Part Two concludes the short story… and a reminder, there will be ⚠️ spiders.
You can find Part One here:
We left Sara in the hospital, after being bitten by a Black Widow, and Jacob making a sudden decision in the car park to return.
The woman in the white coat picks up Sara’s chart, looks it over. Her hair drawn into a braid. ‘Been playing with spiders, Detective David?’
‘Something like that.’ She is impressed the doctor pronounced her surname correctly; it was rare for someone she had not met before to say Daveed.
‘What type?’ the doctor asks.
‘A black widow.’
‘Ah, Latrodectus Mactans.’ She smiles. ‘It looks like the antivenin’s worked well for you; you seem much better.’
Sara nods.
The woman replaces the chart, then moves toward Sara, her mouth beginning to open. Teeth sharp.
The door opens; the woman turns.
‘Aranea?’ Jacob is confused.
‘So good to see you again, Jacob,’ Aranea replies, standing.
‘Aranea? The librarian with the spiders?’ Sara’s eyes rove the pair.
‘Yeah; I volunteer at the library.’
‘You do?’ Getty frowns.
‘Yeah.’ Aranea walks to him. ‘I thought I told you last night, I must have got side-tracked.’
Sara coughs.
They turn to her.
A blush webbing his skin.
‘Getty, did you forget something?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says hastily.
‘I better go and see other patients,’ Wolf says sweetly, before turning back to Jacob. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Detective David folds her arms, bemused annoyance on her face as Wolf leaves the room.
‘Side-tracked?’ she asks.
He shrugs and holds up his hands.
Outside the room, Aranea Wolf leans against the wall and rests her head on the paintwork. She stretches her neck, closes her eyes, lifts her hands to curl around her neck and sighs.
‘Damn.’
She walks swiftly away, shrugging the white coat from her frame and throwing it into the first chemical waste bin she passes.
Getty is sitting in the chair facing David; his head down and arms resting on his thighs. His mind turns.
‘You came back to tell me something,’ Sara prompts.
‘Yeah,’ he mutters. ‘This isn’t going anywhere—’
‘You said. That’s no reason to stop, we need to keep looking. You’ve never given up so quickly before.’ Her eyes narrow.
‘There’s no evidence and no motive. Maybe this is a copy, but the link just isn’t strong enough between this and the past cases.’ Jacob pauses. ‘It’s stupid to continue.’
‘But the venom—’
‘Yeah, I know it’s the same. But it could’ve been injected, swallowed, or something.’ He shrugs. ‘This is homicide, and I get that there are many similar cases now, but we’ve nothing, really.’
‘This is deeper, I’m sure that woman knows something.’ Her eyes watch for any slight tremor or hesitation in her partner; his actions and words out of character.
‘I’ve already questioned her.’
‘And you said there was something you were unsure about,’ Sara argues. ‘Speak to her again.’
‘I’m going to speak to the Captain,’ he states.
‘All we need is the link—’
‘It’s not there.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re expecting something, it’s not going to happen.’
Sara closes her eyes when he leaves. The feeling grates, gnaws at her mind. Reaching for her coat, she pulls her phone from the pocket and dials.
‘Detective David?’
‘Hi Sergeant,’ she says precisely. ‘I wondered if you could do me a favour and look up Aranea Wolf of Ironton. She sounds English, though, so she may not be local.’
‘Sure.’ He pauses. ‘Why not ask Jacob?’
‘It’s been a bit hectic,’ she explains. Then considers she should tell the truth. ‘He wants to close the case.’
‘He does? He asked for this especially.’
‘I know, that’s why it seems odd, and why I’m asking you.’
‘What the hell,’ he mutters.
‘Nothing’s making sense,’ Sara adds. ‘Or maybe I’m just overthinking because I’m recovering from the bite.’
‘Nah, your instinct is usually right.’
‘She told Getty she was a librarian,’ Sara says, ‘but she turned up here as my doctor. Why would he get that confused?’
‘Ask him.’
She sighs. ‘He says he’s asked her some questions and she doesn’t know anything of value to the case, so won’t pursue it. There’s something going on here, and I’m sure it’ll connect with the other victims. I just need a little help, please.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Getty and Wolf sit in the library, at the table where they first met, the evening early. Opposite each other, they talk softly.
‘Why did you lie?’ he asks.
‘She’s your partner; I wanted to make sure she was ok,’ she explains without dropping eye contact. ‘Black widow bites can be deadly.’
‘Why the costume?’
‘I didn’t think they’d let me visit a detective.’
‘You should’ve told me, you could’ve visited with me.’
‘I got the feeling you two preferred to be alone.’ Her gaze drops, her expression coy. Coquettish.
Getty ignores the comment, leans back in the chair.
The library has emptied; they are the only ones there.
‘I’m going to suggest we close the case,’ he announces.
‘Don’t,’ she whispers.
‘Why?’
‘Maybe there’s more to it… don’t leave me yet.’ She stretches her hand across the table.
‘So, you’re offering me a reason to stick around?’
‘Keep the case open. Sara needs more time to recover. I need some extra time with you.’
Jacob accepts her hand, smiles when she bends her head to kiss his fingers. Her eyes on his, looking up.
‘I guess I haven’t run out of questions yet,’ he murmurs.
The kitchen counter is littered with paperwork. Detective Getty works on the case, eats an apple, and flicks through the files. He looks at his watch, then out the window; it is dark. He stands, closes the blinds.
Returns to scoop up another pile of documents.
His phone rings. He hears it, but cannot see it. Patting the papers he continues to read one of the newspaper cuttings, the apple held with his teeth. Jacob shifts the apple, drops the paper, and answers.
‘Did I call at a bad time?’
‘No worse than any other, Sergeant.’
‘Sara said you were going to call the Captain, but I thought maybe you got a little behind schedule,’ he says.
‘Not really.’ His tone is defensive.
‘So, you’re closing the case?’
‘No… I think there’s a few more avenues to explore.’
‘I’ve some information that may help,’ the Sergeant offers.
‘What do you mean?’ he says, distracted.
‘I’ve some information to help with Aranea Wolf.’
‘What?’
‘David asked—’
‘She didn’t need to do that,’ he snaps.
‘Detective Getty, I don’t know what’s going on right now, and I’m not sure I want to. Save it for your report.’ He pauses. ‘But this is information you need to know.’
Jacob takes a final bite of the apple before tossing it into the bin.
‘Aranea Wolf was part of a witness protection program.’
‘So?’ Jacob prompts.
‘She died with an Agent Thorne a year ago.’
‘Thorne?’ He shuffles through the multitude of files. ‘There’s a victim called Thorne connected with this case.’
‘Exactly. He died the same way as Mark, according to the evidence I’ve seen so far.’
‘Ok. But I don’t see how Aranea fits. She’s definitely alive; I’ve seen no file on her death. There must be a mistake—’
‘No mistake,’ the Sergeant interrupts wearily. ‘She was originally from England, but has travelled extensively. She was bitten by a black widow and almost died.’
‘Almost died, not dead,’ Jacob retorts.
‘Yeah, then,’ he stresses. ‘But after that, the records get a bit hazy, until she turns up in witness protection after being the sole survivor of a horrific undercover case. Except, while in protection, she dies.’
‘She can’t be dead,’ he argues. ‘She’s helped with this case. She’s helped with Sara. Whether you believe Aranea exists or not—’
‘You can always dig up her grave in Woodland Cemetery.’
‘She’s here,’ Jacob says firmly, despite his frown. ‘With all respect, I think you’ve made an error.’
‘Well, you’ve always found it easier to accept the unbelievable.’ The Sergeant pauses, expecting a comment. A quip. There was nothing. ‘Talk to Sara, and work this out.’
Jacob hangs up, returns to the files. His head drops into his hands, elbows on the counter, and he exhales deeply.
Outside the King family home, Aranea’s car halts. Headlights off, engine cut, she sits. Waits. Her knife turning over and over in one hand. She runs her tongue over her teeth, far sharper than before. Each of them a point. Her eyes divided; each iris split into four. She smiles.
At the hospital, Sara flicks absently through channels on the television to find a source of distraction. The doctor arrives, causing her to pause. He collects her chart with purpose.
‘Well, Sara, it appears the antivenin worked as we hoped. You seem much better,’ he says warmly.
‘Sounds familiar,’ she muses.
‘Pardon? Have you been bitten before?’
‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘Does that mean I can leave?’
‘Whenever you like; tonight if you wish.’ He tucks the chart under his arm. ‘Is there someone you can be with, in case you feel unwell.’
‘Yeah; I’ve a friend.’ She smiles, hoping he still was. After this case she thought this may be in doubt.
Aranea steps from the car, walks purposefully toward the entrance. Rings the doorbell. She is dressed in black, her hair tied back, her nails painted a vibrant red with black tips. She steps inside without invitation when the door opens. Strides down the hall.
‘What are you doing? Who are you?’ Mrs King shouts.
In answer, Aranea slams her against the wall and bites her neck. With efficient speed the venom is released, the blood drunk. The first of her victims collapses to the floor screaming, her hands clutching the pouring elixir from her neck.
Ben bursts into the hallway and rushes to his wife.
Licking her lips, Aranea pulls him from his wife’s limp body. He tries to fight, but Aranea fights harder. His blood soaking into his wife when his body falls.
After she searches for the child, she returns. Carries him, his blood running down her arm. Laying him beside his parents, she pulls her knife from her belt. Raises it. Begins to carve.
Detective Getty is asleep when the phone rings. He flinches awake, his head moving backwards into the pillow. Hazily grasps the device and pulls it to his ear as he sits up; rubs his eyes and looks at his watch. It reads twenty-three-thirty.
‘Detective Getty?’
‘Yeah,’ he answers, blinks.
‘There’s been some more.’
‘More what?’
‘Those funny killings,’ the officer whispers.
‘Where?’ He snaps alert.
‘King’s house.’
‘I’ll be there soon,’ Jacob says. Hangs up.
Quickly he dresses and throws on his coat. Thrusts his phone into the pocket and discovers the evidence envelope. He removes it, places it with the scattered files on his kitchen countertop, then leaves.
His car is barely off before he leaps from it. Ducks the barrier tape and shows his identification. He looks at the bodies wearily, hand rubbing his face. There is blood on the walls in a spider’s web pattern. The insignia is painted there.
And branded on the bodies.
‘Latrodectus mactans,’ he mutters.
‘What?’ the officer asks.
‘Black widow spider.’
‘Whatever.’ The officer shrugs. ‘He’s struck again; whole damn family this time, even the kid. Man, I hate it when it’s kids.’
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘Can you make sure nothing’s touched; I want the pictures as soon as possible.’
‘Sure, where’s Sara?’
‘Hospital,’ he replies.
‘No, I’m not,’ she comments, crossing the threshold.
‘You sure you should be here?’ Jacob asks, but smiles.
‘Yeah.’ She nods.
‘Ok; welcome back.’ He pauses, eyes turning back to the macabre scene. ‘There’s no sign of forced entry; must have been a friend.’
‘A friend,’ she says suggestively.
‘Sara—’
‘Is there a bite mark on their necks?’ Detective David asks the white-suited officer kneeling by the victims.
‘Yeah,’ they reply.
Gathering up the file about the King family, Detective Getty glances to his partner. With the bodies on their way to the morgue, and conscious of Detective David’s recent return to duty, it had been the logical choice to be where the documents were.
But now he feels awkward.
The phone ringing breaks the heavy silence.
‘Hey Jacob; sorry it’s late.’
‘No worries.’ He steps out into the hallway. ‘Are you ok?’
‘Yeah… could you—’
Her voice becomes a scream, stifled. Glass shatters.
The phone dies.
‘Sara, I’ve got to go!’
‘What’s going on?’ She appears in the doorway, frowns.
‘Aranea… she screamed, then the line…,’ he fades out, gathers up his coat and keys.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you’ve just got out of hospital,’ he argues. ‘You stay here, and rest, and read up on the files. I won’t be long.’
He pauses outside Wolf’s house. It is wrapped in darkness. The front door is unlocked. Gun held up against his arm, flashlight in hand, he steps inside. Looks cautiously around before he closes the door. He can see nothing. Hear nothing.
In the kitchen, he finds the broken glass by the smashed phone. In splintered pieces, but without blood. Satisfied everything downstairs is fine, he begins to climb the stairs.
There is a faint glow from a room to the left of the alcove. The rest of the doors are closed. Walking in quietly, torch off but gun ready, Jacob hopes he does not find another mutilated corpse. With a sigh of relief, he lowers the firearm.
Aranea appears to be peacefully asleep, a black candle burning in an iron holder on the bedside table. She is on her side, a tattoo of a black widow spider on her shoulder. One leg sticks out of the comforter.
Sensing someone else in the room, she stirs. She turns, then sits up, pulling the white fabric around her, one arm wrapping around her raised leg. ‘Jacob.’
‘I thought you were… the phone… what happened?’
‘They broke.’ She shrugs.
Jacob walks closer, and Aranea moves forward a little.
‘Thank you for checking on me.’
He perches on the edge of the bed, by her naked foot. ‘I thought you were going to be next.’
She looks him directly in the eye, her teeth chewing her lower lip. A lingering gaze that burns. Makes Jacob feel like prey. The painted nails of one hand rake through his hair, while one finger on her other rests on his lips to silence him. Jacob moves forward, wraps his body around hers as she falls back. They kiss.
Sara feels anxious. She looks at her watch again. Then her phone; no text. No response to her voicemail. No missed call. She has read the file on King, on his family. She has read the information on Pechman. On his connections.
She has found the scrawled note from their sergeant about Wolf’s history. She has been vindicated in her doubts about Aranea. She is concerned about Jacob’s absence. Sara understands why Jacob asked her to stay, but her rebellious streak is winning.
With one last scan of the room, she leaves.
In Aranea’s bedroom, they sleep entwined. Cradled in each other, a web of limbs. A tranquil map of shadows. The candle snuffs and Aranea’s eyes flick open. They are each split into four. She smiles and strokes her tongue over the sharpened points of her teeth.
Sara assesses the silent house, and draws her gun from her hip.
On his back, he sleeps. His head to one side. Above him, Aranea leans over with her venom primed and lips parted.
Walking past the case of spiders makes Sara uneasy; especially after her recent hospital stay. Yet, she continues to explore. She tries one room at a time, systematically searching. Finding Wolf poised to close her jaw on Jacob’s neck, she halts.
Aranea’s eyes flit to Sara, sees the firearm trained on her.
Smiling sweetly, Aranea curls up. Transforms fluidly into a black widow spider and pads quietly away.
With the removal of Aranea’s proximity, and the audibly shocked gasp Sara exhales, Jacob wakes. His confusion a match to Sara’s when he finds the gun pointed at him.
‘Jacob are you ok?’ she asks breathlessly.
‘I could ask the same of you,’ he remarks. ‘Where’s Aranea?’
‘Aranea… she… she scuttled away.’
‘What?’
Sara closes her eyes. Shakes her head. Walks to the bed and sits on the edge. ‘She turned into a spider.’
Beyond the police tape, the barrier around Aranea Wolf’s home, a spider crawls along the tree branches. Jumps to the windowsill. Wriggles in through a tiny gap. The spider’s paws walk with familiarity through the house, climbing the walls, the stairs, to the bedroom.
Uncurling, Aranea appears.
Her skin stretching back into her human form.
Reaching for her silk robe, she slides into it. Rubs the fabric gently over her face with a satisfied sigh. Her footsteps soft as she travels the room, collects the items she intends to keep. The items she will smuggle from the confines imposed.
Her time here done.
But her web unbroken.
Thank you for reading this short story, which began as an homage to The X-Files, many, many, many years ago… and then became a screen play, then further adapted to become the short story it now is.
You can find this, and other short stories, poetry, and vignettes, in The Menagerie. Or, you can get a feel for the dark vibe of the book with a listen to the playlist.
So gripping! Couldn't peel my eyes of the screen! Loved all the symbolism, and the pacing of the story was delicious! ❤️
You've written well. Full of intrigue, something scary happens, there's mystery and it invites curiosity. I love this writing.