledge felt like cold comfort when leads were scarce.
The clock ticked mockingly, each second a reminder of the urgency pressing down on them. Three women, their lives brutally cut short, and somewhere out there, a killer with a penchant for spiders and slaughter.
Jake's fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the edge of his desk, each tap a sharp echo in the quiet of the room. The agents around him were a blur, their voices melding into an indistinct hum as he stared at the grainy image frozen on the screen. It was a face that could belong to any number of men in Portland—a face that, nevertheless, seemed to mock him with its anonymity.
He felt it again, that old, gnawing ache—the one that resurged with every dead end and unanswered question. Fifteen years had not dulled the edges of his loss; if anything, time had honed them to a finer point, a constant reminder of the day he'd come home to find his world irrevocably altered.
"Jake?" Fiona's voice cut through his reverie, gentle but insistent.
He blinked, forcing his gaze away from the screen to meet hers. "Yeah?"
"You're clenching your jaw," she observed quietly.
"Am I?" He hadn't even realized, but now that she mentioned it, he felt the tension there, the dull strain of muscles held too tight for too long.
"Is everything okay?" Her concern was palpable, a warmth he found both comforting and unnerving.
"Fine," he lied smoothly, the word slipping out with practiced ease. "Just... eager to catch this guy."
Fiona studied him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable behind her glasses. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."
He nodded, offering her a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know, Red. And I appreciate it. But really, I'm fine. Let's just focus on finding our spider collector before he decides to add to his collection."
He saw the flicker of doubt cross her features before she masked it with a nod, stepping back to give him space. Jake turned back to the screen, to the frozen image of the man they sought.
The lies sat heavily on his tongue, the truth burning like acid just beneath the surface. This case was more than just a hunt for a killer—it was a path leading back to the darkest day of his life, to questions left unanswered and justice unserved. But he couldn't afford to be sidelined by his own ghosts, not when lives were at stake.
He returned his attention to the screen, but Fiona's next words pulled him back.
"Let's take a step back from the tip line," she suggested, pushing a strand of curly red hair behind her ear. "We need a new angle. What about talking to people who knew Erica Silverman? Maybe someone saw something they didn't realize was important."
Jake considered it. Erica's world—her gym, her friends—it was untapped territory. They needed fresh leads, and this could be their chance to find them.
"Her kickboxing gym," Jake said, the idea taking hold. "If anyone knows her routine, her connections, it's them."
