I work relentlessly through my double shift, only taking ten minutes off to grab a sandwich at the cafeteria. I need the distraction badly, and I'm grateful to my body for switching on the autopilot. I can work without thinking – there's so much to do, I barely have time to remember what happened last night.

When my double shift is finally over, it's the middle of the night. I take Bill up on his offer and he walks me to my Honda parked in the lot in front of the hospital. He's nothing but a gentleman, and I'm grateful that he isn't trying to take advantage of my mental state when I'm vulnerable.

"I can do this every night," he says as I unlock my crappy old car.

"That would make me feel a lot safer," I reply with a soft smile. "Thank you, Bill."

We say our goodbyes and I drive home in silence, my heart starting to pound the closer I get to home. My apartment has always been a safe haven, and if nothing else, I have my cats there to keep me company.

I walk into the apartment to the cats' protests and feed them right away, petting their soft fur. I feel so bad leaving them when I have to work double shifts, so I open the balcony door so they can watch the outside world. I lie down on the couch with my favorite mug filled with hot peppermint tea, and try to unwind a little, though it seems an impossible task. My mind keeps going back to Dr. Martin and the horrible way he ended up leaving this world.

When I reach for my fluffy blanket, I find it folded over the chair instead of the sofa. Weird. I could have sworn I left it on the sofa, like I always do. I get up to collect it, and when I do, I get the strange feeling that something's off.

I can't quite put my finger on it. It's as if some things have been moved, taken from their place and then carefully placed back. The differences are subtle – my calendar slightly askew on the fridge door, the picture frame with me, Dinah and Katya turned the wrong way. Fear and panic seep through my pores as I search for more signs that someone's been in here. But nothing is missing. It's just the little differences in how things are positioned.

I try to calm down by telling myself it's nothing, though I don't quite manage to convince myself.

After watching an episode of my favorite TV show, I head to the bathroom and draw myself a long, hot bath. As I soak in the comfort of the rose-scented bubbles, I allow myself to relax. Nobody's going to hurt me. Nobody is out to get me. I'm just shaken because of what happened with Dr. Martin, but even that was just a freakish, unplanned robbery. I got off lucky. I need to remember that.

I close my eyes for a long moment, allowing myself to relax in the comfort of the tub. When my eyes fly open again, they zero in on something on the tile floor, a small, black dot on the otherwise spotless white tile.

It's a spider.

My body moves of its own accord, panicking. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub and my teeth begin to chatter as I stare at the harmless creature in the middle of the bathroom. I'm suddenly terrified, frozen to the spot. I can't even call out for help. My heart is fucking pounding. My head is all over the place. The longer I look at that fucking spider, the more I want to scream.

A memory assaults my mind. A woman, reaching out for me, a scream tearing itself from her lips as she tries to grab hold of me. Then, a bullet burying itself in her chest from behind. Blood blooming on her white blouse, the stain getting bigger and bigger.

The sound of screaming fills my head, a memory of the past I've long tried to leave behind. The deja-vu is so intense I choke on my own breath, my eyes filling with tears I don't understand.

The woman falls to the ground before my eyes, little chubby hands extending toward her. My hands. My mother. Dead on the floor. Her body like a spider's, arms and legs fanned out on the wood, broken, dead.

I want to scream but I can't. I can't even breathe. It takes all my effort to slowly pick myself up, hands shaking as I grab for the towel on the rack next to the tub. I cover myself up and tiptoe around the unmoving spider. I head to the kitchen, my heart still pounding with inexplicable fear as I collect a glass from the kitchen cabinet. I head back to the bathroom. The black dot is still on the ground, and I quickly place the glass over it. Despite my fear of spiders, I can't bring myself to hurt it. It's innocent. It doesn't deserve to die.

I walk out backwards, with my front facing the monster on the ground, locking the bathroom door from the outside before I finally breathe out in relief. The memories that assaulted my mind when I saw the thing seem unbelievable now, but something rings true deep within me every time I remember the scene.

Crawling into bed with my cats, I yawn and pull the covers close. Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson cuddle up next to me and I pull the covers over us. But somehow, it's even scarier beneath them.

After tossing and turning all night, I wake up to the sound of my blaring alarm clock yet again.

Groaning, I get free of the covers and let out an involuntary shiver when I remember what happened yesterday. First, Andrew Martin... and then the spider in my bathroom.

Goosebumps erupt all over my skin and I force myself to use the bathroom door. I try to unlock it, but it's not locked anymore. Furrowing my brows, I walk into the tiled space.

The glass is gone.

There's nothing on the tile anymore.

I want to cry. I swallow back a scream and run into the kitchen, throwing open the cupboard. I try to think rationally, telling myself I have six of those glasses. I just need to count them to make sure everything's okay. I count out loud, painfully slowly, my fingers tracing the shapes of each glass.

"One, two, three. Four, five... Six."

All the glasses are there. Did I imagine the spider last night?

I dig through the muggy mess in my mind. Am I losing it? Why can't I remember things properly?

I tell myself I must've been very tired last night, and that's why I'm mixing things up. The spider was like something out of a nightmare. It's totally possible I imagined it when I was lying in bed, so tired after my shift... right?

Swallowing, I force myself to close the kitchen cupboard. I get ready for work robotically, pulling on clothes, brushing my hair, swiping mascara on my lashes. I tell myself it's nothing.

As I drive to work, I still feel it.

The nagging feeling of being watched, being followed.

I don't know if it's ever going to go away now.

 

 

7

 

 

Jasper

 

 

I stare at the spider —a small thing with hairy legs and an ugly fucking face.

And yet, it put my little Petal into a complete panic mode.

“What’s your story, boy?” I narrow my eyes on him. “Who gave you the right to mess with her head?”

Only I have the right to do that, and I didn’t even start yet.

At least, not officially.

I know she senses me, with the small looks she throws around her, but she always brushes it off.

I throw the spider out of the balcony. For fuck’s sake, I’m starting to speak to animals like the cat lady herself.

She’s at work now, and I didn’t follow her because I have a meeting with one of Costa’s old workers, someone who can recognize the Costa heir’s whereabouts.

Still, I sit at my balcony and stuff a cigarette between my lips, watching her living room. The two cats are lazing around by the closed door, waiting for her to return.