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"Good," Fiona nodded, the professional in her surfacing above the tumult of personal anxiety. It was a lead, a direction to take her mind off the image of her sister's gasping awakening.
"Red, if you need to stay here..." Jake began, his gaze softening.
"No," she cut him off, her resolve building. "I'm only in the way here, and this case... it needs us." Fiona straightened her glasses, the scientist within her itching for answers amid chaos. She needed to be doing something, anything that could bring them closer to stopping the killer.
Jake studied her for a second, then nodded. "Okay, let's go get this son of a bitch."
They walked together, their footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway, away from the room where Joslyn lay. Fiona could feel the weight of her sister's condition on her shoulders, but it was overshadowed by the drive to solve the puzzle that had consumed her life for far too long. The mystery of her sister had been cracked open; now it was time to unravel the twisted thread of murders that had brought her to this point.
***
Fiona stepped out of the unmarked sedan, feeling the crunch of gravel beneath her boots. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over Victor Harmon's dilapidated abode, a structure that seemed as unstable as the man himself. She squinted against the glare, pulling her curly red hair into a ponytail.
"Looks like no one's taken care of this place in ages," Jake commented from beside her, his voice edged with distaste.
"Or he likes it this way," Fiona replied, adjusting her glasses. They approached the house, and the once vibrant paint peeled away to reveal the rotting wood underneath. It was a visual echo of Victor's fall from grace.
The forensics team, clad in their blue uniforms, gathered around them. Fiona took the lead, stepping onto the creaking porch. She didn't need to be an expert in human behavior to sense the chaos that awaited them inside; the state of the exterior was a testament to the turmoil within.
With a nod from Jake, Fiona pushed open the front door. A musty smell assaulted her senses, a mixture of dust and decay. She wrinkled her nose but forged ahead. The living room was a battlefield of clutter, with piles of papers and clothes strewn about as if left mid-tantrum. Fiona scanned the mess with a trained eye, noting the lack of any semblance of order.
"Let's get to work," she said, motioning for the team to start documenting the scene. As they dispersed, Fiona and Jake began their own meticulous search. She moved slowly, careful not to disturb potential evidence, while her mind raced with thoughts of Joslyn and the urgency to find justice for the victims.
The walls of Victor's study were plastered with posters and handwritten notes, a chaotic collage that crept into the corners of the room. Butterflies, pinned and framed, adorned the spaces in between, their delicate wings open as if in mid-flight.
"Entomologist turned juice bar manager," Jake mused aloud, his voice tinged with irony as he examined the display. "Quite the career shift."
Fiona's eyes traced the intricate patterns on the butterfly wings, each one a silent witness to Victor's obsession. Her knowledge of insects was an intimate part of her being, yet here it painted a picture of a disturbed mind.
"Look at this," she murmured, stepping closer to a series of detailed sketches. They depicted the life cycle of various butterflies, annotated with Victor's scrawling handwriting. Despite herself, Fiona felt a pang of professional appreciation for the accuracy of the drawings.
"Always thought butterflies were a symbol of transformation," Jake said, glancing over her shoulder. "Seems fitting in a twisted way."
"Transformation or entrapment," Fiona corrected softly, thinking of the victims and their final moments. She wondered if Victor saw himself in these creatures, or if he related more to the spiders he allegedly used to seal his crimes.
Together, they continued their search, every finding a piece of the puzzle that was Victor Harmon. His world was a blend of beauty and madness, and they were determined to sift through the chaos for the truth.
Fiona's fingers brushed over the dusty shelves, her eyes scanning for any hint of the silk threads that had become synonymous with their grisly case. She found none. Around her, the forensics team moved like shadows, their presence a silent dance in the cluttered room. Each opened drawer, each lifted paper, deepened the void where evidence of spiders should have been.
"Nothing," she whispered to herself. The word hung heavy in the air, an unwelcome guest amid the chaos of Victor's home. Fiona's gaze lingered on a jar, its inhabitant a butterfly with wings the color of sunset. But no spiders. No eight-legged architects of death that had marked the scenes of their string of murders.
With every empty corner and silent crevice, Fiona's certainty wavered. She felt the weight of doubt pressing against her chest, her breaths growing shallow beneath it. Could they have been wrong about Victor? Was the true killer still breathing free air, weaving their next deadly trap?
"Red?" Jake's voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. He stood in the doorway, his brows knit together, a mirror of her own concern.
"Spiders," she said, the word barely audible. "There are none."
The realization settled between them, an unspoken fear that their path might have led them astray. Fiona turned away, her mind racing through the possibilities, every scenario darker than the last. If not Victor, then who?
The search wound down as the light outside began to fade. Shadows stretched across the room, the dimming light painting the strange posters and notes in eerie hues. The team packed up, the click of their cases a punctuation mark to the day's work—a full stop laden with uncertainty.
Outside, the sky bruised purple with the coming night. Fiona leaned against the car, the chill of the metal seeping through her clothing. Jake joined her, his face somber under the streetlights' glow. They shared a look, both understanding the gravity of what was left unsaid.
"More questions," Fiona muttered, her voice carrying the weight of her frustration and fear.
"Answers have to be out there," Jake replied, his determination a faint spark in the growing gloom. "We'll find them, Red. We have to."
But as they drove away from Victor Harmon's house, leaving behind the labyrinth of a mind obsessed with beauty but devoid of their crucial clue, Fiona couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere in the darkening city, the real predator was watching, waiting, a specter unseen but deeply felt. The threat remained at large, and time, she knew, was slipping through their fingers like sand.
