 
THE SPIDER AGENDA

By

Travis Barr

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Travis Barr on Smashwords

The Spider Agenda

Copyright © 2014 by Travis Barr

McNab turned off the car engine and got out to leisurely stroll the walkway to his massive front doors. He inserted his key into the knob, opened one of his doors, and stepped inside. He had at most five seconds to type in the correct security code to his safety alarm before it tripped a hideously loud alarm and alerted the police. So before he even closed the door, he immediately went for the wall keypad located on the adjacent wall to his right.

And in that moment, a bulbous, eight-legged nightmare entered behind him from the top of the gaping doorway. Noiselessly, it adhered to the walling above the doors and quickly made its way to the ceiling structure. Once there it skittered upside-down and further into the vast room. Again it made no sound. It was clear the intruder did not want to make its presence known just yet. It succeeded for McNab, by this point, was focused solely on entering the last digit of the code.

The intruder, the thing was _huge_ and unnatural. And as the oblivious man turned to close the door and rearm the security system, the creature had already worked its way into another room and out of sight.

The carefree McNab had only three hours left before he would be completely bloodless.

Chapter 1

_She looks like a damned supermodel,_ thought Erin Belaski as she sat patiently awaiting her time to be called. The executive assistant sat behind her desk and focused her attention down towards writing something that Erin couldn't see. Even at twenty-six, Erin still held strong remnants of childhood curiosity and, though she was trying hard not to, kept stealing glances at the perfectly-formed employee. She was one of millions actually who toiled for the revered, worldwide conglomerate known as Pearson & Paul Industries. The assistant swerved her head around quickly to observe her computer screen and must have read a message from her boss because—

"He's ready for you now," the stunner announced as she switched her gaze from the luminous screen to Erin.

"Oh, thanks," Erin answered, collecting herself enough to stand and walk. She smiled briefly at the woman and the woman smiled back—only for an instant—then returned her eyes back to her writing.

Erin made a beeline straight toward an office door that read in black letters:

Stanford Jordan

Divisional Chief Executive of Operations

_You're okay_ , she consoled herself to calm her nerves. _This is just an interview, you've had them before. If it doesn't work out, you still have your filing job at Beatty Inc. It doesn't pay as much as this job would, but it's still better than living on food stamps for you and your precious one-year-old to scrounge over...or worse._

_So relax and remain composed_ , she thought as she reached the door and put her right hand to its knob for turning.

Before doing so, she drew in a silent yet stuttering breath, let it out in the same jittery fashion...

...And opened the door.

****

"Please come on in," Stanford Jordan said with his inviting smile. He had risen his slender and well-dressed frame to swoop around his desk and approach Erin. As he did, he gradually rose his hand to eventually shake hers. He gave her a few gentle but firm pumps as he said, "Erin? Stanford. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," she managed as they separated hands.

"Thanks for coming in, please have a seat." He motioned for her to seat herself in the office chair facing his desk.

"Oh sure, thanks." She sat while he returned to behind the desk to do the same.

He studied her for an instant. "These things are nerve-racking, aren't they? Interviews?"

A quivering smile escaped her. "Oh...maybe just a little."

A soothing grin formed his lips. "Well I hope you can relax, I really try to be informal about these things. Example: I'm not going to ask you about your qualifications, they're already laid out in your resume, of course, so I'm well aware. What I would like to do is get an impression of your personality. _But,_ before that, what I want to do is give you an overview of the _company's_ persona—unless you've already done that through the net..."

"Oh, uh, nothing too extensive—I checked out the official site so I know what businesses you're involved in. In fact, one of the companies you own, Pink Cloud, I buy their baby supplies all the time."

"Oh, you have a little one, that's terrific— _or_ little _ones?"_

"Just the one."

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. She's one, her name's Jessie."

"Handful at that age, I'm guessing."

"Oh yeah. But she's great; just started walking."

"Excellent, coming right along then..." He smiled in joviality. And kept it to a certain extent as he launched into, "Well, let me tell you a little about the history of _Pearson and Paul._ Started up in 1908 as a simple cigar rolling outfit—and yet as simple as it was, it still out-rolled and outsold the competition in those days. And thanks to the revenue of that business, Dick Pearson—Paul Wurts wasn't in the picture just yet—managed to add a railroad construction business to his holdings. Then from there, own the railway trains of Morton & Co. themselves. Twenty years later, Pearson holdings merged with Wurtz's corporations in a massive attempt to stave off the great market crash of that time.

"And thus, time and perseverance saw Pear-Paul—as we call it for short around here—became one of the most wide-reaching global industries to date. _And_ we're still expanding. In fact we've just dipped our hands into the real estate business, which looks to be quite promising despite the recent market difficulties."

"Wow, really?" she inquired with a measure of skeptical trepidation. She knew _how bad_ the market was in that respect.

"Oh yes, we're quite excited about it, in fact. Yeah, Toleto and Sons will be our first acquisition and we'll likely branch from there—"

"Oh, my goodness, you're kidding me? They're the ones handling the sale of my grandmother's cabin out in Cantor."

"No kidding, have they sold it yet?"

She wrinkled her nose a bit. "Mm, no, not yet. Which is still a bit of a surprise even though the buyer's market is super grim at the moment. It's such beautiful property, secluded and quiet and everything."

"Cantor Woods, huh? Yes, that it is a bit surprising...hm...well, you know, our corporate structure is looking for new spots for its retreats. It might be possible once the merger happens that we could simply buy up the land and hopefully give your grandmother what she's expecting for it."

"Ah, unfortunately she passed last year, so..."

" _Oh,_ so that's why it's being sold then."

"Right," she concurred and nodded with pursed lips.

"The family will get the proceeds then?"

"M-hm."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear about her passing, how old was she?"

"Ninety-two. But you wouldn't have known it to look at her or hear her talk. She was always a spitfire, you know?"

"Mm, some of the best people I know are like that. You two were close?"

Immediately, her mind answered: that's an understatement if ever there was one.

Erin's grandmother, Esther Thomas—or Grandy Thomas as Erin and her brother, Dean, always knew her—was indeed very close with Erin. They had spent many summers together in Grandy's cabin; playing, watching movies, hiking, and putting on little shows with whatever dolls Erin's youth provided. Erin loved that Grandy was always "present" for her and didn't stick her in a room to play while she toiled away at crossword puzzles. The visits were alive with activities they both enjoyed together. And Grandy was always one of Erin's closest confidants—her true girlfriend with which she could reveal secrets and confusions. And not be scolded or judged...well, not most times anyway.

She was the second mother to Erin, her home away from home. She was a love like no other to her.

"Oh sure," she responded to his personal query, practically betraying none of the emotion she felt for her "Grandy"—or the loss of her only nine months past. At least Grandy had gotten to know Jess...if only for a brief period of time.

As if sensing that the subject might be too uncomfortable, Stanford switched gears with, "You know, their spirits always carry on. And I can _tell_ that just by meeting and talking with you for the small time that we have." He smiled warmly.

As did she in return. "Well, thank you."

"Sure...Well listen, I can't tell you how the position will be filled just now; we still have a few candidates to come in this afternoon. But I _can_ tell you that I have a good feeling here and I do see you being one of the top prospects."

"Oh, thanks, thank you."

"So judging how it goes later on today, we'll either call you tonight or tomorrow. Sound good?"

"Good, okay."

It was better than she expected.

Beyond getting hired on the spot, anyway.

Chapter 2

Foster was waiting.

And the president of western operations for Pearson and Paul, Warren Foster, wasn't keen on the waiting game.

And were it any other employee than Stanford, Foster might have been contemplating a slow murder. But the seasoned veteran—now sixty-two and sporting the thinning strands of white across his scalp—of Pearson and Paul was also quite conscious of the fact that a crucial task was being completed. That the delay was completely justified...and that Stanford would not keep him waiting any more than was absolutely necessary.

And true to this claim, Stanford entered the dimly-lit conference room and quickly proceeded to take his assigned seat at the conference table. As he did, Foster asked, "Stan, my boy, how did it go with our new recruit?"

As he properly positioned himself for sitting, Stanford confidently replied, "Quite good. I think she will fit our needs perfectly."

"And you'll be notifying her tonight then?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. _Well,"_ Foster began, looking about the room at the slightly shadowed faces lining the conference table: the department heads including Oliver Stance, Security Chief, Phillip Jenner, Sales Veep, among others. And now Stanford completed the crew. Foster continued, "shall we begin?"

Phillip announced, "This meeting is officially now in session."

And instantly after, Stanford pressed a finger forth to the table, pouncing with, "We have blight on our stability, gentlemen."

"We have several blights," Foster reminded.

"Yes, but this one I strongly feel we must deal with immediately."

Phillip concurred most adamantly, "I agree with Stanford, Woodland and McNab must be cut off at the neck."

"Yeah," Stanford added, "and its body rendered unrecognizable."

Foster flipped up his open-palmed hands in a "hold it" gesture. "I understand the urgency of this matter, believe me...but to take action now so close to our new objective could possibly bring negative attention to our stockholders in the likes which we haven't seen."

"Can't we just hold off on that until things are met and dealt with on Wood-Nab? After things have died down."

"We cannot. I promised our revered CEO that this would be rectified with the utmost expediency. He's simply tired of knowing that these people are out there, and can expose us for what we really are. He wants it _done now._

Phillip put in, "So we do both and hunker down. What are the feds really going to do us? Call in an audit?"

"If they do, Phillip," Foster warned, "then you'll be the one to personally deal with it."

"Fine. Better to have someone frisk my shirt than to lose it altogether."

Foster blinked a few bats of his eyes then pursed his thin lips. "...You are correct on that front, I'll give you that...but Wood-Nab _must_ be handled delicately...Oliver, Stanford? I'm sure you must have a few ideas..."

Stanford spoke up first. "I recommend we go with Janice. She _did_ perform well on her second assignment."

Oliver, however, shot with, "Yet her first was an almost unmitigated disaster. She almost got caught."

"She wasn't fully grown and developed then. We know that now. But I think she's learned her lessons from that particular incident, honed her skills. She's still my recommendation."

With trepidation, Oliver glanced away. "Okay..."

"Oh, why don't you two book a room already," Foster quipped with a leer of annoyance. Murmuring laughter made its way around the table. "Stan, Phil, I imagine since you are both in agreeance on this that you have planned out this strike. So you better tell me something that makes sense."

"Janice," Stanford initiated, "will strike at McNab, who we all know here is the true heart and mind of the company, at his home while he sleeps. Some of you may not know at this point that he is divorced now and lives alone."

"Once McNab is out of the picture," Phillip added, "Woodland will be looked to in taking the reigns. He might be able to finesse the stockholders for a short time—he is a PR genius after all—but without McNab's much needed input, the company will founder within a few months' time."

"But _won't end_ the company," another executive countered.

"No, but it will cause them to scramble, to redirect their efforts to finding another corporate crack-shot as gifted as McNab. In that time, _we_ will acquire the necessary businesses—Toleto, Burman, Trasker, and so forth. _We_ will gain the edge. And then Wood-Nab will _truly_ have to scramble— _and_ scrounge."

"Okay, when is this going to happen?" Foster wanted to know. "The sooner the better."

"Well we were thinking of tonight, actually."

"Oh _were_ you now?" Foster asked the two conspirators, a small smirk of condescension formed his face.

Back-pedaling a bit, Philip offered, "With your official say-so, of course."

"Go ahead," Foster allowed, but then shot a finger at Stanford. "But if Janice mucks this up—"

"She won't," was Stanford's immediate and solid assurance.

Foster then retracted his arm and flicked his eyes about the room. "Okay, what's next?"

****

McNab drove his sedan through the mansion-framed streets of his highbrowed neighborhood. Calmly, he navigated the quiet road toward his own mansion close by. He drove this route serenely because _he_ , himself, was serene. Secure in the knowledge that things were supremely going his way in the company's global interests. The coming mergers, the acquisitions, hostile takeovers—however you wanted to phrase them—were finally going to happen after months—hell, years—of financially positioning themselves to move in for the kill. Although the expansions to Woodland and McNab were not "done deals" at this point, things were looking very close to the fact. Promises and certain exchanges of good faith were firmly in play. He peripherally challenged himself that he shouldn't be so glib about the matter, but he had been under the pressure cooker for months now—and nothing looked to stand in Wood-Nab's way. Not Gunderson Industries, not CTI, nor even their fiercest adversaries in the corporate struggle, Pearson and Paul, stood in any likely positions to strip away their advantage.

McNab simply decided to let it roll and feel content on the matter. Perhaps not as much or completely as having inked signatures on the contracts—thus truly sealing the deals and ensuring Wood-Nab's superiority as a corporate entity—but close enough.

And it was a beautiful, peaceful night besides. There was no dark storm to rustle the pushing winds or bring torrents of raindrops to smack his car. No cracking roars of thunder and lightening. Just a silent, un-busied night complimented by McNab's near-silent hum of a running engine. Good omens, he settled on in his thoughts of future success. A beautiful drive through a beautiful neighborhood toward his exquisite home—now recently made all his to roam in as he pleased. Without the spirit-crushing presence of his former wife to ruin his every moment there. Or as he commonly referred to her—the shriveled witch.

Yes indeed, things are definitely on the upturn for my life, he concluded in his mind as he turned the corner to the street he lived on. He strongly felt that after his divorce settlement that a curse had been lifted from his life. Sure, the shriveled witch got a sizeable sum of his wealth—and the Bentley!—but McNab had kept the house in complete ownership. All in thanks to his thorough investigative hires who conclusively proved that his ex had been involved in multiple illicit affairs—the last one being with his very own idiot cousin!

And now he had turned into the ramping driveway of his continental-style mansion—including ten bedrooms, a large library, a study, home entertainment room complete with surround sound and an eighty inch flat screen TV, _and_ a room set up specifically for a Jacuzzi! And it was _all his._

Although he would normally consider his next act to be trite, he, after putting his car in park, gazed up at his "humble" living space and...blew it a kiss.

Why not, he reasoned, I'm in such a silly good mood right now.

Concluding his minute-long stare at his house, he turned off the car engine and got out to stroll the walkway to his massive front doors. He inserted his key into the knob, opened one of his doors, and stepped inside. He had at most five seconds to type in the correct security code to his safety alarm—before it tripped a blaring alarm and alerted the police. So before he even closed the door, he immediately went for the wall keypad located on the adjacent wall to his right.

And in that moment, a bulbous, eight-legged nightmare entered behind him from the top of the gaping doorway. Noiselessly, it adhered to the walling above the doors and quickly made its way to the ceiling structure. Once there it skittered upside-down and further into the vast room. Again it made no sound. It was clear the intruder did not want to make its presence known just yet. It succeeded for McNab, by this point, was focused solely on entering the last digit of the code.

The intruder, the thing was _huge_ and unnatural. And as the oblivious man turned to close the door and rearm the security system, the creature had already worked its way into another room and out of sight.

The carefree McNab had only three hours left before he would be completely bloodless.

Chapter 3

"Hello?!"

Erin had opened the front door to her parents' house, with whom she still currently lived, and called out for any living souls.

"We're in the dining room, Hon!" came back the holler of Erin's mother, Sophie Belaski.

Erin plopped down her purse and keys on a small table by the door then headed in the direction of the kitchen. Through there she gained access to the dining room.

Where every member of her immediate family, including her infant daughter, Jessie, was present and seated around the dining room table. On a ledge by Erin's dad, Albert, an MP3 portable stereo played a classic rock tune at a reasonable volume.

They all stared up at Erin as she came into view. She exchanged pleasant hellos with her mother and father.

Dean, however...

"Rickeeeeets," Dean acknowledged his younger sister in a mock joviality.

In Erin's own falsehood of politeness, she responded "I thought I told you not to ever call me that again."

"Oh, you did. I just made a conscious decision to ignore it, that's what happened with that whole thing."

She turned up the facetiousness factor a notch as she added, _"Oh...I see."_

"Yeah," he continued then looked down at Jessie who sat snuggly on his lap playing with a stuffed fur cat. "Jess and I were talking about it and we both decided that...rickets just fits you too well."

"Leave my little one out of this."

"But she brought it up."

" _All right,_ ladies and gentlemen," Al warned his ego-fueled offspring. "Cool your engines, please."

"Sorry, pop," Dean offered, but a devious grin and leer of the eyes still existed, directed right at Erin.

Her expression back at him was seething. "So, why is _it_ here?"

" _We are celebrating,_ honey," Sophie revealed with joy, "Your brother just got his dream job at _Consumers Now_."

"Really?" Erin said, looking at Dean, "Well congrats. So when do you get your first kickback?"

"Ah yes, Marxist slander, love it," Dean quipped leisurely.

"You two—" Al began in reprimand but then turned with a face of resignation to his wife, "I'm talking to walls, I've been talking to walls, haven't I?"

"You have been for years, sweetheart," Sophie concluded with sympathy.

Erin asked Dean with pseudo interest, "And what is it you'll be doing for Consumers Nows?"

"Consumers _Now,_ and I'm an analyst working in the external probes division focusing on corporate structures," Dean replied with defensive pride.

Laying it on thick, Erin belted, _"Wow,_ external probing, what does that _mean?"_

Playing along, Dean explained, "Well, Ricks, what it _means_ is that if we receive information or tips that a company is, say, _embezzling_ or _money laundering,_ then my department may be authorized to do an external audit on all their exchanges with other corporate— _or_ non-corporate entities, if you like. And if it is determined that some funny biz is going on, then we alert the I.R.S. to go into the actual company buildings themselves and start ripping it up."

Erin, still in the throws of mocking, averted her eyes sideways, then back. _"Ripping it up?"_

Right with her, Dean continued, _"Right,_ tearing into their files: financial records, employee background checks, interviews, recorded meetings listened to, hard drives confiscated, thumb drives, CD's, DVD's, you name it. This is, of course, the _internal_ part in case you weren't connecting—"

"No, I got it. So...do they let you guys go in to help out with cavity strip searches? Because that seems like something that would be right up your department."

Dean played a bit of shock as he then placed his open-palmed hands over Jessie's tiny ears.

" _Oh,_ she can take it. So now do you also do like probes on toxic waste dumpers and oil spillers and stuff like that?"

"Nope. Separate department."

"So you're not a bonafide tree-hugger now?"

"Hey, I fell out of a tree in the fifth grade, if you recall, scarring me for life. Those filthy airmakers are on their own."

She burped a laugh as she said, "You broke your pinky toe," then convulsed a series of added laughter. "I _do_ recall that happening..."

" _Erin,"_ Sophie chided, "that was an extremely painful experience for your brother."

"Yeah, but it was pinky toe pain..." And she laughed on.

"Give me your pinky toe and you'll find out what it's like," Dean warned.

"Dean, don't threaten your sister," Al ordered.

"Yeah, external probe man," Erin chimed in, "Give over my daughter if you're entertaining thoughts of violence against me."

Dean pursed his lips as he looked off, contemplative. "Don't know if that's such a good idea, but whatever, you are her mother as far as we know."

"That's right, give her up, Mr. Dream Job," she said as she held out her arms above the table in a taking gesture.

Keeping his uncertain expression for a second more, he then drew in an exasperated deep breath, expelled it, and said, "All right..." He handed the child over and Erin gingerly took her for her own lap. Jessie still had her stuffed cat in her pudgy hands, but now that she was in her mother's enfoldment, she finally averted some of her attention from the prized toy to Erin. "Mama, Cat-Cat," she said as she held up the thing.

"Yes, I see, baby," Erin responded with reassuring enthusiasm. And Jessie's focus went solely back to her "Cat-Cat." Erin began to minutely tremor Jessie with her right leg. As she did this, she turned to eye her parents. "Well, I have some interesting news of my own. I had a really good interview today."

"Well that's terrific, baby," Al said with a supportive smile.

"You feel good about it, huh?" Sophie put in, mirroring Al's encouragement.

"Yeah," Erin concurred brightly. "I mean, from what the guy was telling me, he says that I'm one of their top prospects."

From Sophie, "Oh, terrific. When do you find out for sure?"

"Well, supposedly tonight at some point, but we'll see."

"Great news, sis," Dean commented in his snide tone. "Of course, it's not as good _as_ actually getting the job. But hey, nice going."

"Oh, I'll get it. You just watch."

"I'll be watching, don't worry."

"Dean," Sophie warned, "be nice to your sister—or we'll kick you out again."

"Kick me out? I moved out all on my own, you two know that."

Al teased, "Or so we have led you to believe, my dear boy."

Once again playing along, Dean feigned insult with, "So I wasn't wanted any longer...I see...well that _hurts_ —"

Just then, Erin's cell phone rang. She answered. "Hello?...Yes...Oh great, thank you...I can for sure...Okay, thanks. I'll see you on Monday...Bye." She hung up and plopped the phone down on the table. She looked at her parents with a gleam to her eyes.

Al asked with heightened interest, "Was that them?"

Sophie, an instant later, prodded, "You got it. You got it, didn't you?"

"Don't leave us hanging..."

But she did...for a long second...then Erin gave it up.

"I got it."

Al and Sophie both erupted with cheers for their daughter. Jessie, however, howled with fear and crumpled her "on the verge of tears" face. Erin tried to soothe her with, _"Oh no,_ it's okay! It's okay!" Jessie eased a bit but was ready to wail again should it get loud.

Sophie and Al toned down their verbal excitement, noticing that it was disturbing Jessie's calm. But Sophie still had to get up and embrace Erin loosely around the neck. "Congratulations, baby."

"Thanks, mom."

"Nice going, girl," Al said to Erin and winked.

"Thanks, dad."

"Congrats," Dean said to her, "Did you also land your dream position, what you were meant to do?"

She stared him down defensively, _"No,_ admittedly, it's pretty much the same sort of work I'm doing now. It just pays better."

"Well," Dean began as he delivered an upwardly palmed hand out to her in a gesture of concession, "At least you're thinking of Jessie."

Erin lowered her head and gazed warmly at her cooing daughter and said, "I always do."

Chapter 4

As had been mentioned before, the intruder into Mr. McNab's multi-million dollar home was something quite unnatural. And large. Larger than any species of arachnid ever had a right to be. And far more intelligent. Its lifespan had also been enhanced to last not just a few years—but many years, four so far. The culmination of these unnatural capacities, their uniqueness, their displays of evolution, as their creators would see it, all served for one purpose in the end: the continued perseverance and success of Pear-Paul's corporate survival. The arachnid was a special weapon. And its makers had affectionately named it Janice.

Formed in their underground labs and financed solely by Pear-Paul Industries, Janice's genetic stew had been heavily tampered with before her inception into a growth incubator. Though it had never bore itself from a true mother, it had hatched from an egg structure the size of a normal secretion shell. It had even reached its normal size at its normal growth pattern.

But then the DNA tampering set in. The integration of foreign yet somehow compatible strands of code emerged and the creature developed as it had never before intended to.

Weekly growth spurts were evident in the specimen, first reaching an increase of a third its natural size. Then, by a few months' time, it had grown into the size comparable to a healthy newborn kitten. A month later, a fully grown cat. A year later, it had amassed itself to the weight of a five year old human child.

And thanks to its creators' handiwork in RNA code splicing, the intellect of a fourteen year old adolescent human.

Embedded with the presence of growth hormones and neural developers within this horror were also metabolic enhancers. This allowed increased strength not only its musculature formations, but its exoskeletal structures as well. Instead of a thin body barrier like its untampered brethren, the spider had thickened shielding on par with hardened plastic. A knife point would have a very difficult time piercing its skin.

This was intended, of course, the geneticists and their subsequent employers wanted their unique killer to be strong, agile, and ready for any conflict. It had been created with the primary intention of carrying out subtle and covert assassinations as opposed to open combat. But as Pear-Paul had spent nearly two million on Janice, it made sense to afford it the training and abilities necessary to handle most volitile situations—with one _or many_ opponents. An investment has to be protected and insured for future use.

Tonight, however, Janice's assignment appeared to be right up its alley, what it was made for. Its target was clueless to its presence thus far—and would soon be turning in for bed. Already, the mark—the human named McNab—was preparing for the turn-down routine in one of the mansion's five bathrooms. From its heavily shadowed and upside-down perch on the ceiling of one of the guest bedrooms, Janice could detect sounds of teeth brushing...while McNab was talking to someone on speaker phone. The wonders of multitasking. The conversation appeared to be energetic and heated. Something about how McNab should stay on his guard until the contracts were signed. Whoever was blaring their voice through the phone clearly was tense, nervous, and paranoid. But McNab's words seemed to rail against the mood of anxiety that his associate was dead set on. "Quit trying to spoil my night, would you?" it had heard McNab say to the man at least three times in the conversation so far.

Janice playfully thought to itself, if only you would listen to your cautious friend, mansion man. You might have actually survived this night. Though likely not, in any case, it concluded. The man had to sleep eventually.

It was evident that McNab was wrapping up his conversation with his colleague. Good. That would speed things along in getting its prey into the bedroom, settled into bed, and ready for sleep. Perhaps he would read or watch TV for a while, which suited Janice fine—it was not in any huge hurry to execute its duties of...well, execution. If it had to wait an hour or so more, it would, in fact, make little difference. Even after the kill, Janice would remain in the house until the following morning. Or afternoon. Or whenever a maid, relative, or friend—anyone who possessed the proper security alarm code—was due to make a visit. If it took days, the spider would wait. Its exit must be as unexpected and undetected as its entrance.

A click sounded, and flapping footsteps were heard. McNab had left the bathroom and was likely heading to his bedroom. Excellent. One step closer to striking time.

But Janice wouldn't move yet. It would wait for the TV—which had just been turned on in McNab's room—to finally switch off and the rumbling bass of human snoring to begin before it moved a millimeter.

A half hour later, the TV did shut off. Twenty minutes after that, rattling, muffled snoring could be heard.

Silently, Janice worked its crooked legs to travel the walls—from the guestroom to the main hallway to where McNab's room was located. Where he was deep in the rhythm of his sleep pattern. As Janice moved closer to his room, his snoring grew in sound and intensity. Inside the doorway of the room, it finally skittered its way down to the shag carpeted floor, froze for a second to make sure its prey had not been awaken, then made its way calmly toward his massive bed.

With a thick comforter and a silky sheet underneath covering most of his form, save his arms, upper chest and pillow propped head, McNab honked away with repeated snores from his large nostrils. He was slumbering peaceful, free of all consciousness in its higher forms. In two minutes that would end abruptly.

The freakish thing stuck its eight legs to the outer edges of McNab's bed and climbed onto the foot of it. Still so silent. It gained better purchase upon the top of the comforter and inched forth.

An instant later the spider's head was right above his.

Saliva thinned its way out of Janice's alien-like mouth and onto McNab's face. It lined a curve down his cheek.

The cheek spasmed.

He stirred, an _"Mm..."_ hummed from his mouth. He jerked a hand to his cheek to wipe at the tiny trail of spittle. What felt like a minor tickling sensation as the saliva hit now felt like wetness to his hand as he absently wiped.

And then certain instincts told his mind something was amiss. Something didn't make sense.

His eyelids wrinkled.

Then fluttered.

Then opened slightly with blinking succession.

Then they opened wide.

Upon witnessing the horror only inches above him, McNab jerked with intensity, gasping with abruptness. In that same instant, his rigid form pressed back against his mattress, meeting him with merciless resistance.

A wheezing _"Eegh, eegh"_ sound escaped his throat.

With quickness, Janice stabbed her knife-like fangs down deep into McNab's chest.

McNab gasped again—this time in misery. And the rigidity of his body increased its compression. So much so that it bucked. The gigantic spider's bodily poison was serving to lock up and paralyze the man's every muscle. But the toxins left no adverse effect on blood or nerve ending transmission.

Which meant that McNab was feeling all of this. And all that was to come.

With each spasm, a halting _"Ick!"_ knocked from his mouth. His eyes remained terror-maddened circles, the pupils irising out fully.

A few venom-flowing seconds later, McNab's terrible body constrictions subsided, leaving the man to appear almost entirely relaxed.

Save for the lids of his eyes which held their terror.

But soon, those went slack too, his pupils following suit, returning to normal.

What remained to signal that McNab still lived were his snips of short breaths.

And the fact that his brain was still fully functional on a conscious level.

With every nerve in his body completely alive and ready to fire.

His mind was screaming.

Confident now that the venom had done its work on the prey, Janice extracted its fangs out of McNab's chest.

Janice then focused its many eyes solely on McNab's throat and its speedily throbbing swell of skin.

Perfect.

Janice descended. Slowly. Punctured his soft, giving way skin.

And drank. Every last ounce of blood that Shannon R. McNab had in him. For as long as it took the creature.

And that was completely all right to the bloated, unholy thing. The longer the better. At this moment it was thoroughly enjoying itself. The spider quite loved what it had done to this man, who was so recently a corporate king, a business god, some revered him to be. And now was nothing more than nirvanic fodder to this one-of-a-kind predator.

If its creators could see it now, they would not find it surprising at all to discover that Janice gained pleasure in feeding off its victims.

It was a black widow after all.

Chapter 5

As park-worthy days go, this particular Saturday couldn't have been more accommodating. The cloud formations were out in droves, yet they only served to compliment frames of blue sky and intervals of the glaring sun.

And then there was the location itself—Bittner Park, a half mile stretch of green lined with asphalted and curving walkways. Featuring picnic tables, a play center, barbecue grills, and a whole section of the land devoted to a baseball diamond. With plenty of room left over for football games and jogging.

This was the park favored by the neighborhoods of Bird's Eye County: birthday celebrations, wedding receptions, and at 6 PM on Wednesdays the meeting spot for the town's _Alcoholics Anonymous_ members.

And it was what Erin and all her immediate family preferred as well, being no exception to the county rule.

To celebrate the new employment statuses of both Belaski siblings, the whole crew decided upon a day at Bittner. Al and Dean were frolicking with Jessie, tickling her and tossing her in the air. Occasionally, they would toss her from one to the other, always at close proximity. This, however, still made Erin nervous as she did her perimeter stroll with her mother, while keeping a close eye on the others, of course. She knew that her father and brother weren't reckless and irresponsible people who would put anyone's life in jeopardy. They had good physical and eye coordination to be sure...but there was always that one percent possibility something could go horribly wrong. Yet, nervous or no, she chose ultimately to not panic and rush over to them screaming "Gimme her, you dumb-asses!" Besides, Jessie absolutely loved it. That was apparent even from the hundred foot distance between them and the boys. Good times escalated to phenomenal times when a baby enters the picture, Erin reminded herself.

"Those big dummies," Sophie remarked with half-reprimanding sarcasm. "Last thing we need is a Jessie with a lopsided head."

"They know what they're doing," Erin defended the men, who had just finished another baby toss with apparent glee. She silently hoped that she was right about her judgment.

"Of course," Sophie conceded with lifted brows, "Grandy and Old Pa in their day used to shoot you high in the air and catch you every time...and you just couldn't get enough, I'm telling ya."

Erin smiled...for a number of reasons. The first being that she couldn't help but feel the old kindred sensation of "like mother, like daughter." The second was the fact that her mother mentioned not only Grandy but Old Pa, who was, of course, Erin's grandfather on Sophie's side. He had passed away when Erin had barely reached four years old—but her memories of the grocery store manager and faithful husband to Sophie's mother were crystal clear. She adored her Old Pa and he, the same for her.

And the last reason for the warming smile was, naturally, the one and only Grandy. When Grandy had passed nearly a year ago, Erin had mourned deeply for her maternal grandmother. She had made particular efforts to ensure that the funeral ceremonies were honorable and in the style that Grandy would have loved.

Sophie could tell that Erin had gone off somewhere in her head by the far away stare in her eyes. A thought occurred to the elder woman and she decided to voice it. "So Erin, babe, do you still dig that hole? For Grandy?"

And quickly, Erin's expression cut back to the here and now, she looked at her mother. And then zigzagged her eyes in a twinge of embarrassment—which filtered into her response. _"Yeah,_ I still dig that stupid foxhole out there near her cabin. I know it's stupid and probably pointless since the foxes haven't been seen around there in a while. But hey, if they do, I don't want them scaring off perspective buyers—"

" _Hey,_ I'm not judging, I think it's sweet actually. If it helps you remain close with her, I understand."

Yet Erin's sense of embarrassment wasn't completely quelled by her mother's encouraging, soothing words. It was evident in her down directed eyes.

"Seriously, honey," Sophie pressed on, "It's _fine."_

"I was, uh," Erin started with hesitation, "thinking of maybe, one day, getting Jess to come out there and help me. You know, make it some kind of weird family tradition, maybe..."

Sophie averted her eyes off as she considered her daughter's proposal. "...Hmm..."

"It always reminded me that even though something may seem pointless to do...you just like...never know what might come of it."

"Well, that's _certainly_ how I thought of you and Josh—"

" _Josh..._ can you tell me how I could have been so monumentally stupid as to get involved with such a train wreck?"

"Hormones probably."

They chuckled a touch.

Sophie elaborated with, "Hormones, pheromones, temporary insanity, and thinking with a certain organ other than your brain. _But_...it got you our little Jessie, didn't it."

Erin pursed her lips in a smile as she slowly nodded.

Sophie continued, "So it's true, isn't it—even when something seems pointless, a thing of great worth can come from it."

"...Yeah..."

"You know, if you really want to start off a tradition of digging holes, you should do one to take down that rickety old outhouse in the back of the cabin—"

" _Heyyy,"_ Erin cut her off, "bite your tongue, I had some awesome times in that outhouse."

Sophie cocked a disturbed eyebrow at her daughter.

Embarrassed, Erin explained, "Okay, I'm just realizing how bad that sounded, but _seriously_ , I used to have fun hiding in there."

From the monster.

From the Great Grandy Monster.

From out behind the corner of her rustic, wooden cabin, "Grandy" would creep forth in a predatorial stance. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of intense searching, flitting this way and that. "Little Monkey...Little Mo..." she would call out in malevolence. "I'll find you soon enough...I know you can hear me..."

Crouched tightly within the outhouse that stood not forty feet from the back of the cabin, a twelve-year-old Erin hid with nervous eyes. And lips that alternated from smiles to frightful frowns. It was semi-darkened in the cramped and wooden lavatory. As it was noonday and cloudless, sunrays showed down through a tiny, square sunroof. There was the presence of putrid smells of old wastes countered only slightly by sanitizer aromas. Erin despised the stench but endured it in the hopes that her choice of hiding spots would prove advantageous. In fact, the smells factored heavily into her choice for secluded refuge—Grandy would know that it would smell and maybe she would consider it a place that Erin would avoid in their game. Their game of "Life and Death."

Upon hearing Grandy's biting voice from just feet away, Erin had hugged her folded legs a bit tighter. Yet was careful not to make a sound lest Grandy catch wind of her exact location. She even tried not to make any sound in her breathing.

The leaf-cracking footsteps of her grandmother continued to plague her ears. The crunches of her pursuer rose in sound with each footfall. Very close...but not in the direction of the outhouse door! More to the side of the structure, behind the toilet itself.

And then the sounds broke to a stop.

_And from outside: "I'm_ close _, Little Cheeky...Little Monkey Girl...I'm getting closer..."_

Erin's heart shot into her throat. She thought for certain her head would soon burst from the rushing blood.

Silence...for a whole half minute. For Erin, it may as well have been minutes on end as she dangled off a high cliff...

Footsteps again, moving more past the side of the outhouse. Grandy was moving on—and it seemed casually too—toward the maze-like thick of towering Redwoods beyond the cabin perimeter.

Erin took a glance at her watch—2:33 PM. Which meant, according to the rules the two of them made up, that Grandy now had twelve minutes to find Erin, or she would lose. And Erin would win!

From further away Grandy's leaf-smashing steps kept decreasing in audible impact...good, Erin thought with a mental grin...

But then they stopped once more.

Was that the sound of turn-steps...?

Before Erin even had the time to register this question in her mind, brisk foot stomps came toward the outhouse again! And in almost no time rounded to the door.

And again, before Erin could register that she was had for sure, the door to her compact refuge was violently, boomingly yanked open. Grandy swung it wide and with wild abruptness, at the same time exploding from her lungs, "LITTLE MONKEY!" Grandy's eyes were feral as she barked, "I AM THE GREAT GRANDY MONSTERRR!" She stared directly down at the small human ball on the floor that was Erin. The girl had let out howls of screams as Grandy made her pronouncement.

" _NO MERCY, GIRL! NO MERCY!" Grandy hollered as she fell upon the girl. The woman's hands shot out in front of her to seize the shrieking, cringing child._

And true to her decree, Grandy showed her granddaughter no mercy whatsoever. The roving jabs and squeezes of rapid tickling were relentless. And Erin's screams became giggling pleas of "STOP! NO! STOP! STOP!"

" _NEVER! NEVERRRR!" Grandy raged on as her fingers went wild on Erin's tickle spots. The girl was bucking now, flailing, attempting a defense. But Grandy was too quick in her offensives._

" _I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Erin got out between explosions of laughter._

" _Allllll right, girl," Grandy Monster said as she became merely Grandy again and relented her tickle assaults. Erin eased her body jerks and flails but kept her arms out in front of her in a defensive posture—Grandy might be faking her out! "You know you can't win against me, right? You thought you were safe in here, didn't you?"_

Erin was still breathing hard, thus it took her a short minute to reply to her grandmother. "...It...it...smells horrible in here..." She gulped in precious air then went on, "...You need better toilet cakes in here..."

Grandy threw on an indignant look as she retorted, "You think I'm made of money, huh?" and her tickle attack began again.

It was mercifully preempted, however, by Erin's quick reaction of, "No! No! Sorry! Sorry! It actually...smells quite lovely in here."

Grandy smiled wide and chuckled a bit. "It smells absolutely awful. Come on up and let's go for a walk far away from this."

" _Okay," Erin said as Grandy helped her up and out._

" _Thought you were going to win, didn't you, monkey?"_

" _For a second there...yeah, almost."_

Then they both giggled and walked on.

"Did I lose you again, Erin?" Sophie asked, cocking her head a bit to one side.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. Just thinking about Grandy again..." As Erin continued to walk the path with her mother, she stole another glance at her daughter, still enjoying the boys' tosses. "...and how things have changed so much in the last fourteen years..."

And they walked on.

Chapter 6

The Monday morning sun projected its rays and brightened the business buildings that rose from the Manheim City streets. Gleams reflected off several cars crowding the streets—both moving and parked.

Of those lucky enough to make any headway on the road's traffic stream was Erin in her used sedan. Heeding the path she took on Friday, she pulled into the parking garage for Pearson and Paul's corporate headquarters. And managed to wedge herself into a parking spot on the fourth level. Killing the engine, she checked her appearance in the rearview mirror then took a deep breath. This was it, the new job—don't blow it on the first day! Centered and determined, she said to herself, "Okay, Erin, get out of the car." And she did. Then proceeded to the garage's elevator, waited for it, got in, and pressed for the proper floor. She was the only one on for some strange reason and it occurred to her suddenly that she should check the time. She eyed her watch and saw that she wasn't late and, in fact, a tad early. So she chalked it up to just weird luck that she was taking a solo ride up to the executive floor. Just a bizarre occurrence, no big deal really.

No, the unsettling thing came a minute later when Erin notice something truly off-kilter...something she hadn't noticed the first and second times she had rode this particular elevator.

There was no sixth floor button.

_What?_ her mind said in jarring perplexity. _How can that happen? And in a company so intellectually focused and financially successful...There has to be some rational reason for it...Should I ask them about it...I should ask them about it..._

... _Maybe I'll ask them about it..._

... _This is gonna play on me, damn it. I wish I wasn't such a Curious Catty..._

The elevator split apart to expose Erin to the executive floor where she got off and walked over to the executive assistant sitting behind her desk. The ultra stunner was gluing her attention to her PC monitor when Erin approached close to the desk. "Hi," Erin offered.

"Oooonne second..." the stunner said, eyes still pasted to the screen.

"Oh, sure."

Obviously done with her precious info on the monitor, the assistant flicked her eyes to Erin. "Yes?"

"Hi, I'm starting today—"

"Yes, I know. Why don't you go ahead and wait in the chair for a few moments. Mr. Jordan is finishing a call."

"Oh, all right."

"Thaaank you," the stunner condescended then plugged her focus back into the computer screen once more.

Erin took a seat and waited.

Twenty minutes later, Erin was told to go in and see Stanford in his office.

"Hey Erin," Stanford greeted her as she entered his office and closed the door behind her. "Sorry about that, I hate conference calls that go way over."

"Oh—sure, no problem," she said with enthusiasm as she drew close to his desk.

"So listen, I know that you're pretty much Phillip's assistant, _but_ since he is out of the office at the moment, I have a small assignment for you."

"Oh, okay."

Handing her a leather documents pouch from off his desk, he elaborated with, "We're, uh, opening a dialogue with another corporation called Ellison and Bauer Inc. hoping to interest them in a co-op if not a full on merger one day—fingers crossed." She hissed a small laugh and he smiled then continued, "So if you could run these proposals over to their offices across town, that would be good."

"Yeah, sure. How do I...?"

"The street directions, address, and floor level for drop off are on a post-it on the side there." He pointed to the pouch as he explained.

"Oh, okay— _oh,_ before I forget, I have something for you, if you're still interested..." She reached into her purse and brought out a folded stack of papers. As she handed them to Stanford, she said, "The property info on my grandmother's cabin."

" _Right,_ yes, yes, very nice," he responded with his own professional flair. "And listen, I promise you once our real estate channels are in place, we'll either get it sold or bought for our retreat in pretty much no time."

"Great, well, I'll be off with these unless there's anything..."

"Nope, that'll do 'er," he said with a grin.

"Okay. I'll see you soon."

A minute later, she was back in the elevator and descending floors. And, naturally, now that she was back inside the thing again, she pinned her attention to the bizarre floor number omission. _Jeeze, I almost asked about it,_ Erin said to herself _. I almost asked because of my curiosity just can't be satisfied._

_But if I_ had _asked, who knows what the reaction might have been_. _"Congratulations, you passed Pear-Paul's one-of-a-kind employee test by noticing what others might not!"_ Or _"How dare you bring up one of our most glaring design flaws! Please do us and yourself a giant favor and get the hell out!"_ Of course, both of these reactions seemed silly when rationally thought out in her head. But irrationally, they still held some superstitious weight on her already amped-up nerves.

I'll ask after a month, how's that for your insatiable need to discover things? Good enough, I suppose, but it's going to be staring me down every workday 'till then. Deal with it because we can't risk a negative reaction—no matter how remote its possibility.

She eyed the floor buttons though, curious about one other thing regarding the discrepancy: would it take the same amount of time between seven and five floor passing as it would for ten to nine, nine to eight, eight to seven, five to four, and on down?

The floor reader displayed eight...a three second count, and the reader gave seven.

Moment of truth...

Not three seconds between seven and five.

But six.

Did that mean for certain that there _was_ an official sixth floor?

It had to, didn't it?

While she continued to think on the dilemma, the elevator had soon reached the "P4" level for parking level four and ceased movement. The doors separated smoothly and she made her way to the car. Although her car key worked with her sedan's door lock, and she was positive she heard the _click_ of unlocking after use of the key, another anomaly occurred.

The door wouldn't open.

_Fudge all to hell!_ she raged in her head as she struggled with the door's handle. _Jammed again! I've got to get this thing fixed! Okay, baby,_ her mind motivated itself, _one more_ good _lift of the handle. And then we abandon ship and go around to the passenger side. Yank!_ And nothing.

Giving up, she circled the front of the car, unlocked the front passenger door, scooted over to the driver's side, started up, backed out, and drove away...doing her best to drown her agitation.

****

Upon glancing at her street directions, Erin assumed that it would take twenty minutes at most to reach her destination. But sadly, the traffic was still heavy and it ended up costing her another twenty-five minutes of drive time. She hoped her new employers were understanding of this sort of delay. It _was_ the city after all—and Manheim was definitely a business town.

Erin found a place to park—on the street no less, miracle of miracles—and double checked the address on the directions. The building she eyed obviously said Ellison and Bauer Inc. on the side of it, but she decided to take no chances—because sometimes you just never know.

_Relax_ , Erin's positive centers of the brain soothed her nerves with. _You got this, piece of cake. Go deliver the pouch and get back._

She opened her door—the latching mechanism worked fine on the inside of it—and got out. With pouch in hand and watching for the traffic, she crossed the street. Reaching the sidewalk in front of the lobby/first floor of Ellison and Bauer, she walked forth and grabbed for one of the knobs for the lobby door.

Before she could open the door enough for her to pass through and enter, her cell phone cried for her immediate attention. She let the door go and reached for the ringing gadget. She glanced at its caller ID and saw that it was listed as "unknown." Could be Pear-Paul, she cautioned her thoughts, so she decided to play it safe and answer it. "Hello, this is Erin."

Through the phone, a harried and frightened male voice rang through.

Dean's voice.

"Erin, are you already at work?"

" _Dean?"_ she inquired with confusion and annoyance.

"Yeah, it's me," he rapped out quickly, "and listen to me carefully because this extremely important. _This_ is _not_ a prank I'm playing here."

She flicked her eyes skyward as she uttered calmly though curtly, "Aaah, you have exactly five seconds to convince me it's not, and then I'm hanging up."

" _Are_ you at work already? Have you walked into the building yet?"

" _Yeaahh,_ as a matter of fact I'm in the middle of something important for them. Three seconds, Dean."

" _Stop_ what you are doing for them, get your stuff, and _leave_ the building quietly," he stressed in the same electrified "possibility of doomsday" tone. "And do your best to make sure no one notices that you do. This is _not_ a joke, Erin."

"Okay, if it's not a joke, then what is it? Why do I have to just—"

"NO, no, no, don't say anything more! Is there anyone around you that can hear you talking to me?"

" _No,_ why?"

"Are you _sure? Are you absolutely sure?"_

" _Yes,"_ she barked, getting quite flustered, _"No one_ can hear us, _okay?"_

On the other end of the line, Erin could hear Dean expel a long and tortured breath. He went on, "Listen...I _know_ that you and I have never been on super good terms but... _please_ believe me, you're my sister and I love you... _drop_ what you're doing and, as I said, quietly leave the building."

"But _whyyy?"_

"I don't have time to...listen, okay, I did a probe on Pearson and Paul this morning and... _just,_ for the love of God, and for the love of Jessie, _please_ do what I told you. And as quickly as possible."

And now it was Erin's turn to blow a frustrated breath from her mouth. She began darting her eyes all about as possible courses of action fired random shots in her mind. "Now—you understand, dear brother of mine, that if I do take you seriously, which I'm not entirely sure that I do, that I will be walking away from a position that provides the major source of sustenance for me and my daughter—"

" _Yes,_ yes, I've taken all that into consideration—and believe me, when the time and situation are better, I will work something out for you, I _swear_ to you. Now Erin... _go."_

Another deep breath escaped her as her eyes rolled. "...Okay," she blurted in a strong "I've had it, you win" tone, "Okay." She pursed her lips in frustration.

"Good...good, and when you've gotten, say, ten miles at least away from them, call me back so that I know for sure you made it out. All right?"

She threw up a hand in exasperated defeat. "All right."

"Now can you make it out without anybody seeing you?"

She almost thought of telling him that she wasn't actually in the building, that she was, in fact, almost ten miles away already. But instead simply respond with, "Yes, I can, no problem."

All right then. I'll talk to you in a little bit, okay? Just pull into some parking lot and let me know—"

"That I'm safe, I got it, okay? I'm leaving now."

"Okay...I love you." _Click._ And the line went dead.

His endearment to her almost immediately made her pull the phone away from her ear. She stared at the device as if it was a thing that was foreign and incomprehensible. She pressed the "end" button and dropped her phone hand to her side. She then locked eyes with the front doors of Ellison and Bauer's lobby. Then down at the pouch in her grasp. The lobby, the pouch, lobby, pouch. Her mind went into full quagmire mode: _he wanted me to drop what I was doing right away...but I'm right here, maybe I can just deliver the pouch to the front desk and be done with it...but he expressly stressed that I stop all activity for them...but what am I supposed to do with this thing now if I'm not going to...I just—DAMN IT!_

She turned back and made the risky trek across the street to her car. Bent out of sorts as she was, she totally blanked on the latch defect of the door. After unlocking it, she absently expected the thing to open upon lifting the latch. Naturally it didn't and she cursed one expletive after another. Finally, after standing there frozen in disgust she uttered, "Perfect!" then walked around to unlock the front passenger side door.

But before entering her car, she looked at the pouch on last time...and seethed through her teeth, "Dean...if this is a joke, I swear I'm gonna grind them into the effing ground." Then she eyed a trashcan further up the sidewalk, fifteen feet away. With one last frustrated deep breath, she walked over to the can, hesitated for a brief, heart-flipping instant, then dropped the pouch into it. As full as the can was already, the pouch didn't fall too far and, in fact, still peeked a corner edge out of the top.

A vagrant was watching with interest while sitting at a bus stop.

She glanced quickly at him and said flatly, "Free pouch." Then left for her car again, she got in and scooted over, muttering, "Your nads are gonna be fine powder, Deany Boy." She started up the car, checked her right of way access, and drove off.

Had she looked behind her in the rear view mirror, she would have noticed the vagrant staring down the trashcan...or more accurately the pouch. She might have seen his curious expression. Could have seen him stand and look about.

But she didn't, of course, and continued driving onward to a few miles away; turning a corner because she had to. She did her best to check her nerves, breathing in and out with attempted soothing. The effect was enough to at least allow her to keep her necessary focus on the road and its potential hazards. But it was not enough to quell the thought that she just walked away from her source of livelihood. And that her brother may just be the antichrist reborn.

Or that he has grossly overreacted based on some evidence he's dug up on Pear-Paul...

Or...

She found a parking lot with which she could easily pull into and located a space to park. After doing so, she turned off her engine and got out her phone to call Dean back. But before she could hit the speed-dial number, she heard a thunderous pop sound. Someone's car just backfired, she guessed then hit the speed-dial button.

Dean picked up on the first ring. "Erin?" he asked with harried concern.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm out of there."

"And nobody saw you?"

"Not a soul."

"Good. Excellent."

"So now what?"

"So now come to me at my work. We have to discuss what to de next. And I may need your insights on what you saw there, because this is _bad news_ , Erin. These people are the worst it gets, I feel dirty just having checked into these people and their dealings, _no_ exaggeration."

"Well, like what?"

"Ah...we probably should talk about this in person, okay? I'm glad that you're away from there, but I'll feel a whole lot better when you're at my work. Here, let me give you the address; you got stuff to write with?"

She did and he relayed the address information to her. Having written it down on the back of an old receipt, she placed the info on the passenger seat and asked, "Am I gonna be all right?"

Immediately, he responded, "Of course, of course; I mean I stopped you from doing anything or completing anything for them, right?"

"Yes, right," she confirmed.

"I mean it was your first day, your first hour on the job; what they had you doing wasn't like...ultra-monumentally important, I'm assuming..."

She thought carefully about that: delivering proposal documents to another company...likely very important documents...not likely, for certain...Oh God, those papers were extremely important, weren't they? Someone—or many someones—would surely become quite angry that they hadn't been delivered...!

But then, like Dean had just pointed out, she was a proby, a newbie. If Erin didn't deliver those papers somebody else would. The documents in that pouch weren't the only copies, they couldn't be. If they were that important, they would be tucked away on a hard-drive or a thumb-drive or a something drive...No, in the end, why would they care an ounce if a proby bounced the first day and left an assignment undone? They'd survive without her. And if there were some police or federal investigation, like it seems Dean is preparing for, let's face it, then it would certainly look favorable in the government's eyes to know that she bugged out super early from the situation.

"Right, no, I should be okay," she rationalized, hopefully convincing enough for him _and_ herself.

"Great, good, so problem solved on that front and...um, I don't know, maybe I can find an opening for you here in one department or another. Just get here and in the time it takes to make it here, I'll do some serious asking around. Okay?"

She drew in yet another deep breath and fluttered it back out. "...Okay..."

"Just relax, you and Jess are gonna be fine, I promise."

"I hope so," she said then warned, "because I've already made a firm choice to grind your hangers 'till they're baking soda if you're wrong."

"Yeah, that's pretty gross. Now get down here, okay?"

"See you soon."

Chapter 7

As Erin drove to Dean's work, she considered phoning her parents to tell them the situation. Particularly since it would be good to hear Jessie's voice after the ultra anxiety she just endured.

But, at the same time, she was quite driven to get to Dean as fast as she could to discover just what was so devastating to make Dean react the way he had. To make _him_ make her do what _she_ just did. The act which continued to work on her buzzing nerves. Her mind kept coming back to the thought: I can't believe this is happening to me....

Thirty-eight minutes later, Erin had made it to Dean's work. He met her outside and escorted her in to give her a mini-tour of the workspaces. After introducing her around to a few key members of the staff, he walked her into his co-office that he shared with a man that both knew well and a good many years. His name was Curt Melendez and, although he was Dean's buddy, he held the distinctive title of being the only one of Dean's that Erin could stand.

"Hey Erin, you thought about my proposal lately?" Curt asked with hopeful eyes that were almost convincing.

One day two years ago, Curt had plopped himself down on a couch next to Erin and said without warning, "Erin, girl, will you marry me so that I will always have permanent laundry service as well as personal massage therapy?" She had responded after a brief moment of mock consideration, "Ummm...can I have few years to think about it?" to which he replied, _"Ab_ solutely, you can take your time, this is a big decision and there's many people and political factors to consider. I'm not unreasonable, girl." She giggled on hearing the mention of "political factors" then said, "Thank you for your patience, Mr. Melendez. It is much appreciated." But he warned with a pointed finger at her, "But don't make me wait forever, 'kay, girl?" Still smiling, she placated with, "Oh, I won't."

In answer to his current query regarding the empty proposal, Erin quipped, _"Aghh,_ so much pressure, it's only been a couple of years."

"And each year it gets more agonizing, girl," he retorted with a false face of anguish.

"Aw..." she said putting on the sympathy eyes. "So you work here with Dean, huh?"

He guffawed. "Who do you think got him his job here? You think this nimrod could function on his own?"

"Get bent," Dean shot back, "I taught you everything you know about online research. _And_ web design, _and_ programming—"

"Yes, and then I took all that knowledge and surpassed you— _thus_ , the apprentice becomes the MASTERRRR!" Curt bellowed with raised hands over his head, as if he was approving a touchdown in football.

From out the hall came a male voice, "Hey, keep it down!"

"Sorry!" Curt repented.

"Okay, enough of the funny, kids, we best get to it here," Dean said to sober and focus the other two.

"Right, take seats, folks. You're definitely gonna wanna sit for this, girl," Curt remarked as he lighted up his monitor with a drag of the computer mouse. Dean and Erin sat in chairs on either side of Curt as they all faced the monitor's contents. _"Now..._ your brother and I did our initial look-see at Pear-Paul which on the surface looks good. Successful company, many fingers in different corporate pies, your typical diversified glut of the business community. They have great quarterly earnings...but you see now, _that's_ what brings up the red flags for people like Dean and me. Their numbers are _too_ good; look at this..." He pointed to the dividend quarterly earnings charts for Pear-Paul since the year 2000. "Improvement, improvement, improvement, and on up until today they're still increasing their numbers. And this pattern follows them all the way back to their start up in 1988."

" _Whooooa,_ wait a minute," Erin said, "That can't be right, 1988 is wrong, they told me the company started _wayyy_ back further than that."

"How far back?"

"Like...1905 or six or something like that."

"Nope, eighty-eight, we have the facts in our files. In fact, Pearson and Paul isn't even named after any real persons as far as we could determine. It appears that they just picked out the name and went with it."

Erin's eyes became disturbed with the confusion she felt. "...Why would they tell me that...make up all that elaborate history stuff...?"

"I don't know, but eighty-eight's your start up date, trust me on that. So now back to our thing about the quarterlies: with so much exponential growth since day one and right up to now, it's..."

"It's what?"

"Well, it just seems kinda highly improbable if not impossible. I know of no business that survived the economic crashes and dips without some loss or bad quarter in the last twenty-five years. It just doesn't work that way—when a crash happens, it happens across the board; everything's just too interconnected for it not to."

"But they did. So it _is_ poss—"

" _Possible...only_ if you eliminate all viable competition and dominate what's left. Which is what these people seemed to have done... _with a vengeance,"_ he emphasized with a morbid pop of the eyes, "Now look at this..." He clicked a second window tab on the screen and its contents appeared. "Now you see this company here—this article in the Washburn Post in ninety-two about how the wife of the vice-president of Arbiton Industries walked into a board meeting one day and blew the heads off of key members of the company."

Erin frowned. "That's horrible but I don't see how that relates—"

"Of course not, I'm not showing you the rest of the business page, here, if we scroll down...now look..."

The bottom section of the newspaper page was now visible on the monitor.

Erin read what was featured. "'With...Arbiton crippled, Pearson and Paul takes over major contracts...'"

"And the paper goes on to say that the wife had no recollection of doing what she did. She told the police she was on her way to pick up dry-cleaning in one second, and—boom—the next she's in handcuffs down at the station. That's all she knew."

"Well _supposedly_ anyway."

"Right, that's what we thought too, she might be trying to cop insanity. But it's a well known fact in her family that she has had _no_ prior history of mental illness or emotional breakdowns. Everybody who knew her and her husband said that they were quite happy together, had just renewed their vows a month before the shooting."

"That could've been just for show."

Dean interjected, "Yeah but Erin, if she was peeved at her hubby for a cheap affair or something, why wouldn't she just walk in, blow away her husband, then turn it on herself? Why kill men that had nothing to do with it?"

"Well...maybe she blamed the company itself for ruining her life, too many late nights and all that, I don't know. People do crazy things."

"Okay then, next tab."

"Yep," Curt said as he directed the cursor to a third tab, clicked and revealed another news report—this one, 1998. "Now this article is a week before the one I wanna show you. It states that Gencom—which is a subsidiary of Rainbow Pharmaceuticals and Genetic research—will be bought out by Halverson Inc.—another pharm-gen winning out a bidding war over supposed takers Pearson and Paul." He hit the forth tab. "Now a week later, this: 'Top geneticists lock each other in a lab and tear each other to death. Gencom stocks plummet.' Now a few days later, Pear-Paul jumps in with a new money stream to buy not only Gencom but Rainbow as well. Halverson declares bankruptcy soon after. Today, Pear-Paul is now the leading research vessel for pharmaceutical and genetic advancement."

"Howya feeling so far?" Dean asked Erin.

"Like your jewels may still be on the grinding block. Anything else?"

"There's actually several instances of this type of thing in the news reports in the past twent—"

"Well okay, if there are, hasn't anybody done anything about it? You guys can't be the only hotshots to notice."

Curt chimed in, "Aah, yeah, an investigation in ninety-three when stocks were reaching new lows but Pear-Paul was still shining. A federal one too; but then along comes the political scandal of Senator Mortenson which redirected the entire resources of the feds' investigative teams."

"I remember a little bit about that."

"Of course you do. Even if you weren't following politics back then, you couldn't get away from it because TV wouldn't let you. Or radio. Or the internet. But a funny little thing cropped up in one of the committee hearings for that which I never picked up too much on until this morning. When asked why Ol' Mort involved himself in a dummy corporation to fund a terrorist organization on the rise in the Ukraine, he said he did it for his family but wouldn't elaborate any further. But he never had family in that region and none of his family was in any danger from that sect in the states.

"But dig a little deeper and you'll see that one of the overall major contributors to Mortenson wassss...drum roll, please, Dean..."

But Erin answered, "Pear-Paul."

"Yep."

"You're saying they told this guy to fall on the sword for them or...what, they would kill his family?"

"Sure spells that way, doesn't it?"

"Still speculation."

"All right, all right," Dean rattled out, "show her the next tab—if this doesn't jab you, I don't know what will."

Curt clicked the next. And recited what came up. "Most recent squashing—or attempted squashing: 'Co-founder of Woodland and McNab discovered dead in his home at age 57'...and let's skip down a bit to initial cause of death...'Although official coroner's report will not be available for some time, it was stated by police that two giant circular stab wounds were discovered on McNab's chest. Emanating from the wounds were what initial toxicology reports have already identified as venom commonly found in Black Widow spiders. "Somebody had been collecting the stuff," Detective Jonathon Vaughn, an investigator on the scene, was quoted as saying, "because the amount we had discovered—and that we assume killed Mr. McNab—was... _a_ _lot_.'""

"And lemme guess," Erin put in, "Pear-Paul is their major competition."

"That _isss_ correct," Curt responded. "Further down the article it says that Wood-Nab's PR specialist and co-founder, Austin Woodland made a special statement today saying the company has lost a dear friend and a great asset and blah, blah, blah, but that the company will move forward and strive for excellence, blah, blah, blah. But it also included quotes from business insiders and financial analysts who pretty much revealed that the company is in dire straits without McNab's unique guidance. That their edge in the real estate game may be kaput if they cannot find another corporate genius and quite soon. Meanwhile, Pear-Paul may be in a position to snatch up key landscaping and building contracts." Curt turned in his seat to face Erin. "Now, whether you're totally convinced or not, you gotta admit there's some funny and creepy stuff going on with these people. And hey, put yourself in your brother's shoes. If you had dug up all this stuff, would you've just kept it to yourself? Or would you have made the call?"

Erin darted her eyes about as she seriously considered what Curt had said, a breath escaped her nose. "I would have made the call."

"But now, we didn't just call you in here to tell you about all of this, we kinda need your help if you're willing."

"I know, you want me to describe what I saw there. Not much to be honest...the junior CEO's assistant looks like a damn supermodel."

"That doesn't give us much to go on, how 'bout the junior CEO?"

"Ah, Stanford Jordan is his name, um, he was the one who interviewed me...and also told me about the company history...So-so now what, are you guys planning on bringing these people down?"

"Well, that is kinda what we do here, we wouldn't be in biz if we didn't."

"Yeah but, if what you guys say is true, then doesn't that give you, uh, a little bit of pause?"

"Nope. We're gonna rack 'em and wreck 'em, right, Deany Boy?"

"That's right. Erin, listen, the Woodland thing is not their only major corporate threat right now. What're we just supposed to sit here and wait to read the next article about how someone or someones from Ellison and Bauer mysteriousl—"

"What?" Erin blurted in shock.

"What? Huh?" Dean echoed. "What 'what'?"

"Ellison and Bauer?"

" _Yeah,_ that's likely their next target, their interest holdings pose a serious—"

"That's what I was doing for them!"

"But you stopped. Wait—doing _what_ for them exactly...?"

"I um...okay, I guess I should just tell you: when you called, I wasn't really at Pear-Paul. I was actually _at_ Ellison and Bauer, and I was just about to deliver something to them from my work—"

"What is it you were delivering?" Dean asked with needling haste.

"Um, documents, proposals I guess. I don't know, I didn't actually open it up to look at them, the pouch I mean..."

Dean flicked his eyes to Curt and outed, "Curt, check up anything new on Ell—"

"Already doing," Curt said absently as he worked his PC. He searched...searched—"Boom...uhh... _literally_ boom. Just an hour ago, a bomb went off on the street corner of Warner and Brand leveling a deli, a cosmetics shop, a bus stop, and causing superficial damage to the buildings of Base One _and_ Ellison and Bauer..."

Erin's heart and breath caught in her throat. "Oh my God!" she whispered, "I did that! I think I did that! OH NO..." She strapped a cupped hand to her gaping mouth in shock and disbelief.

Dean's mind worked frantically. He speed-dialed his phone and snapped it to his ear.

"What are you doing?" Curt asked him.

"Calling my folks," Dean said quickly. He waited, nothing from his father, voicemail. Tried his mother's cell, same. "Voicemails, both of them; Erin, come on, we have to go!"

"Wait!" Curt said, "What am I suppose to tell people here?"

As Dean grabbed Erin's upper arm and pulled her toward the door, Dean replied, "Tell 'em my dad had a heart attack or something like that."

"All right, and _hey,_ don't panic, they probably just went somewhere and left their phones—"

"Have to make sure."

"I know, go, go, I'll cover you and keep going on this end."

"Thanks."

And they were gone.

Curt turned back around and typed in a search for Stanford Jordan as it related to Pearson and Paul.

****

Minutes away from reaching their parents' home in Dean's speeding car, Erin finally uttered words to her brother as he drove. "People probably died...in the blast, people probably died..." She was mentally shell-shocked—a numbed expression haunted her face. "...That homeless man for sure..."

Dean had been so focused on getting to their destination that he barely registered her words. "What?" he barked in a hurried voice.

"The homeless man who was at the bus stop...I'm sure he was killed...he was interested in my pouch. I told him, 'free pouch' as I threw it in the trash...he probably thought, 'I could hock this for a few bucks'...opened it and—"

"Yeah, _or_ he got on his bus and made it out alive," he offered with the same bark, "Listen, let's try to assume that no one died until we know for sure. We're going to find our folks and Jessie and I'm going to send _all_ of you on a terrific little vacation, all paid in cash until we can sort these scumbags out."

" _I'm_ not going anywhere! I'm a suspect, somebody had to have seen me with that pouch—the people in the lobby of Ellison and Bauer probably saw me with it—!"

"No, no, no, you're going! If it turns out someone saw you and reports you, then I'll bring you back. But right _now_ I want you gone with the rest!"

"...Oh God..."

He pulled into the driveway behind both parents' sedans—a good sign...or a horrible one...they quickly got out and made for the front door. It was locked, which was also a mixed sign to Dean. He unlocked it and plowed through the door, Erin following.

"Dad!" Dean hollered, "Mom!" after seeing no one.

"Jessie?!" Erin belted.

Both of them searched the house and found no one. They came back together. Dean remarked, "This doesn't make sense, both their cars are here."

"Maybe the Ryan's or the Keen's picked them up for brunch."

"Their phones are here though."

"So. They left them here by accident. Now _you're_ the one being paran—"

Joltingly, the house phone rang. Dean picked it up. "Hello?"

A man's voice answered back in a tone of deadness.

"Hello, Dean. My name is Oliver. Let's talk for a moment, shall—"

"I'm sorry, I don't really have time for your sales pitch—"

" _I'm_ not selling, Dean, I'm telling. If you ever wish to see your parents alive, if your sister ever wants to see her precious Jessie in good shape, you'll listen to what I'm telling..."

Dean could only stand there holding the phone to his ear; his eyes blinking in an attempt to process his thoughts around this new reality.

Oliver spoke on, "You'll hear me now, won't you, Dean Belaski..."

"Yes," Dean managed.

"Who is it—?" Erin tried, but Dean shushed her, held up a "stop" hand to emphasize.

Oliver: "Now pay close attention, Dean, because I'm not going to repeat myself. You and your sister need to drive to the corporate HQ of Pearson and Paul straight away. You are not to deviate from your course for any reason, if you do, your family that we have in our possession will be tortured then killed. Do you believe me one hundred percent, Dean?"

"Yes, I do."

"Good. Leave now."

_Click._ The line went dead.

Dean lowered his phone to his side.

Erin asked again, fear rising in her. "Who was it?"

With terror-stricken eyes, Dean stared at nothing as he said, "They have them...they have all three of them..."

"What?" she asked, though a part of her already knew the answer.

Finally, he faced her but with a face fully hit with the truth. "They've got mom and dad, they've got—"

"Who?!" she shrieked, but certainly she knew. "They don't have my Jessie, they don't have my daughter...!" She was backing away from him, as if to do so would somehow remove her from what was happening. And louder and heavier: "THEY DON'T HAVE MY _DAUGHTER!"_

"Erin, _Erin!"_ Dean called to her in an attempt to center her, but she was still backing away. Her hands were lamely trying to come to her lips—fear was claiming her motor-skills, her ability to function properly. Her breaths were strained gasps. He came toward her, slow at first but then quicker as he saw that she was buckling to the floor. He wasn't fast enough, however, to stop her from dropping to her knees, or save her from hunching over, her face taut with silent cries. He knelt down and spoke to her with electrified purpose. "Erin, no, come on, they want us to leave now, we have to leave now or they're gonna hurt them and then kill them...Erin, get up! If you want to see Jessie alive, you have to get up and come with me _now!"_

His words bolted her fragile mind into action and she staggered dumbly to her feet. He helped as much as he could, as quick as he could, and herded her toward the door. Once they were outside it, Dean slammed the door shut but didn't bother locking it. It didn't even enter his frantic mind.

Chapter 8

Oliver waited patiently and silently in the front lobby of Pearson and Paul's massive HQ structural high-rise. His business suited form faced the front doors of the lobby that windowed to the outside street—to the rest of society as it went about its day's dealing. His eyes perked up a bit as he saw his two marks appear from the corner and nervously enter. They walked toward him with eyes of wideness and tension. They stopped before him.

"Hello, Dean," Oliver flatly greeted. "Erin, good to have you back. Follow me." He turned curtly and walked for the elevators around the corner. Dean and Erin followed close behind—yet still somewhat from a distance as this man repulsed their almost every sense. All three entered the elevator and the doors eventually came together to seal. Once they did, Oliver did something which eerily resonated with Erin.

He pushed the buttons for floors five and seven at the same time.

_There_ is _a sixth floor,_ a peripheral voice of curiosity answered in her mind. _And that's how you get to it...by pushing five and seven at once...but are you really_ that _happy to know this?! Well, kind of, yes...if it gets me to my parents, if it gets me to my Jessie, for God sakes!!!_

Please let them be all right.

The elevator rose and Erin could feel movement of it through her body, in her mind. A sense of real confinement was pouring over her, filling her with an escalating despair. The elevator car ceased its movement. The counter read "6."

The doors separated.

Oliver took a step towards the gap and raised his arm to the framing, thus ensuring that the door would stay open, and turned a bit to face Erin and Dean with blank eyes. The siblings got the hint, of course, and exited the elevator whereupon they witnessed what they assumed was another security agent. Oliver stepped away from the frame which allowed the doors to finally slide together again.

"Mr. Belaski, if you'll accompany me," the new agent said devoid of feeling.

New panic hit both Dean and Erin's eyes, they stared at each other.

Oliver offered, "You'll be rejoining Dean quite soon. But Mr. Jordan would like a word with you, Erin."

Both Dean and Erin wanted so desperately to say something to each other, to scream, don't let them separate us, please, oh dear God! To roar at these two men that this is unacceptable, we won't let you do this!

But both siblings knew that it was pointless. That to do so would accomplish nothing but to make things worse.

So they complied without a word. They even ceased looking at each other.

They split apart, Oliver escorting Erin to a room down the hall while Dean and the other agent trailed in the opposite direction. _Were they going to a room as well?_ Erin wondered as she walked.

She also wondered, _what are they going to do to us?!_

Oliver stopped them in front of a door, opened it wide, and cleared the path for Erin to enter.

Inside the room were a desk and two chairs facing each other. They were on opposite ends of the desk but close into it. The one facing the door had a dapper and serious figure sitting in it: Stanford Jordan.

"Aaahh, Erin," Stanford said, acknowledging his new arrival. "Looks like we finally roped you back in from your unsanctioned coffee break. Please sit."

Erin stood there for a brief instant, not wanting to be anywhere near this slick monster. But again, her mind told her that she had no choice in the matter. These people owned her now.

So she sat. And faced him.

"I imagine," Stanford began, "your first concern here is, where are your family members—"

"Where's my daughter?" Erin got out rather strained and frantic.

"Near. As well as the others...do you mind too terribly if I ask you a personal question? I realize we're in a formal business setting here and so we should keep it as such. But occasionally I find that my professional dealings tend to cross paths or even coincide with my personal inclinations. So my question to you is this: do you think that life as we know it would lose significant meaning if the reality of death were non-existent, if we simply went on and on?"

Erin's terror was now injected with confusion. What was this monster getting at?

"I can see that you're a bit lost by my question. So let's use an example which you were quite recently familiarized with. This company you visited— _or_ were supposed to visit—tsk, tsk, tsk—Ellison and Bauer Financial Investors at large. Now, there's _something_ that I neglected to mention when I first alluded to these money hounds. They are... _special,_ to say the least, they have a certain particular spark to them that your average sheep on the roam simply does not possess. _Chosen_ , they are, and every single last one of them—from the CEO on down to the people in the mail room.

" _But now_ I ask you, _because_ I've told you these people are unique and selected and the like, does that mean that they are somehow _immortal_ , that they live forever and ever and ever, amen?" He waited. "Hm?"

Erin whispered out, "...N...no?"

"Right, no, _not_ immortal by any stretch of the imagination, despite their gifts from on high, and so surely can be killed off. And _luckily_ for us, because one of their quite annoying habits is their innate ability to ferret out their opposites, the ones chosen from _down low,_ _oooo..._ And who do you think those might be, Erin? Any...small inkling in that grub's brain of yours?"

Erin's eyes averted briefly as she ventured a frightened, forced reply. "...Yyyou?"

"Very good, Erin, very good. And do you think _we_ are immortal as they are not?"

"...No?"

"No, unfortunately not. So from our prospective—and theirs—our motivations for living and wanting to accomplish certain goals in our limited time here become more immediate and critical. Now, let me ask you a separate yet related question: do you feel that _you_ are one of the chosen, Erin?"

"...No."

"Right again, you certainly aren't, otherwise you would have seen us for what we are right from the start."

Apprehensively, she offered in, "That's why I was picked...wasn't it...because they wouldn't—"

"Would not detect you, of course. Naturally, if we sent one of our own down there it would be a disaster— _well_ , it still _was_ a disaster. But we'll soon get that straightened out."

She stared down in horror as she was now getting a strong sense of why she was forced back here.

Why her family was now in quite deep water.

Stanford went on, "At any rate, it does make sense for us to use those who aren't specially selected to accomplish certain tasks..." And a new face materialized on Stanford—one of a motivational speaker, though of a subtle, mocking kind. "...And you know what, Erin, even though you botched a very important assignment—I assume because of your brother's interference at the last moment—I _still_ feel you have it in you to be a reliable little lamb..." Now with the falsity of the motivator came a chilling officiality to his demeanor. "...Because _you_ most certainly _are_ mortal...and your family..."

Erin's face was losing control of its ability to hold back her escalating terror. Tears welled in her eyes almost on the cusp of falling. Her whole form soon shuddered.

He pursed his lips and his eyes went somewhat slack. He rose casually. "Come with me, Erin." He slowly rounded the desk and stood by her. The tears had made it down her sob-wrenched face. He pressed, "Come on, Erin, you want to see them, don't you?"

Wrecked with fear, she nevertheless willed herself to get up from the chair and accompany the two men from the room. Oliver led the way while Stanford and Erin walked side by side. They exited the room and walked back down the hall, toward the elevator, and past it to move toward another room.

And as they did, a muffled male voice became more loud and distinct. The voice was screaming, "STOP THAT!!! STOP DOING THAT TO THEM!!! AND GET HER OUT OF THAT THING, YOU DAMN FILTHY BASTARDS!!!"

Erin's body buckled under a losing war that dread waged on her senses. Yet just as she was about to fall to the floor, Stanford grabbed and steadied her. He coaxed with, "Keep 'er going, Erin, we're almost there. Brave girl now."

Oliver asked, "Do you need me to give her a special nudge?"

"I don't think so. She'll make it. Right, Erin?"

In her manic state, she still somehow possessed the wherewithal to nod. He goaded her forth and they were walking again. The door they needed was only ten feet away. Again the screaming voice, "STOP IIIIIT!!!"

They halted in front of the door, then Oliver spoke into his mini-wrist microphone. "That's enough, we're ready."

Stanford faced Erin. "Now you listen, what you'll see in there, well, it's going to hurt. But you have to stay alert and attentive because I'm not done with our discussion. Not responding to me will only make things worse, understand?"

"Yes," she said through gasping sobs.

"Good. Oliver?"

Oliver proceeded to open the door. Which allowed Erin and Stanford the full view of what was inside the room.

And what had been done.

Stanford walked her forth.

And what she saw as she quickly scanned the room made her shudder again, and steal her balance as her hands raced to her horror-gaped mouth.

A few feet from her, Dean was being restrained by two bulkish security agents. He was down on his knees.

Erin had known that it was Dean that had been screaming things before she had entered. But, of course, she couldn't have known exactly _what_ he was hollering about. But now that she was in the same room as him, she knew full well.

Now it all made perfect sense.

"Erin, oh God!" Dean said to her in terror.

"Oh No!" was all she could say through her joined hands covering her mouth.

What both were witnessing would go down to qualify as one of the worst waking nightmares either would ever experience in their lifetimes.

Their mother and father were feet before them on all fours, their faces were marred by purplish, bluish, and reddened mounds of swelling. Lacerations caused streaks of blood down their cheeks and foreheads. Albert and Sophie Belaski were struggling to keep their bodily positions as pain and spotty consciousness mired their strength. Behind them stood two athletic looking agents—one a man behind Albert and the other a woman behind Sophie. Both agents wore tight-fitting black leather gloves greased with blood.

To the right of them, from Dean and Erin's point of view, stood two more formidable-looking agents, both men this time, who appeared to be guarding something behind them. The something consisted of a large and rectangularly-boxed device which rested on a foldout table. The thing was sectioned and shielded by windowing glass, which allowed evidence that the object was predominantly hollowed—a compartment of some kind. Featured on the thing's glassless and metallic side were control panel displays. Melded to one of its sides was an iron tank which read "Pure Oxygen" around its curving, cylindrical form.

Inside and clearly visible through the glass sat Jessie, sobbing.

And now that Erin had entered and her daughter caught sight of her, one word emerged from the child's mouth: "MAMAAAAA!"

"JESSIEEE!!!" Erin exploded and vaulted forth to get at her child.

But the two agents fronting the compartment and Jessie rushed to intercept. They met in a crash of vicious struggling. Erin had tried to slip through their snapping grasps, but in the end the agents proved the better control of her actions. The two managed to get firm clasps on either of Erin's upper arms and pull her back to where she had stood. She fought them with every step.

"Erin," Stanford began with reproach, "what did we just talk about?"

Nearly hysterical, she burst, "Let her out of there! _Please!"_

"Now that depends on certain things. One of which is that you calm down right now. Or shall we have Corbin and Delilah here continue their conversation with your parents?"

Warring madly with herself, Erin put every ounce of mental fortitude to control her emotions and her body. After a few excruciating seconds she succeeded.

"Good," Stanford commented. "Now. If we can keep ourselves centered, I'd like to get back to our theologics. So, as we already established, none of us live forever, my young one, and we _all_ have things to accomplish in our limited time. One of yours, naturally, is to save your family—particularly your daughter. And if you want that more than anything, then you'll help us achieve _our_ goal. Which I'm sure you've figured by now is to take down the aforementioned Ellison and Bauer. We cherish our financial edge in the business community, to say the least. And I think we've clearly shown that we're apt to keep it." Stanford glanced over at Delilah. "Dee, did young Master Belaski here reveal anything enlightening?"

"He did," Delilah said flatly. "Apparently, he works for a consumer probe establishment, focusing mainly on corporate misdealings."

"Aaahh, so now things fall into place." He faced Erin and pointed. "He knew you were starting here today, so he figured, why not check them out? Family looks after family. And Dean calls Erin and warns her off...without realizing what she was doing for us... _or_ taking into account that we don't do loose ends...so now we have an additional agenda, it seems...if both are ready and willing...Erin? Dean?"

"No!" Al protestedly eked out from his overly puffed and bruised lips. "Gon't thoo a thing thor then—UNPH!"

Instantly, Al was shoved flat to the floor by hard-shoed foot. Corbin's.

"Corbin, no more," Stanford ordered.

"Yes, sir," Corbin smoothly replied.

"I don't think we need that approach at this point now that Erin's here. Correct, Oliver?"

Oliver nodded once with a hint of a smile to his lips.

The wideness of Erin's eyes increased. Her breaths became stunted and difficult.

"Erin, do you know what this device is?" Stanford asked pointing at Jessie's prison, but didn't expect a reply. "It's an environment purifier for those afflicted with a severe extremity of allergies. To simply walk about in a normal everyday environment would be death to them. It's the whole 'boy in the bubble' phenomenon.

"The controls on this containment can regulate the circulation of purified air...but, those same controls can also shut off the air supply altogether...isn't that true, Oliver?"

And Erin's breathing almost ceased, her heart pounded.

"Does that there belong to you?" asked Pearson and Paul's head of security in his deadened voice to Erin.

She bucked as fear erupted from the center of her being. Any normal person would almost certainly have failed in restraining her at this particular moment. But the two security agents now gripping her arms were brick strong. She wasn't going anywhere.

Over her desperate pants and moans, the security head, a mammoth of a man, pressed, "Hm? Answer me."

Through her anxiety, Erin managed: "Y...y...yes, YES!" And the wheezing breaths continued. _"Oh dear God..."_

"Now you watch your tongue," he warned. "Now, uh..." He began calmly walking towards the purifier.

As he strolled, her panic only heightened. Her shrilling moans and breaths quickened.

He ended his stroll to stand by the fairly smooth piece of hardware. He caressed a few fingers over its operating controls, resting them over a certain lever. "...all I have to do is flick this—"

" _No!"_ Again she struggled against iron grips.

"You sure, now? It's quite a simple thing here to just—"

"NO!!!" her frantic voice hoarsed, "PLEASE...PLEASE DON'T CUT IT OFF..."

"We'll do it!" Dean belted. "Whatever you want us to do, we'll do it...just don't do anything to hurt Jessie..." And he lowered his head in tears.

"What do you say, Erin?" Stanford calmly asked her.

" _Yes!_ Yes, I'll do it..." She mirrored her brother's deflated posture, tears streaking her cheeks.

"Terrific. Delilah, Corbin, take the folks back to their separate rooms. Oliver, I'll need you to stay here with the child and await my word." Oliver nodded. Stanford faced the two holding Dean. "Stand him up."

While Al and Sophie were being dragged off from the room, the two holding Dean did as they were told. Dean forced his eyes to face Stanford.

"Dean," Stanford started, "you will return to your work and dissuade any of your associates from continuing your probe or investigation of our organization, as well as delete all reports that may have already been created. Understood? Once that has been achieved, you will return here where your parents will be released to you. Fit him with audio and visual so that we can confirm that it is done."

"Yes, sir," said one of Dean's captors.

"That's all. Take him and prep him."

They carted Dean off and out of the room.

Stanford turned to the agents restraining Erin. "Fit her with the same. We're going to make sure things work this time. Erin, you have ten seconds with your daughter. Release her."

The agents did, and Erin rushed to Jessie's side. Her hands, palms out, met the glass and Jessie clambered to do the same inside her containment. "Mamaaaaaa! Mommyyyyyyyy!" came Jessie's sobbing pleas.

"It's okay!" Erin tried in soothing her wanting child. "It's okay! I'm going to get you out of there, I promise you!"

"Mamaaaaa-ha-haaaaaa...!" the baby wailed on, not accepting assurances, only the safety and physical contact of her mother.

"I swear, honey! I swear to get you out! I'll be back as soon as I can, and I'll get you out of there! Oh babyyyyy—!"

"Mom- _myyyyyy...!"_ Frightened anger had entered Jessie's voice.

"Oh sweetheart, I _love_ you! I _love_ you!"

"...Love mommyyy..."

"Be brave, sweetie, mommy's coming back, she coming—"

"Time's up, Erin," Oliver said in his dead tone, "Back away and go with Stanford now...or..."

But Erin didn't need him to finish his threat—she reversed her steps but continued to gaze upon her daughter. "I'll be back, baby...brave girl now...I'll see you soon, I'll see you soon..."

"MAMA!!!" Jessie erupted at the sight of her mother backing toward the door. "MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!"

Soon, Stanford had a hand on Erin's arm and was pulling her out of the room.

As he was about to close the door and cut off any visual contact between mother and daughter, Erin hollered, "I LOVE YOU, JESSICA!"

The door was closed.

Outside in the hallway, Stanford unhanded Erin and faced her to speak. "You did fairly well in there. I realize it was extremely painful to experience what you just did. Yet it _was_ necessary for you to understand what is required to complete the job." While he lectured, she had hands over her whole face, silently crying. As if ignoring this, he went on, "And it's very simple, really. All you have to do is concentrate on your daughter in carrying out this task. These people, these chosen, you don't know them and they are strangers to you. Keep that in mind."

Through the barrier of hands, she managed, "But they never did anything to me."

"You're thinking of this in the wrong terms, girl. These people are targets in a corporate war. In the landscape of the business arena. They did not get to where they are without doling out their own underhanded schemes against their enemies and opponents. Don't think of them as innocents, Erin. _But your_ family is innocent in your eyes, isn't it— _your daughter_ is an innocent, isn't she? Save _that_ innocence, and the rest is merely procedure in your case, yes?"

Still buried in her hands, she nodded jerkingly. Shame was worming its way through her mind, body, and soul.

"Come on now, let's not keep little Jessie waiting any longer than necessary. Let's get you prepped to go."

But Erin was trapped inside her mind's war and couldn't move. She knew that she should to save her daughter, the most crucial thing to her being...but to kill several people...

"Erin," Stanford barked, "If you don't do this, your child will perish and we will simply find someone else to unwittingly come in and do it for us. These people are going to die whether you help us or not. Now come with me."

So she did; wanting to be sick every step of the way.

****

Back in the other room again, Stanford and Erin waited upon a tech, who came in a minute later and began to fit Erin's clothes with "bugs." The kind used to surreptitiously surveil an environment. The tech snipped off a brown button from her blouse, brought out a brown one of his own, matched them up for comparison, then put the snipped one in the trash. He also produced a thread and needle to immediately begin sewing the new button into the place of the original. As he did, he explained, "This is your visual, everything it sees we see." Within a minute, he was finished with the sew. He then produced a ring and placed it on her ring finger. "This is your audio and will be in sync with the video bug." He left the room.

Stanford explained to the shell-shocked Erin, "Now, I don't think it needs to be said but I'll say it anyway: those devices are not to be removed at any time during your errand for us. In P1 there is a car waiting with its motor running. Get into it. A man named Phillip will be in the car next to you in the back seat. He has another pouch for you. Follow his instructions to the letter. Completely understood?"

She nodded her flushed, wrecked face.

"Good. Go now."

Like a good machine, she emotionlessly left the room and walked the hall for the elevator. She descended to P1, got out and into the waiting, purring car. Inside, just as Stanford described, sat a man with a new pouch in hand. He stared at Erin and said, "Hello, Erin. I'm Phillip. And you'll be working directly under me now. Driver, let's go."

The driver in the front seat accelerated the car smoothly forth and began maneuvering their way out of the parking structure.

Once out into the street, Phillip continued, "Now in this pouch is another set of compact explosives set to charge when the pouch is opened. You are to hold this pouch out in front of you at all times when you enter the building so that we can _see_ you holding it. And that we know it will be delivered to the secretary on the eighth floor. Once they have it in hand, you best do your best to calmly yet quickly leave the building. Because, of course, you don't want to be there _in_ the building when they finally decide to open it. Comprende?"

Erin sat like a stone sculpture—one that had been carved to look shell-shocked. Non-responsive...until, "...Yes."

"Good. Let's try to kill the right people this time."

_Good God!_ her fragile mind screamed. _I_ did _kill people in the first blast. Jesus help me...how many...the vagrant...the vagrant for sure..._

... _Free pouch, I told him as I shoved it into the already stuffed can of garbage..._

Yeah, it was free all right...it had the full freedom of blowing him and several others into a million charcoaled human remains!

Dear God, I'm damned now, I've killed...I've killed and...I will kill more now...

I can't face this, this is pure insanity...I've been cast into hell to suffer for sins I didn't even realize I'd done!

MADNESS! her brain shrieked.

The car was coming up close on the Ellison and Bauer corporate tower.

_Grab a rope and hold on tight,_ Grandy's voice penetrated Erin's battered mind. _Don't slip away from yourself! Don't slip from your daughter's sight!_

I'm trying, Grandy...I'm trying so hard...

Chapter 9

"This is it," Phillip announced. "Pull over to the curb," he ordered the silent driver. The man did what he was told. Then Phillip shifted himself to face Erin more fully. She stared at him as if he were a vampire. "Remember, the eighth floor. Hand it to the—" He passed her the pouch, "—secretary and then high-tail it back down without drawing suspicion." She hadn't taken the pouch in hand yet; her eyebrows were twitching in fear and revulsion. Her lips and cheeks spasmed in unison. He pushed the pouch more toward her midsection, barking, "Take it. There's no out on this now. You're in all the way and you know it. Take it now and GO."

Finally she did and got out of the car in a haze of dread. But somehow she managed to keep her footings as she forwarded herself to the front doors of the building.

A fluttering arm of hers reached and clasped the handle for the door. She remained still in a stance for a brief and heart-clenching moment. It seemed as if the air around her was becoming thick and unbreatheable. She decided to take a big gulp of it anyway and opened the door. Her eyes adjusted to the scenery inside and she entered passed the doors. It was somehow possible for her to strap on a face of indifference in order to convince the people inside she was just another courier. Except for the slight tremor of her left cheek which simply could not be stopped. Thankfully for her no one seemed to pay her the slightest attention. Behind the lobby desk sat a security officer—a red and close-cropped haired man who appeared to be in his fit and trim thirties—who seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in a conversation with a female executive. As Erin walked nearer to the elevators, the officer finally gave her a glance and nodded rather absently. Then he was back to the woman and keeping track with the conversation's flow. Good, thought Erin sickly, and proceeded as best as she could to the elevator doors. She pushed the button for the car to come to her floor, but once she did the doors opened immediately. Which might have struck her odd if she wasn't so preoccupied with so much frenzied fear. She entered quickly—possibly a little too hastily, she recognized, but couldn't deter her movements from wanting to be away from possible prying eyes. The doors closed after second or two and she was secure in the elevator.

And alone once again in an elevator.

She instinctually brought her eyes to the number count of the floors on the wall panel. One through to twenty-one floor numbers were present as well as the parking levels below one. None missing.

None missing.

Terrific.

She faltered to the floor and began sobbing uncontrollably. But she was forgetting something vital in her abrupt breakdown. She whip-craned her head up to eye the eighth floor button, then jabbed a finger out to push it. That done, she briskly returned to her original position of praising the elevator floor in utter misery and near hysteria. Hyperventilation began to own her respiration.

"Oh God...oh God, help me, help me, help me, noooo, no, no, no, noooo..." was her breathy and desperate chant. She continued it even as her breaths got more wheezing in nature, "...please, please, please, help, just help me, just help me..." And as the car rose noticeably to its ordered floor destination, and her chants whined on, her mental need to be free of this waking nightmare escalated to its boiling point. When the numbers reached six, her body and voice exploded with, "HELP MEEEEE! HELP MEEEE! GOD HELP MEEEEEE!!!"

She abruptly thrusted her head up to witness that the counter had reached seven. One more floor.

She speedily got to her feet to attempt a last minute composure of her appearance and demeanor. She did bracing and stunted breaths, in-out, in-out, in-out. Finally she ended it with one very deep breath, held it for a second, then let it go. She gave her head an angry shake and stood more erect. Her eyes blinked repeatedly. As a final preparation, she covered her face with the hand not holding the pouch in front of her, relished in one last lung-filling breath of oxygen to let out, and then lowered her hand away.

The counter read eight.

Eighth floor.

The doors opened apart and exposed her to what was beyond.

Chapter 10

Dean allowed himself to be directed to another room down the hall. Whereupon entering, he encountered the same tech who would soon fit Erin with her own surveillance "bugs." But first it would be Dean. The snip of his work shirt button near the chest section was done and the thing thrown in the refuse. The tech did his bit of sewing on the new "button" then brought out the ring. He put it on Dean's ring finger and recited his spiel about which was what for audio and video, their sync linkage and so on.

He then asked Dean: "Now your place of work, will they still be there by the time of your return? It's almost four."

"Yes," Dean replied with no great enthusiasm.

"Late workers and such? Be there for a few hours maybe more?"

"Yes."

"Too bad for you. It will make your task that much more problematic...but you will succeed nonetheless, correct?"

"...Yes."

"Good. Off you go then. Remember, we are watching _and_ listening."

And like Erin would be told just minutes from now, Dean was instructed to meet a running car in P1 structure and get in the back seat. Once he had done so, he was asked exactly where his place of work was located within the area. Dean, devoid of feeling, certainly in the realm of enthusiasm, told the driver where _Consumers Now_ was found. For the remainder of the trip there was silence—a constrictive silence for Dean at least. When they finally arrived near the front entrance of ConNow, the driver commented matter-of-factly, "I hope for your and their—" He tilted his head to the building briefly. "—sake that you're successful...because if you're not...well, it's likely that we'll have to blow the place with everyone in it. Just don't be hasty in your actions."

Dean said nothing but processed the driver's words with a tightening dread. A second after, he exited the car and walked without haste to the front doors of the place. He stood in front of them and rested his right hand on the handle with tremendous fear and hesitation. He dipped his head a bit and closed his eyes to brace his mind—and thus his body—for what was about to come. Another instant and he clenched the handle, pulled on it which swung the door outward, and entered. And faced what was beyond.

Chapter 11

Somehow, Erin managed a passable jovial smile as she walked forth from the confines of the elevator and approached the front office assistant seated behind his desk. "Hi, yes?" the man said to Erin.

"Hi...hi, I'm here to drop this off," she announced with innocence. She held up the pouch as she spoke.

"Oh, terrific, and where is it coming from?" he asked with a positive tone.

_Uh-oh..._ "It's, ah," she began and immediately tried to think of a plausible reply. Grandy's phantom voice seemed to push her— _"Fast, sweetheart! Use the name of your first internship!"_ Erin instantly continued with, "it's from Coleman Designs." And politely extended the pouch toward the man.

His eyes averted to a side, however, while his brow did a furl. "...Cole-man-Designs...interesting..."

Trying to sell the lie, she attempted, "It's some sort of proposal."

"...Hm...o-kaaay...Well that's—hm..."

And then another man walked up, halted behind Erin—as if he were on his speedy way to something yet stopped to notice the scene. And offer his assistance. "Is everything okay here?" the new man asked.

The voice behind Erin caused her heart to clench.

The assistant answered with, "Well I don't know, this courier here says she's from Coleman Designs but I don't think we have any connections or dealings with them, do we?"

"Coleman Designs? Not that I...You're from there?" he put to Erin.

"Yes," she said—and a bit too quickly, she realized, which gave another maddening squeeze of her heart.

"Coleman...interesting...would you be able to follow me to my office for just a brief moment?"

And now her heart thudded painfully. "I really have to get going to be honest."

"It'd be just a quick moment."

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude but I'm not exaggerating, I _really,_ seriously have a lot to—"

Placing a hand gingerly on her shoulder, he interjected, "I completely understand, I'll have you in and out in thirty seconds, forty-five tops...This way. Please."

"Go ahead, miss, I'll keep the pouch safe for you," the assistant said as he offered his hand in a taking gesture.

She stood there for an interminably long second or two, caught in a horrendous mental trap. But then she found herself handing over the pouch to the assistant and being led by the other man to his office in the next room.

Once both were in, the man closed the door and showed Erin a seat, she apprehensively took it. He rounded his desk and sat in his own chair to face her.

They stared at each other silently.

Then he spoke. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Nicholas Bauer, and you are?"

"...Erin."

"Erin, nice to meet you. It seems that we have kind of a problem here."

"Well that's...kind of yours to figure out, I just deliver things. Speaking of which, I have many more to do before a certain time or they'll can me, so—"

"Ah, but you see, therein lies the problem, Erin. I'm afraid I _can't_ let you leave until I've discovered the truth about certain things."

_Oh God, no!_ her mind exploded with.

"Certain things?"

"Yes. For example, did you happen to notice the burnt wreckage across the street from here?"

Her lip twitched involuntarily. "...Yes."

"Don't know if you caught the news report about it but a bomb went off there earlier this morning. It killed six people and injured four more, Erin, not a pretty picture."

"I'm sorry," she said, and in her head added, _my God, if you only knew just_ how _sorry—and sick—I am about it..._

"Me too. I don't like to see anyone's life needlessly cut short like that. And having happen so close to our own establishment, well...it kind of puts us on the edgy, jumpy side of things—a little more cautious about what we accept into our house as it were. I'm sure that must make some measure of sense to you, being a fairly competent person, am I right?"

"I guess, sure."

"So that, then, leads us to you coming in here with a delivery—a proposal, I believe I heard you say?—from a place we aren't really familiar with, _and_ , it seems to me at any rate, that you are extremely nervous...so, before I'm to ever let you out of this building, I have to know the truth."

"I don't know what truths you want—"

"Erin, stop." Bauer's eyes had been studying, probing Erin's. But now they simply pierced, penetrated. "Should you and I happen to just go on over to the next room there and open up that pouch, would we find a stack of papers proposing...or would we find something else entirely...?"

Her resolve now faltering, her face became a crumpled mess. Tears glimmered her eyes. Through this she quivered a sad, whispery, "They're watching...they're _listening..."_ Then tears raced down her cheeks. She blindly said, "...They have my family...my _daughter_..." and her face wrenched further.

Bauer's face had gone slack with understanding, sympathy. "Pear-Paul then..."

She nodded briskly while she bawled shamelessly and without end. She lowered her head feeling now as if all hope was completely obliterated. She stuttered in defeat, _"...J-Jess-ie..."_

He stared at her for a second, then arose to calmly, casually round the desk once more. He approached her and got down on his knees before her. His eyes spoke of possibility, of redemptive promise. "Erin...will you do something for me? Will you point out _where_ they are watching and listening?"

Chapter 12

Dean was beyond the doors now and walking the short halls of Con-Now. Around the corner he would find the office that he and Curt shared. Before he turned that corner, however, he took another opportunity to halt and catch his breath. He loathed the fact that in the next moment he would go into their office and lie up and down in an attempt to prevent Curt from further investigating Pear-Paul. But he knew there was no alternative, not a one.

So he made the turn. And entered the office.

" _Hey, are they okay?"_ Curt somewhat whisperingly asked as he whirled his seat to face Dean.

Closing the door behind him, Dean brightly assured, "Oh, they're fine, they're fine. Everyone's good. I was worrying for nothing."

Curt blinked slowly and blew out a relieving _whew!_ Then said, "Oh man...you had me seriously worrying there for a few hours. Hey listen, come here, sit down, I've got more on the bombing _and_ more on Pear-Paul..." He spun himself back to face the computer monitor, fully expecting Dean to grab a seat, pull it up next to him, and "dig in" to the new info.

Which Dean did...but with much less fire in his step than anyone who knew him might anticipate.

"Listen..." Dean started as he thought with severe trepidation, _this is it, the ultimate of crunch times, the mind-scrambling moment of truth...what are you truly made of, Dean Belaski, supposed corporate right-setter..._ "...since I left you earlier, I've been doing some serious thinking—"

"Now Dean, my friend, we've talked about that," Curt joked.

Not laughing, Dean continued, "Right, right, but, uh, let's stop this."

"Stop what?"

"The, uh, the probe into Pear-Paul—let's not do this one..."

Still staring at the screen, Curt blurted with alarm, _"Why?"_

"Well...okay, my family's safe and secure today but, you know, what if we actually make a big stink about these people— _knowing_ what they're capable of and the lengths they'll go to if threatened...you know, everyone here _and_ their families could be in _serious_ trouble—I-I just don't feel good about this anymore..."

Now Curt turned to face his office mate. "You wanna scrub the whole thing? A day's work down the drain and _, and_ the chance to bring down one of the most corrupt corporate entities the world has ever known...because you're getting cold feet from paranoia?" He bobbed his head back quickly and briefly while furling his brow. "Not the Dean _I_ know."

"I know, I know, but—"

"Besides, with something this big and wide reaching, you know we'd bring the feds in on this. We're just doing the research, the ground work; how are they ever going to know it was us anyway?"

Dean's eyes now began to dart under blinking lids. "Um...because...because of my sister, I guess, I don't know. I mean she worked there..."

"So. They don't know who you are. They don't know you work here, right?"

"No. but they still might decide to background check her after she just up and took off on 'em. I mean, they sent her along with a _bomb,_ for God sakes. Don't you think they might be looking into that now that it's gone awry?"

"Well...for all they know she died in the blast...and—and now they'll just send one of their other people to finish the job, right?"

"Seriously, Curt, let's just move on, delete all the stuff we have on file for all of this. We shouldn't be diving in to something so major right off the bat—"

" _Hey, you_ may have started today, but I've been here eight months and I've gone after the little sharks, I've done the externals for those jokers. And I'm telling you, _I'm_ ready for this. So you can get your feet wet in the shallow end of the pool, Dean, my best buddy, but I plan to dive deep with this one. Besides, these soulless psychos are just begging for it."

_Coming apart,_ Dean thought alarmingly, _this is rapidly coming apart on me..._ "Curt...do you like my sister?"

This made Curt sit back a bit, his lips pursed while a long breath hissed from his nose. "Come on, man, don't use your sister against me, you know I'm super fond of her and all that."

"Well, would you ever do anything to even remotely put her in harm's way?" Dean's eyes showed an intensity, a seriousness. And an undercurrent of desperate pleading.

" _No, of course not,_ but I still don't see how they're going to connect us to her. I'm sorry, man, you know I'm your good friend and all but I seriously think you're reaching here—anyway, it's not really up to me anymore, now that I think about it: Palmer came in earlier and checked in on me. He knows I'm doing the probe—"

" _What?"_

" _Yeah,_ he knows, he wants a full report by tomorrow—or at least by the end of it anyw—"

" _Oh...God..."_ Dean glanced off in abject terror.

Curt misinterpreted his fear. _"Hey,_ take it easy, I covered for you pretty well, I told him that you were on a break. Fortunately, he only stayed for a few minutes anyw—"

Bursting out of his seat to walk a few violent steps away from his shocked partner, Dean blasted, "Shut up, Curt!"

Curt's brows immediately drew in. _"Hey, whoa,_ whoa, whoa..."

Standing, facing away from his friend, Dean brought a shaky hand to his eyes. "Just shut up, stop talking, oh _God_..."

"What the hell is _this_ all of a sudden? There's no need to talk to me like that..."

Dean swung around to face Curt, hysterical. "Curt, you...I didn't want you... _involved..._ but now... _damn it..."_

" _What?"_ Curt shrugged jerkingly. _"WHAT?"_

Dean grinded a fist out in front of himself. _"Curt,_ they've got me _bugged—_ they can _see and hear everything!"_

" _Who?"_

"God blessed, Curt, it's _them,_ it's Pear-Paul; _they've got my FAMILY, my parents...Jessie..."_

The horror of realization widened Curt's eyes; his lips separated further. "...Sweet Jesus, Dean..." he uttered in a hazed voice. "Where's...where's Erin?" He hoped on all he could that Dean wouldn't say, "She's dead."

"They...Jesus, Curt, they sent her back in to that Ellison and Bauer building with another pouch..."

Chapter 13

"Right here..." Erin convulsively spoke through her spasming, breath-catching sobs as she pointed to the "button" that doubled as a tiny video feed camera. "They're—they're watching..." Then she pointed to her finger with the "ring" that masked a miniature microphone. "They're...listening..." She folded her arms tightly across her belly and began a rhythmic rocking back and forth. "...and now...they're going to kill my family... _my Jessie..."_ And her cries became worse.

Bauer, who was still knelt calmly in front of Erin, now placed a soothing hand on her knee.

And smoothly said, "Erin...you believe that they're observing what's going on in here...Erin, listen to me—look at me..." Her tear-submerged eyes had been focused away from Bauer. "...look at me..." Finally, she managed to retrain her eyes on his. "Listen to me... _no, they are not..."_

Stark confusion hit her eyes. "...Wha-what?"

" _That's_ a button, and _that's_ a ring, Erin," he revealed as he pointed at the two named items. "Nothing more."

"How would you know th—"

"Because the elevator never would have let you up here otherwise."

"... _Huh?"_

Backpedaling a bit, he explained, "In addition to the surveillance camera featured in the elevator car's ceiling there is _also_ a special detection device installed. It's, uh, it's a bit tech fancy in that it not only can detect foreign agents such as, say, Anthrax, E-bola, nerve gas, and the like, but it can check the body for certain devices used for your typical corporate espionage, idea theft, and the sort. So, unequivocally _no_ , they have no idea what's going on in here. Because _you_ checked out clear of anything like that... _however_ , we did get a good scan of that pouch. And the chemicals and mechanisms contained therein are quite simple and identifiable."

"It's a bomb?" she frighteningly asked, though immediately felt stupid for asking.

"Yesss indeed, and looks rigged to blow upon opening."

She lowered her eyes in severe shame. "I'm sorry..."

" _No,_ no, no, _I'm_ sorry, Erin. I'm sorry that you and your family have been dragged into this ongoing mess. You shouldn't have been. But Erin, _that's_ what these people do best—they lie, they mislead, they coerce, they torture, and they murder to achieve their goals."

Though she had been calmed somewhat by Bauer's revelations and his understanding of her predicament, it wasn't but a second longer before a new concern amped up her nerves again. "But—but wait—if they're not watching me in here, they may still be watching outside, waiting for the bomb to go off! Waiting for me to come back down...!

Bauer blinked his eyes while expelling a bracing breath. A brief second later, he announced to Erin, "Then we have to blow this place."

Chapter 14

Phillip sat leisurely in the backseat of the car reading a news magazine. He did this without the annoyance or distraction of having to look up every few minutes to see if what he expected was finally going to happen. He knew he could do this because he charged his driver to keep a watch out for either the re-emergence of Erin _or_ the presence of a whole mess of people attempting to leave the building in a rather hurried manor.

Or the blast.

Phillip engrossed his attention to an article pertaining to the rise of an Argentinean oil baron, Jorge Carrillo, who recently acquired new offshore drilling equipment to expand his oil producing empire. The rigs and the equipment were of the latest advance in drilling technology, promising to plunge to new depths to tap uncharted fossil fuel supplies.

Although Carrillo's wealth was vast, the capitol raised to employ the new, advanced rigs couldn't come from the oil profits alone. One third of the revenue came funneling through from Carrillo's off-the-books drug trafficking. The other remaining amount came, as Phillip well knew, from Pear-Paul, his own beloved company.

Not that they were mentioned in the article. But that wasn't too terribly important to Phillip and his associates—only that they receive their generous cut of the new oil reserve revenues.

"She should've been down by now," the driver commented.

Still calmly reading the article, Phillip retorted, "Welll think about it—if you knew that the bomb could go off at any instant of their choosing to open it, would you take the elevator down?"

"Good point."

"We'll wait a few more min—"

BOOM!

The eighth floor level of the Ellison and Bauer building ruptured viciously with flames. Debris instantly shot in every lateral direction. Dark-grey smoke flooded from the gaping structural wounds.

Phillip, having witnessed this from a fair and safe distance away, instilled a joyous gleam in his eyes. And a celebratory smile to his lips. He kept these as he instructed the driver, "Like I said, we'll give her a few more minutes to see if she made it down in time. And then we'll go."

"Got it," responded the elated driver.

Phillip's smile couldn't help but broaden.

Chapter 15

In the parking structure first level of the Ellison-Bauer building, a group had formed.

Part of this hastily gathered crew was a very nervous yet exhilarated Erin. The rest were entirely Ell-Bau employees—all twenty-three of the chosen who had populated the eighth floor; now all safely evacuated. Bauer, of course, was among them. He stood by Erin as most of the people had formed a semicircle and faced a certain burly man in his mid fifties. The man faced them back as he stood apart from the group.

He was their true man in charge: Tobin Ellison.

He spoke to Bauer. "Are we certain the building will continue to stand?"

"Yes. The blast was considerable but not enough to severely damage the reinforced supports. We should be able to reconstruct the floor."

"Good. Erin, tell me more about your brother's situation."

Erin offered, "He works for a consumer probe company. He was, uh, doing an investigation on Pear-Paul and...after we were brought in, they told him to go back to his work and make sure the probe would stop and that everything gathered on them be deleted, destroyed...and then come back."

"Whereupon your parents would be released to him, yes? But your baby would stay to ensure that you successfully finished here. Once done, you would go back to them and your child would be given back to you, yes?"

"Yes—"

"She won't. None of them will be released to you or your brother. Trust me on that. In fact, the moment that both of you make it back to their HQ, it is likely that all of you will be eliminated. These people don't do loose ends. Is there any way of contacting Dean now? Cell or work number?"

"I don't know his work number, he just started today. I know his cell but...they didn't give me mine back so..."

"Try it anyway. Bauer?"

"Got it." Bauer whipped out his phone and looked at Erin. She in turn gave him Dean's number. He punched it in and dialed.

Ellison continued. "Also, what is the name of his work?"

Erin said, "Consumers Now."

"Jerson, access their number or numbers. Gotta get 'em before he decides to leave."

"Got it," said the young front desk assistant as he pulled out his internet-featuring phone and began working it.

_Please still be there,_ Erin hoped with pure desperation in her thoughts.

From Bauer, "Straight to voice mail. They must've turned off his phone."

Ellison prodded, "Jerson?"

Jerson responded, "Three main lines. Trying the first one now..."

Chapter 16

"Where is Palmer now?" Dean asked in a harried tone.

"How would I know?" Curt gave back in the same intensity.

"Do you have his cell?"

"Yeah, hold on." Curt yanked out his phone and called up the "contacts" menu. He found Palmer's number and dialed. "...Ringing...ringing... _damn it,_ voicemail. He must be on the road."

"Who here might know his schedule today?"

"He's pretty tight with both Cynthia in payroll and Maxwell in HR."

"Let's go."

"Wholly crud, we really have to involve Palmer in on this whole thing, don't we?"

"We don't have a choice, man."

They quickly left the office.

"Sorry," said payroll head of department, Cynthia Maines, a blonde and stocky woman in her early forties. She sat at her paper-littered desk and looked up at Dean and Curt. "I didn't get a chance to speak to him today, I was on the phone most of the day trying to fix check errors. Try Max."

A minute later, they were in front of Max Haber in his office—which was impeccably neat. But that was no surprise for the man as neatness was his main mantra in life. "Sorry—oh no, wait!" Max corrected himself. "He did mention something about a seminar on consumer rights downtown at the Carver Hotel."

"Thanks, Max," Curt said.

"Sure."

Dean and Curt made their way back to their office and conferred with each other. Dean said, "Listen, the man who drove me here is probably still waiting outside to take me back. But I have no idea if he's been observing us or if he's been updated as to what's going on in here."

"Right, maybe the feed only goes back to their HQ."

"And if he isn't up to speed and I just try to leave with you to try and find Palmer..."

"I get you...what if you go out there by yourself and just fill him in?"

"All right, all right..." Dean drew in an oppressive breath, let it out. "...God, I don't wanna go out there..."

"Can't say I blame you."

"Okay...here we go..."

Chapter 17

"I'm going to have to leave now before _they_ leave," Erin tensely announced to the garage group.

Ellison asked her, "You remember everything we told you? If you have to use what we've given you without your apparatus, then so be it. But if you can make it to their bathroom..."

"Got it," she confirmed. "You're sure it won't harm my baby?"

"Positive. Now go, _go."_

She did, quickly. Reaching the ground level again she reemerged into the street to find that several bystanders had gathered on the walk to gaze horrifyingly up at the wreckage above. The chatter consisted of people saying that they couldn't believe what they saw. Some issued choice expletives in awe. Others exchanged the tried and true "I was here" or "I was there" when the bomb went off. Erin ignored it all and searched out the sedan that had brought her here. It was parked a quarter mile down, she realized, and she began her walk toward it. Making sure to look soul drained and shell-shocked, befitting a highly moralistic person who had just been forced to commit an unspeakable atrocity.

As she made her journey back to the car, the driver interrupted Phillip's magazine reading and alerted him as to the new status. "Here she comes."

Phillip looked up and spotted her. From the distance she was currently at, he estimated that it would take her roughly five to seven minutes to reach the car. Time enough to make his call. He brought out his phone, speed-dialed, then put the thing to his ear and cheek.

Stanford answered on the other end of the line after one ring. "What's the word, Phillip?"

"It's done. She's on her way back to the car."

"Superb."

"So the kid will be nixed, yes?"

"I really don't think so, you must have sensed what it is."

"Of course I did, and all the more reason to do it in."

"I'll explain my reasoning with you when you get back. I'm reporting to Foster in just a moment. When I get through, we'll talk more."

"...Very well, then."

Phillip hung up and bunched his eyes into wrinkles of confusion. What was ol' Jordy playing at, Phillip pondered, by sparing an entity that was such an obvious affront to their kind? Oh well, he concluded dutifully, if S.J. had some master strategy for using the blasted runt to further their corporate strength, who was he to argue with it?

Erin was nearly to the car. Phillip decided to end his mental ping pong and smooth out his eyes for a cool, calm expression. She got in and sat beside him. She did not look at him but spoke, "Can I have my daughter now, you filthy—"

" _Ah,_ ah, ah, you curb that tongue," he snapped at her, "You're not out of the woods yet. If they have more plans for you, then that's what'll happen. So keep your manors if you wanna keep your little precious wailing brat." To the driver he said, "Let's go."

And he drove them, back to the den of his brethren. To Erin's mind, back to the worst of hell.

Chapter 18

Dean stood for a time staring out the glass doors of Consumers Now and at the car that was clearly waiting for him. The driver inside looked emotionless behind his darkened sunglasses. He merely stared straight ahead, and possibly he was seeing Dean, possibly not.

On the chance that he was being stared at, he made the final decision to exit the building and make his way to the car. Once he did, he leaned forth on the frame of the car door and faced the driver.

"Is it done?" the driver asked flatly.

"...So they haven't talked to you?"

"Is it _done?"_

"Ah...no..."

"Why _not?"_

"There's—there's been a—I was working with a guy on this before you called me into your—"

"Convince him to cease his activity—"

"I have, I have, but the thing is he talked to our supervisor about the whole thing and now the supervisor has gone somewhere else—"

"Where?"

"We think it's the Carver Hotel—"

"Downtown?"

"Yes."

"You'd better be right. Gather your friend and bring him with you to the car. We're going to the hotel."

"O-okay, okay...just hold—"

"Get him."

"All right."

And Dean briskly reentered the building.

Once he made it back to the office, Curt grabbed him by the shoulders quite forcefully and led him away from the door. He closed it with a bit of a slam while whisperingly blasting, _"Dean, Dean,_ I just got off the phone with someone from Ellison and Bauer! It's a lie, Dean! They're not watching or listening to you! They just put stuff on you to make you _think_ that!"

Dean looked off in numbing shock. "...Those...bastards..."

"They haven't the slightest idea what's going on in here—!"

"That's not true, the driver does now, I just told him."

"...Oh, right...but what if he doesn't call in?"

Dean's eyes nervously darted. "...Maybe..." But then his mind registered a great concern and he blurted, "Wait, what's—where's Erin? Did they say?"

"They said...they said that she had to return to Pear-Paul to fully convince them that she had done exactly what they wanted her to. And the bomb _did_ go off but I guess the Ell-Bau people were able to, like, evacuate everyone out and rig the bomb for remote detonation or something. No one died this time!"

"Did they say I'm supposed to go back to Pear-Paul too?"

"Well, uh, actually they're strongly advising against it. They think that once you're back there, they'll, uh, they'll kill you and your parents. They told Erin not to go back either but she went anyway."

"Then I have to too."

"They thought you'd say that. That's why they want us to go ahead with trying to find Palmer. Delay returning, let Erin get there first.

" _Why?"_

"Apparently, they have something planned. They're just hoping and praying that they can save everyone in the process."

Once again, Dean's eyes searched about as his mind processed everything he was just told. Then something disturbing occurred to him. "Curt, listen...the driver wants you to come with me to find Palmer...that doesn't sound too good, it sounds like maybe once we find our boss—"

"That he might frag all three of us?"

"Right. What the hell do we do?"

"...We...we go along...and if it looks like he's going to try something, we try to overpower him."

"Yeah, good luck on that while he's holding a gun and is probably a trained killer."

"Well I don't see any other option here."

"Good God..." Dean stressed with widening eyes, "this is all screwed...we're all gonna die..."

Nodding his head slowly and gravely, eyes popped, Curt said, "...Yep...yep...you ready?"

"...Yeah, all right, all right, I'm ready, let's go. Let's go die horribly." He accompanied Curt as they left the building and got into the backseat of the sedan. The driver said nothing as he started the car and drove away.

Chapter 19

"Cheers."

"Cheers, my boy," Foster responded in kind to Stanford's offer of a celebratory toast. They clinked expensive drink glasses containing twelve-year-old scotch. They both took generous sips then lowered their drinks to stomach level. Both shared postures of proud victory as they stood in Stanford's office.

Foster went on with jovial eyes, "Nick Bauer and Tobin Ellison—two of the most gifted minds of our opposites, _now_ so much ash and smoke spreading throughout the evening sky. Becoming _indistinct_ with the rest of the city's poisonous smog, what a _pretty sight_ it must have been."

"I should have had somebody film it."

"I'd say their company will be belly up inside of six months if not sooner."

"I think we should have a _giant_ celebration when that finally occurs."

"Oh, not to worry—Oh, before I forget, there is another bright spot for us—well, more specifically for you and your little lab pet. That girl's grandmother's land has been acquired."

"Oh, terrific, wonderful."

"So you can crate Janice out there to...whatever, commune with nature if that's what pleases her— _and_ you."

"Well she _did_ do an exceptional job with her last assignment, to be certain. I think a little bit of open air R & R would be in order."

"Go ahead and set it up then."

"I will, thanks, and I wanted to talk to you about the child before her mother returns. I'm sure you've felt what it is."

"I have, and I assume you are now going to propose some sort of creative plan for the little blasphemy."

"Naturally. And it simply entails this..." He spread his arms apart while keeping a non-spilling balance on his drink. "We raise it."

Foster cocked an eyebrow. _"We_ raise it?"

"I know, I know, it sounds bizarre beyond all reckoning, but hear this out: _we raise it..._ to be the perfect corporate mole; brainwash the tyke up and down until it can't _see_ anything but our objectives."

Foster stared away blinking as he did. His mind was weighing the possibilities of such a radical proposal. "And they'd never be able to tell, would they..."

"Not a one of them."

"...I like it..."

"And we get the mother to raise it, feed it, clothe it at no cost to us. She would have to get a job somewhere and bring in a decent sum, of course."

"Well she certainly won't want to work here, will she?"

They both chuckled at the statement.

"Trust me, sir, I'll make it all work for us," Stanford assured in the process of curbing his laughter.

"I'll leave it in your capable hands then." Foster took a loving swig of his scotch then began placing it on Stanford's desk as he announced, "Mm, I'd love to stay and finish this but I have to run." He placed a firm hand squeeze to Stanford's shoulder and stated, "Nice work."

"Thank you, sir. My pleasure."

They exchanged smiles of comradery and satisfaction before Foster turned and headed for the door. Just short of leaving the room, he mentioned, "Probably goes without saying but kill the parents and the brother when he returns."

"Will do, sir."

And Foster was gone.

Chapter 20

Dean and Curt sat in the back seat of the car as it was being driven close to the Carver Hotel. Neither said a word but both friends' minds were screaming something along the same lines as, "Dear sweet Lord above, is there anyway out of this nightmare?" Both had also considered rather irrationally just trying to strangle and kill the driver on the road. But both well knew that many things prevented that from being a safe, viable plan.

They pulled into the parking area of the hotel and the driver put them in a space and turned off the ignition. He stared up at the rearview mirror where the two in the back were visible. He simply said, "Go find your boss and bring him to the car."

Dean and Curt turned their eyes to each other, a noiseless plea between them—this is it! We should rush him now! And if he wins, he wins...last chance.

But the stare was broken as they turned away from their sight and exited the car from opposite back doors. They walked side by side to the lobby of the hotel, entered, and approached the front desk. Curt asked the young female assistant where the seminar was located and she directed them to the large banquet room. They found it with a large easel-supported poster board stating: "Welcome to the 28th annual Consumer Rights Symposium, sponsored by Flowr Powr Flowers and Hurley Auto Parts." just in front of the entrance.

They opened the doors to an array of individuals seated in rows and facing a podium-fronted and voice amplified guest speaker. Dean and Curt scanned the room to find Palmer—not on the left side of the room...not in the middle... _there,_ on the right side near the wall isle. The two began briskly walking over to Palmer's chair. They were both careful not overdo their speed, however, lest others become alarmed or distracted by their presence. Finally reaching Palmer, they knelt down beside him. He turned to witness them and instantly drew in his eyebrows in shocked confusion. "What are you doing here?" Palmer asked in a lowered voice.

Curt said, "Listen, um, we have a serious problem, can we talk to you just outside?"

Palmer looked at them for a second, turned to gaze over to the speaker to make sure he and his employees weren't a disruption, and then motioned with his head to walk over to the doors. Once they were outside the banquet room and the doors were closed again, he said, "Okay, what?"

Once again, Curt took to explaining, "Okay, I know this is going to sound seriously batty, but..."

And Curt brought palmer fully up to speed as to everything that had happen and all they knew at this point and time.

Palmer demanded, "Tell me this is a damn joke. So I can get on with just firing both of your asses and finishing the seminar."

"I'm sorry, sir," Dean tried with penitent and frightened eyes, "I wish to God this wasn't happening but it is. My family is in serious, _serious_ danger. I mean it's likely that no matter what we do now that they're gonna die. But I can't just do nothing."

Curt tried the strategy of using Palmer's first name. "Gabe, listen, I think the driver outside wants to get us all in the same place so that he can just off us and make us disappear or something like that. But the bastard _isn't_ aware that we know there's no surveillance on Dean."

Palmer guessed, "So what, you want all three of us to go out there and overtake this guy? Does he have a gun?"

"Most likely."

"Oh God..." Palmer breathed as he turned away from them and brought his hand to his brow. "Probably some trained killer, with my luck, could probably eat all three of us for an evening snack pocket..."

"If you have any stroke of genius next moves, Gabe, we're open to it, we'll follow your lead..."

"I vote we go back in, listen to the rest of the seminar, then pig out on scones...Well I wanna thank you, guys, for just dropping in here and ruining the scone binge not to mention the rest of _my life..."_

Palmer continued to face away from his employers, his hand still plastered to his brow. He remained this way for a good minute, both Dean and Curt staring after him in nervous anticipation; silent but pleading and hoping with their eyes.

When the minute ended, Palmer whipped around dropping his hand in the process. He locked eyes with his two underlings and announced clippingly, "All right—here's the deal...if this is totally for real and not some utterly and completely insane joke...then the three of us have to go out there to that car, get in...God, I can't believe I'm saying this...we go out there and we beat this guy either into a coma or the next world...unless he's Ultra Ninja Nick and then we're screwed. Are we ready?"

Curt said, "I'm ready, Dean, can you do this?"

"...I'm pretty sure that unless my sister can perform a bonafide miracle, that my family is gonna die...so if I could at least make one of them pay for it, then you bet your ass I can do this. Or at least do my best to try."

Palmer clipped on, "Okay...let's go."

Chapter 21

The car containing Phillip, Erin, and the driver had now reentered the parking garage level one of Pear-Paul. It pulled up and rested almost exactly where it had been when it picked up Erin two hours earlier. Inside, Phillip instructed Erin, "Go straight to Stanford's office. Do not go back to the sixth floor."

Erin's form tightened. "Is my daughter with him?"

"I don't need your questions. What I do need is for you to follow my directions. Now get going."

She sat there for an instant in a depressive haze, her eyes blinking. Then she complied and walked to the elevator to press the button. She fully expected the doors to open immediately and the lift car waiting for her, and, true to her expectation, it did. It was empty again and all for her, as if it had been waiting for her all this time. She entered and pressed the proper floor level button for Stanford's office. Soon, the doors came together again sealing her in; the car lifted her up through the vertical chasm.

She stared at the five and seven buttons.

A mad thought broke its way into her mind: what if I did go to the sixth floor...what if Jessie was still there...what if I hit five and seven, get off there, go find my baby, get back on this elevator, and take her out of this place?

But, of course, the more rational part of her brain stood up to voice certain undeniable facts that served to shoot down her highly tempting fantasy mission. Namely, the sixth floor was likely not deserted of security agents, nor would the lobby be devoid of Pear-Paul's dedicated employees. And this elevator most certainly had a damned surveillance camera—now they truly _were_ watching her every move.

The floor counter went passed five and seven and Erin's heart skipped. The car reached its final destination, paused a bit, then split its doors fully open. She stood still a brief moment longer and closed her eyes; a deep, bracing breath entered her nose then hissed itself out the same way. Once it was finished, she opened her eyes and stepped out onto the floor with the supermodel assistant typing at her desk. The pretty machine glanced up at Erin and pointed a finger at Stanford's office. She then went back to her typing without anymore concern for the matter.

Erin slowly swung her head toward the office, eyes clearly dreading what was to follow. She hesitantly walked toward it, opened the door and entered to find Stanford seated behind his desk. He looked up at her with a beam to his eyes. _"Eriinnn, well done._ Please, close the door and have a seat."

She did as she was told and gazed repulsively at the monster before her.

He continued with, "I have to say I had my doubts that maybe you might crack under the pressure, I mean, so many lives that you just ended yet again...But here you are, girl, coming through for us and your sweet little one...I admire your dedication, your commitment to the philosophy that the ends justify the means. Once again, bravo."

With venom lacing her eyes and tone, she issued, "Thank you so much, now where's my daughter?"

Stanford, who had been sitting and leaning forward a bit with his arms resting on his desk, now sat back as he blurted, "Now hold on, let's slow it down a tad, there's no huge rush here, let's talk new business for a few moments—"

"I have nothing more to say to you. I did what you wanted now give me my daughter and we'll go."

Stanford gushed a breath in annoyance then started, "Erin, to kill my good vibrations right now would not be a smart thing for you. Please keep in mind that we still hold every card in the deck here...so sit back...and listen for a minute."

She did so angrily.

"Now..." he began as the jovial countenance reemerged, "...I'm sure that you have been racking your mind since you left us wondering are we going to keep our word concerning your baby. Because, really, once the job is done, what more do we need of either of you? _Well,_ it just so happens that you _are_ needed—and for a very special program I'm developing. You see, Erin, your little bundle of diaper filler just happens to be one of the chosen. For the other side, of course, but, you see, _that_ actually works to our advantage."

Erin's eyes registered a new horror, every fiber of her being became repulsed and terrified of what was being revealed.

And implied.

"Stop," she barked.

"Hn- _nnn,_ hear me out. Now my line of thinking is that this is a unique opportunity for our company to better secure its future by creating the perfect Trojan horse for the other selects, the other chosen. And this is where you come in. You'll have the chance to raise your daughter and ensure that she survives—provided, of course, that she stays under our supervision and is not dissuaded in any way from executing our corporate objectives."

Erin was looking all about with a face of utter terror.

As if not even noticing, Stanford proposed on, "Now there _will_ have to be some reconditioning as soon as her mind can deal with it _._ She is a chosen for the others as I mentioned and will inherently want to do what the opposites consider most honorable deeds. So we'll have to do our part in changing that to suit our needs. But rest assured, and I think you'll like this, we won't instill any adverse reactions to you—you will have and be able to keep your bond with her... _unless_ you choose to try and turn her against us in any way. Then she _will_ revolt against you because that will be her conditioning."

_No, no, no, no, no, no,_ her mind kept screaming.

" _And_ once she is old enough," he revealed, "She can then go out and find—and hopefully work for—her own kind...they will trust her, they will accept her outright...and she will take them down in as many opportunities as she can get. She _is_ your daughter after all—and if she has all of your tenacity and more...well, how could we as a company possibly lose?"

"...I don't have a choice..." she said absently, dazed in shock, "...do I?"

" _Not..._ really, I mean, if you refuse to assist us—get a job and provide enough money to raise Jessie—well...I imagine we'd just find another way of making that happen. But why have another person steal that opportunity away from you when you're fully available for the position? Hm?"

"And my brother? My parents?"

"I'll be straight with you, Erin, once Dean returns from his assignment, he and your parents will no longer serve any purpose to us. I realize it's heartbreaking, but, _again_ , you will be able to continue to have Jessie in your life and the joys of taking care of her and watching her grow into a strong, creative, and ingenious individual."

"Who kills for you."

"Yes, yes, who kills for us. _Now,_ are you in on this? Are you...ready to join the program and see where it leads us? Or has your maternal drive finally been eclipsed by your timid moral outrages?" Stanford's eyebrow cocked then he suggested, "Why don't you take a moment to think it over while you clean yourself up—your nose is bleeding."

She felt her nose and realized that he was right. She kept dabbing to try and collect the new outpourings. "I don't have any tiss—"

"Then excuse yourself to the restroom down the hall before there's a major mess in here."

She got up and turned to head for the door, a hand covering her nostrils. Blood was hugging her fingers and trailing down her wrist. She exited and made her way down the hall to the bathroom. And it seemed that the facility was also tailored just to her own personal use—no one was in the room, either at the sinks or in the stalls. She made sure, of course, by looking under each closed door toilet stall.

Once she was confident of her aloneness, she scoped out the ceiling and found where the air vent was located. It was up above the middle stall which is exactly what she was hoping for. Not the middleness of it, of course, just the fact that it was near a stall, making it reachable...though still problematic. If she fumbled her climbing efforts she could potentially break her neck or crack her skull.

She shot towards the middle stall, swung open the door, and, before she began her rough climb, rolled out a long strip of toilet paper to wad up and plug her bleeding nose. The flows were lessening at this point which was a good sign that what Ellison told her was spot on—the small amount of blood thinner she consumed would only affect her for a few moments. But she didn't have time ponder on this, it was time to climb and get this over with before Dean returned.

She stepped up onto the toilet rim and hunched down. She then reached behind her neck just under her hair to yank out a small canister. Generous amounts of tape were adhered to the narrow cylinder of metal, and it stung her to remove the thing from her neck. Thankfully, however, the strips of tape still possessed strong adhesiveness so she restuck the canister to her upper arm. The back of her neck continued to sting but she ignored the pain and began her climb. She jumped up to get a firm arms and torso clamp of the stall partition's top edging. Once done, she grunted and pushed with all her might to hoist herself fully up to the top of the stall.

After a maddening few seconds, she achieved her goal. Now she had managed to position herself to a kneeling stance on the top edge corner—which she found quite difficult in balancing, but was doing her best to keep centered. She looked up to the vent above her and examined its structure more closely. Upon better inspection of it, she smiled inwardly for she could clearly see that it was an inletted vent grill—nothing bolted or screwed in. She pushed it up a bit and began to move it aside on the inside of the ceiling structure. Carefully, she slowly elongated her form, entered into the squarish venting gap, and disappeared from sight.

Chapter 22

The Consumers Now three emerged from the front entrance of the hotel and made their way to the car. They got in the back seat and filled up the whole of its spacing with their three adult bodies. The driver keyed the ignition and the car purred to life.

Dean braved, "Now what?"

The drive answered, "Back to Pear-Paul—"

Abruptly, all three men—awkwardly because of their positions within the backseat—seized the driver by the neck and torso in a quick and violent bid to overtake him. The driver was a powerful man, however, and fiercely resisted their efforts. Yet even with his formidable strength, the back three were managing to yank the driver up and over the front seat. He went for his gun in its holster located under the lapel of his coat and yanked it out.

Dean screamed rapidly, "He's got his gun, get his gun!"

While Palmer still had a tightened arm grip around the driver's neck, Curt jabbed a hand to clamp around the gun hand's wrist. The struggle was immense. Dean's self-assigned job was to pummel the face, chest, and stomach of the driver, whatever he could to damage and weaken the man.

The gun went off upward, and loudly.

Curt screamed in surprise and ear shock but he held his warring grip. Palmer grunted harshly as he tightened his stranglehold. The effect made the driver emit a sickening rattle from his narrowing windpipe. Dean increased the force of his poundings, particularly on the man's face. Were he in a better position he could hit even harder. The front passenger seat might do the trick, but then he would have to contend with the man's bulky, muscled legs. So Dean settled on what he was now able to do. All through it, he peripherally hoped that no one outside was witnessing what was happening.

The gun went off again, punching another hole in the roof of the sedan. Curt didn't howl this time, merely kept his solid grip on the driver's gun hand wrist. _Keep it pointed upward, for Godsakes,_ Curt ordered his mind vehemently, _keep it upward!_

The driver had his left hand clamping Palmer's stranglehold arm, trying to loosen it. But now he released it to attempt to quickly pass the gun off to the other hand, re-aim it at Curt. But Curt matched his move by grabbing both hands to the other. Unfortunately, this now freed up the driver's right arm to back swing a fist hard into Curt's nose. It instantly broke and sent a million dots of light through his vision. His grippings were faltering as a result. In the next split second, the driver would certainly reacquire control of his gun and make Curt's face into a gruesome flesh and blood salad.

Yet Dean reacted by whopping his fist into the driver's eye, then ripped the gun from him and brought it to the back. He found the safety latch and clicked it on then threw it down on the floor. Now it seemed to be the best move to grab one of the driver's arms and keep it from trying to lessen Palmer's attempts to deprive the man's throat of air. Curt, though dazed a bit, got his vision back enough to grab the other arm of the driver.

And now Palmer was free to enact full strength on the headlock. Yet even with the serious loss of oxygen, there still was so much fight in the driver. His body bucked wildly, his wrist-locked arms flailed about—regardless of the double-handed grip from both Dean and Curt.

And suddenly, dull snaps came from the neck of the front seat man. A few more convulsions came from the behemoth's form.

And then he went completely slack, his arms ceased their mad struggle. His eyes drew in together, almost as if he had made a last ditch effort to be humorous at the end. Palmer still kept his iron grip on the man, not trusting what he heard or was seeing. The same was true for Dean and Curt as they kept their firm holds as well.

But then Dean suddenly made a cautious loosening of his grippings on the corpse's wrist. There was no violent reaction to the slow release. Only the full plop to the man's side and onto the edge of the front seat.

Then Curt took the risk and released his hands lock on other arm. Again, it instantly dropped.

Now Palmer took the plunge himself and loosened his tensed arm from the driver's crushed throat and broken neck. The body slipped into a seated position behind the wheel, head lulling forth. This position didn't hold for long as he saggingly leaned to his right side to come to an awkward rest on the center compartment panel.

A death rattle wound its way out of his slackened mouth.

"Oh my God..." Palmer uttered in shock, "...I just killed a man..."

" _We_ just killed a man..." Curt said in his own disbelief.

Palmer fiddled wildly for the door handle, caught it, opened the door, and violently vomited onto the ground.

Dean and Curt both sat back and caught their breath. Their heads lulled back in exhaustion—both mentally and physically. Dean attempted a question through his heightened respiration, "...Curt...you didn't happen...to get a callback number...for Ellison and..."

"I did..." Curt responded through his own lung strain, "...I'll turn...my phone back on...and call them..."

And the two continued on with their hard breathing. Palmer stayed hunched over for a few more seconds, then he finally uprighted himself to sit next to the other two again. In between oxygen grabbing bouts of his mouth, Palmer managed, "Oh man...I am so firing the both of you for getting me into this...but first I think we need...to get blackout drunk."

Chapter 23

Erin's nose had stopped bleeding twenty feet into her slightly cramped crawl into the air vent pathway. She now felt it was safe to remove the bloodstained toilet paper that had stopped up her affected nostril. She threw it aside and strained to reach back between her shoulder blades to rip off another item that had been firmly taped on: an actual working mini-breathing mask. She pulled it over her head and positioned it into place on her nose and mouth. There was nothing to cover her eyes and she wondered if what she had in the canister would burn them bad or just irritate to constant blinking. No matter, she told her pesky curiosity, you're as ready as you can be...

An alarm went off. It blared repeatedly. It was only minorly muffled from her crawlspace position.

They knew.

****

Just as Erin was making her climb up the stall and Dean's wrecking crew was wrecking their driver in any way they could, Ellison, Bauer, and the rest of the eighth floor chosen were packed in six sedans and parked a quarter mile away from the Pear-Paul H.Q. highrise. At this distance, as all the eighth floorers knew, they would not be sensed, detected by their opposites. Ellison was hoping to wait long enough to proceed toward the H.Q. until Erin had accomplished her task. He had hoped to hear from her by now. Yet he also knew, as Bauer and the others knew, that Dean could be returning any moment. If that happened, the parents would be history. Dean would be history.

It was decided, they had to move now. On Ellison's say so, they drove forth and soon positioned their cars just in front of the Pear-Paul building. This proximity was surefire a detectable sensory range for all who inhabited the first few floors of the H.Q. tower. And now, undoubtedly, they would be going berserk on alert, scrambling to lockdown and contacting the higher ups on the higher floors. Guns would be drawn, assault rifles would be extracted from their quickly unlocked storage cabinets. Quick, clipped orders to get into defensive positions would be given by frantic lead guards. Agents would be descending the elevator and stairs to the lobby to fortify the defense.

And an alarm would be set off alerting everyone in the building of an impending attack.

The eighth floorers could only hope and pray that Erin had gotten into the airshafts in time. And that the family she had inside was still safe and alive.

Bauer's cell phone rang and he answered. It was Curt on the other line. He filled Bauer in on the situation on their end, that the driver had been killed by them and they were safe. Bauer informed him to take the car somewhere highly secluded, take the body and bury it deep, then head back to Consumers Now and await further notice. Dean, of course, wanted to know about Erin. Curt asked. Bauer told them that she was inside the building and hopefully alive and putting the plan into motion. What exactly was the plan, Dean wanted to know. Bauer talked to Dean directly and told him that it involved a good distribution of chloroform in a concentrated gaseous form into the venting system of the building's tenth floor. Distributed by Erin...if she could. Dean said that was insane. Bauer concurred but knew that it was the best chance to retrieve Dean's family. Curt promised they would do as they were instructed and they hung up with one another.

Ellison and Bauer were both thinking the same damn thing—and with great exasperation: Thanks, Curt and Dean. If only you had called five minutes earlier. You may have just inadvertently doomed Erin.

****

I'm screwed, a dooming voice inside Erin's head rang out profusely. Yet as this took up its jarring space in her consciousness, another driving voice pressed itself upon her: _keep going! Get to the central air ventilation unit and release the gas! Just do it no matter what happens!_ The voice won out for the time being and she crawled forward again.

But then stopped.

Bombing and banging could be heard a short distance behind her...roughly twenty feet back...

She was being pursued.

Though she had little room for the action, she turned her head to spot who was following.

It was Oliver.

And his eyes were cold with deadness, staring straight at her.

He was moving almost effortlessly as if he had practiced on journeying these shafts for all of his life.

This, of course, highly motivated Erin to face forward and crawl forth with all her might. Shrieking with high-pitch wails all the way through.

****

The security detail that was now dug in to every possible defense position available in the Pear-Paul lobby stared with rapt focused on the six sedans parked out in front. Their guns and rifles were poised and gripped with solid tension. They expected an attack at any instance, and they were clearly ready for it. More than one of the armed agents had a strong impulse to simply rush outside and open fire on the tinted window sedans. To simply _end_ their enemies in a heartbeat. But a public scene of wholesale violence so close to their homebase would not play well for the company's global image. So they held their impulses and guns in check. And waited. Again, highly anticipating a rapid siege at any second.

But the sedans merely sat there, motionless and patient.

****

"Stay away from me!!!" Erin irrationally commanded Oliver as he crawled almost inhumanly fast after her. He made no threats, no furious orders to stop and get back out the shaft. He only skittered forth gaining ground on the distance between them. Whereas he had started out with a good twenty feet apart from her, he now had achieved a three foot span until contact with her feet. In a matter of seconds he would have her.

And he fully intended to cause some bodily damage before he even said a word to her.

The central air ventilation unit lay thirty feet ahead of Erin. At her present crawl speed, she would likely reach the unit in twenty to thirty seconds.

But Oliver would grab her legs well before that.

And both of them knew it.

Inches. Just inches from Erin.

She could feel it, hear him coming up on her with the increased sound of monstrous shuffling. She abruptly attempted an extra forceful pumping of her hands and knees to gain some precious seconds. But it proved fruitless as Oliver was fully capable of matching her change in speed.

A mere centimeter—

And he had her, grabbing her right ankle. The grip was clamping and painful, and Erin exploded a shrilling scream as it happened. Instantly, her left leg jerked and shot in and out, trying to connect with Oliver's face. He joltingly bobbed and weaved his head in mad attempts to dodge the vicious kicks. All the while he was trying to get a hold of the other ankle to curtail her desperate bid for freedom. It would have been easier for him to control her if she were primarily lying flat. But her crawl position gave her more leeway to kick and maneuver with greater efficiency.

He managed a brush contact with the hard-soled work shoe on her left foot, lost it. Tried for it again, another clip contact, tried yet again. THWAP—the shoe jammed him in his thumb, breaking the meaty appendage. He winced but made no sound. But in the next millisecond he was kicked hard in the left eye and nose by Erin's wild foot. The concussion of the kick briefly dazed and disorientated him, enough to lose his grip on her right leg. And she was out of his grasp, free to crawl forth as quickly as she could.

He blinked repeatedly and shook his head angrily, attempting to shake off the daze in his head and the stars in his vision. After a few shakes, he was focused enough to track his mark yet again. But in the next instant, he found that a new element was clouding his senses.

Insult of his pride.

He roared with intensity, as if he was an animal that had been shot and only more enraged for it. He insanely crawled forth after her; she howled in fear as if a wild boar was coming behind her to rip her to shreds.

Just ten feet away from the central unit. If she could just reach it in the next few seconds to make sure the canister's charge was supremely effective in distributing the g—

THUMP—pain burst in the back of Erin's right thigh and she screamed, crumpling flatter to the shaft flooring. Now that he had thrusted a fist into her hind thigh quarter, it was indeed much easier to grab her ankle...and not just lock it into place with his powerful grasp—but twist with a slow intent of maximum misery. Eventually, a dull crack within her lower leg was heard.

She screamed again, but with higher pitch this time. The howl lasted a good few seconds.

Yet somehow, through all of this she still managed the near impossible task of activating the canister and throwing it toward the unit. Peripherally hoping that the precious cylinder stayed close to the device to achieve its desired effect on the whole floor. Amazing what could still be done under absolute hellish circumstances.

Oliver witnessed this and immediately began crawling over Erin to try and retrieve the canister. Again she screamed at the weight of this monster on her slender frame. And felt the wind gush out of her, stunting her scream as his knees pounded down on her back. He was over and passed in seconds driving himself forth in maddening force to get at the canister. If anyone was able to reach the thing even close to before it went off, Oliver was the pure forerunner.

But it was still an impossibility—the canister ignited releasing its full gas capacity within a matter of seconds. Oliver continued to try for the thing regardless of being too late to stop the burst of noxious clouding. Ironically, of course, his rush toward the swirling, air-pushed haze only brought him unconsciousness that much sooner. Had he kept his focus more on Erin, he might have realized that ripping off her air mask and pulling it over his own face might have saved his alertness.

And Erin might have thanked the forces that be for his oversight, if she herself hadn't passed out from shock.

****

Ten minutes later, Erin came to with a dizzy head and severe stiffness in her right ankle and knee. She glanced ahead of her and noticed that Oliver was sprawled out on the shaft floor just inches from the central air unit. The canister lay just beyond his reaching hand. It was clear he was completely knocked out and deep in slumber by his rumbling snores. She was told that the effects of the gas would put a normal person under for at least an hour. Though with Oliver, she guessed frightfully, it might be much less time.

Regardless of a good span of time left to her before the gas victims were able to revive, she felt it was imperative that she get moving. Unfortunately, that was going to prove highly problematic now with a broken whatever in her lower leg. She knew if she tried to move it the slightest it would feel like a million red hot daggers stabbing out from the core of her affected bone.

But if she didn't get moving and Oliver woke up...

She contemplated what might be the most prudent direction to travel, back or forth. When she seriously considered either option, she found that she hated both. If she attempted a backwards trajectory, she would undoubtedly be skidding the foot of her injured leg—which would bring agony beyond imagining to her whole leg.

Not to mention there would be no way of successfully balancing herself on the ultra narrow top surfacing of the bathroom stall; not with the bodily damage she now had sustained. She would certainly fall and cause much more critical trauma to herself. Yet going forth meant having to still proceed with piercing misery to her right leg... _and_ she would have to climb over Oliver to get past him and travel on. And if it was somehow true that a powerfully willful man such as he couldn't be kept drugged for long, then Erin was taking another tremendous risk with her physical safety. Not to mention the fact that she would have to turn a corner to another connector shaft while maneuvering past the bulky air unit. And there was no fast crawling now, only dragging herself forward with the limited strength of her arms.

But it was already decided, of course, she had to move forward, there was no going back.

She tried a minute move forth and instantly regretted it. She bunched her eyes and clenched her teeth in bitter agony. She halted and decided to brace herself for another move with a few quick, deep breaths. Then she dragged herself forth again, grinding ragged grunts from her clamped teeth. One hand out and another drag, "Oh-ho Go-hod," she uttered out desperately. Other hand out, another drag of forward momentum, another bracing grunt.

Another twelve more and she near the feet of Oliver. By now, she was in respiratory overdrive, panting incessantly. She stopped again to catch her breath and prepare her nerves for climbing over this perverted, monstrous man.

She began the repulsive climb over the bulkish heap that was Oliver. How she wished she could just shove him aside and move ahead. But she knew that the way was far too narrow. So it was over him she went, turning her head away as she approached his buttocks. But more than anything she hoped and prayed that he would stay far down in nighty-night land while she lumbered excruciatingly over and past his body.

A few mind-breaking moments later, she had done it, cleared his mini-mountainous form—and he still snored without a care for the living. Thanking the lord for small favors, she moved on from another strength-summoning pause to the next major hurdle in the "Shaft of Horrors." The air unit. She chose to turn rightward to keep her damaged leg away from the mechanical outcroppings of the thick, metallic device. But that still meant that she would be grazing the corner of the shaft connector. Thankfully, it wasn't a pure angled edge but a blunted, flattened surface. Not a huge comfort, but a tad better than the pointed alternative. She raged and growled through the turn. And dragged herself on.

****

The office space was still, dead of activity. Five people were lying oddly on the floor in various spots. None were at their desks determining the fact that all may have noticed the new fog emanating from the ceiling vents. And perhaps at first were confused, but then panicked and attempted a run for the door. None, of course, made it in time.

For another instant, the stillness and quiet remained. But then a rustling abruptly stole the peace of the room, originating from the ceiling vent. The vent grill itself was moving, now angling upward to be removed from its inletted slotting. It was slid aside by shadowy hands and disappeared from view. Now there was movement across the vent gap accompanied by strained yet determined human grunting. As soon as the feet of the figure rested in clear visible positioning of the gap, the feet lowered until the legs attached to them were in view. It was Erin's body, of course, that now extended down toward the desk below. She slowly, cautiously bent her standing legs to lower her form down for a sitting position on the desk, careful to outcrop her damaged one so it would only touch the desk at the upper thigh. Once it was finally achieved and her behind was semi-comfortably resting on the desk, she exhaled with prolonged relief. She knew she had to hurry, the Ell-Bau people were waiting for her to make her brief appearance downstairs. But she simply was exhausted in the extreme. Though she promised herself she would not pass out again.

Erin was out of the shaft, and, as if to fully confirm this to her shaken and nearly bended mind, she voiced it, "...You're out of the shaft, Erin...you're out..."

A minute or two later after her best attempts to return her breathing to normal, she spoke again to herself—this time in an authoritative manor, "...Okay, move." She gingerly pushed her weight to slide her rear off of the desk. Her left leg foot met the floor and she did the little hops balancing act to try a centering stand again. She looked at the flooring and noticed a sprawled out woman lying on her front. Erin inwardly smiled at the simple fact that there was plenty of room around the woman to reach the door...although she wouldn't have minded stomping on the downed wretch's head a few times. _Things to do, Erin,_ her mind directed, _focus, girl, there's not much time!_

With that in mind, she began her next misery-laden journey toward the elevator.

****

"They're just _sitting_ there..." barked one of the armed security agents as he observed the parked sedans out front. "The hell are they waiting for—"

"Quiet," said another, his superior in rank, obviously, as he brought up his walkie-talkie, hit the call button, and talked into it, "Ten, this is lobby, we've just been sitting here waiting almost a half hour. We don't know why they're just waiting out there—reinforcements or what? Keeping you advised...Ten this is lobby, do you copy?" He waited...nothing. _"Damn_ it," he spat then turned to his underling and ordered him to head back up top to see what was going on. The man complied and bolted from his position in the group to jog briskly toward the elevator.

He was rounding the corner to where the elevator doors were located when he noticed that the familiar ping sounded and the doors were separating. He slowed himself cautiously, almost to a halt, as he poised his rifle for what might come. It was then that it raced through his mind that forces could have landed on the roof—particularly if they had near noiseless rotor helicopters to land with. Any other would have been heard even from down here.

Unfortunately for him—and everyone else on the lobby floor—his ultra cautious approach had doomed their defensive positions. For almost immediately after the elevator had opened up, a tiny cylinder, metallic and glinting, shot out of the splitting gap and hit the floor, bounced twice, rolled around, then eventually came to a rest. The man's mind and body jerked into full alert as he yelled, "TRAAAP!"

The doors were coming together again just as FLOOSH! the cylinder ignited into a dirty eruption of spreading fog, it expanded all about the man's position. Seconds later, he was under falling limp to the floor.

A good number of the other armed agents came rushing around the corner in panic and confusion. And were met with clouds of conscious-stealing filth. They fell quite soon after. More came, and the exact effect repeated itself upon them. Within a minute or two it mattered not where any of them stood or hunched or sat—they all succumbed to the tainted air and met forced slumber.

Seconds after that, the sedan doors opened just outside, and the chosen for a better purpose emerged to approach the building's stylish glass doors.

****

As part of Ellison's instructions, Erin was told that after she made it to the lobby, she should remove the second—and last—canister of chloroform that had been taped to the back of her neck and throw it out of the elevator. Then she should hit the "close doors" button quickly, ascend one half a floor, hit the emergency stop, and wait ten minutes. Then she should lower herself to the first floor again and allow the doors to open.

In the short time of ten minutes that she had to wait, she attempted to keep her mind off the fact that a million things could go wrong. The ten minutes eventually elapsed, and Erin descended again, waited for the doors to split apart. They did, revealing a group of individuals dressed in their daily work clothes who were all facing Erin. Behind them was another more massive group clad in black uniforms and carrying assault rifles. They too were eyeing Erin dead on. All were wearing gas masks. She would have been utterly terrified and likely lost conscious again were it not for the fact that she knew the group in front.

The eighth floorers of Ellison and Bauer—that included both Ellison and Bauer.

"Are you all right?" Ellison asked with great concern upon witnessing that she was generously leaning up against the wall. Sweat seemed to hug her hair and brow.

"I'm okay," she assured, "But my leg is pretty messed up."

"God, Erin, I'm so sorry, it was my hope for you not to be harmed in any way."

"I'll live, let's just get my daughter, and my folks—they need more medical attention than I do."

"We'll do that. But first come on out and let's get you to the cars. You've done more than enough in this, let us take it from here, all right?"

She remained where she was for a brief moment—partly out of exhaustion but also out of a bizarre hesitancy to be leaving her family's fate to almost complete strangers. But then she followed Ellison's instructions realizing that, in point of fact, there was nothing more she could do. These were the "chosen" who could detect the "other chosen." And had better advantages than Erin ever hope to have. She accompanied two of the eighth floorers toward the entrance while Ellison turned to face the rest.

"Okay, like we planned, half in the elevator, half up the stairs. Keep in touch. Here we go."

And the group quickly diverged into two teams. Ellison and Bauer remained with the team that filed into the elevator. The doors closed. And Bauer hit the five and seven buttons at the same time. The car began to rise to the sixth floor, and as it did Bauer put to Ellison, "They'll be waking up soon up there. Are you sure going to the sixth floor first is the best move?"

"If some of them slip by us and escape, then so be it. Our greatest priority is securing the family."

"You're right," Bauer agreed, nodding.

"Everybody be prepared. We assume all of the security had converged on the lobby. But one or two may have been left on the sixth to watch after the family members."

Out of sync "yes sirs" came from the various security agents that accompanied them.

"Stay sharp, here it comes," Ellison warned them.

Six flashed on the floor counter...

And the doors separated.

****

The doors opened on the sedan they had chosen to place the injured and tired Erin. The two chosen helped her as much as they could into the back seat to lay her down. But as cautious and slow as they were, it was still a very physically trying experience for the poor girl. By the end of it she was breathing heavy again. She had to sit up somewhat to make sure she had enough room to lay out her injured right leg. Unfortunately, there was no comfortable position for it to take and she simply had to endure the maddening stiffness and soreness. While she did this, one of the chosen spoke to her, "We've been in contact with your brother and he _is_ safe. Friends are with him now. If you like we can get him on the phone for you."

She managed a grateful smile. "I'd like that very much, thank you."

"My pleasure," he gave back and produced his phone to dial a number. Curt's. The thing dialed the number and was picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" came Dean's voice on the other end of the line. The chosen responded with, "Dean, it's us again. We have your sister here, hold on." And he gave the phone to Erin.

"Dean!" she spoke into the phone, beaming with energy.

"Erin!" Dean said back, "You're okay! Thank God! Is Jessie and our folks with you?"

"No, but I think they will be soon. I hope to God that they can just get them out of there."

"How the hell did _you_ get out of there?"

"I couldn't begin to tell you right now. I followed their instructions and it worked. Somehow it worked."

"So, so, those people are in there now?"

"Right now, yes."

"Then they're going to get them out, Erin, don't worry," he said with intense encouragement.

"God, Dean, I hope you're right."

****

The rightful chosen poured out of the elevator covered tensely and cautiously by the gun-poised security agents. No one else appeared to be anywhere in sight at the moment. Aside from the newly arrived group, it was empty and silent.

Ellison instructed, "An agent accompanies each searcher. Let's split to find out which room—"

"They're ALL in here!" boomed a voice from far down the hall.

Every head whippingly turned to track the source of the voice.

Thirty feet away from the group, a man emerged from one of the open-doored rooms and brought himself into full view of the startled souls.

It was Oliver. Erin's suspicions had been prophetically correct. The chloroform couldn't keep him down for long.

Every security agent had a straight gun aim at the man.

Oliver, naturally, didn't flinch. Merely stood casually and stared back at them. He restated, "They're in here with me. The parents, the child. Come on in and let's talk for a while, yes?"

Bauer initiated, "And who might you be?"

"Oliver. Chief of security here at Pear-Paul. And you are, of course, Mr. Bauer."

"Any others in there besides you and the family?"

"No. Those who aren't still catatonic at the moment are on lockdown on their respective floors. Standard protocol for these types of emergency situations, Mr. Bauer."

"May I ask why you are not among them?"

"Apt question—and part of the reason I would like to have a rather 'at-length' conversation with the lot of you. Won't you join me in here, please?"

"Are you armed?"

"I am. If you like, however, I can relinquish my piece and lay it on the floor here."

"You likely might have another in the room waiting for you but yes, we'd like you to do so."

And Oliver slowly and cautiously did, keeping the weapon pointed down and his fingers away from the trigger. The piece was on the floor, and Oliver was standing upright again, his hands raised and spread to show his willingness to comply. "Now anyone of you could shoot me dead, couldn't you?"

"We're not cold-blooded murderers as you know."

"Of course. So why don't we talk for a bit. You can approach me to a certain distance, and then I will go back in this room here. You will not be injured unless you attempt something. The family members won't be harmed unless likewise. Now please, if you would..." He separated his hands further apart to visibly entreat them.

Bauer eyed Ellison waiting for his decision on the matter. Their CEO and leader drew in a deep breath through his nose, let it out the same way—then said, "Very well, Oliver. We'll talk."

With that, the group proceeded toward Oliver's direction. When they had gotten about ten feet away from where he stood, the tainted chosen casually reentered the room, leaving the door open. The group very cautiously closed the gap toward the room entrance, guns tight in their grips and pointed straight ahead. As they got about a few inches from the exposure of the doorway, their movements became extra tense and expectant of an ambush or a hailstorm of gunfire.

But none of that happened as they rounded to witness what was, in fact, waiting for them.

Similar to what Erin encountered when she first entered the very same room hours earlier, the group now saw the saddening heaps of Al and Sophie Belaski beaten, bruised, and blood-streaked. This time, however, they were tied up tightly and extensively, to the point that walking was highly unlikely. And their eyes and mouths were taped over with strips of thick tape. Both could only lie on the floor and await the possible outcomes of the meeting—the talk.

And, again, the air purity tank with Jessie inside was firmly resting on the foldout table. Oliver stood behind it, his lower mid-section concealed by its bulk. The child's thumb was firmly planted in her tensed lips.

The glass door of the unit was flipped up slightly, propped by Oliver's right hand grasp. About this he relayed firmly, "All of you lower your aims right this instant. If you'll notice, there isn't an air tank attached to this unit but something else entirely..."

And all of the group could not help but glance at the connecting tank which was capable of feeding into the unit and its tiny resident.

Upon the metallic curvature of the tank it read firstly "Biohazard" then under it was the contents' description: "VX Nerve Gas TL-X4."

Needless to say, every gun was lowered in slow and quivering hands.

"Now," Oliver began, "would any of you care to wager how fast I would be able to close this door on pretty Jessica here, flip the 'open' switch on the tank umbilical, and be able to break at least one of the parents' necks before you could all effectively take me out?"

Ellison, with disturbed eyes, solidly replied, "I think we're all willing to take your word on it."

"Good. Now that we all have a full understanding of the situation at hand, I'd like to discuss certain terms of their release. First is that, after you have these three in your possession, you leave this building and leave us completely unaccosted. No takedowns, no takeovers. Secondly, no reprisals for what has happened today. Keep a lid on your people, keep control of the brother and sister. Yes?"

"Yes," Ellison said immediately. "You have my word on that."

"And we here at Pear-Paul know that your _word_ is who you are, in all matters, Mr. Ellison. Which is why we have no reservation in offering up our last requisite of their release."

"That being?"

Oliver's eyebrows lifted. "The child here is one of you, one of your kind. Whether you knew this or not, the mother knows. If we are to give the girl over to you now it must be with the firm and binding promise from you and _all_ like you that she be returned to us when she reaches the age of eighteen."

" _What?"_ Bauer blurted in shock.

"She must come back to us at that time."

"Why?" Ellison asked with eyes of pure distaste.

"Our reasons are our own. The only thing you must concern yourself with is simply keeping track of her, until such time as her age of maturity is reached. And then she becomes our charge. Understood?"

Bauer uttered, "You're insane..."

Completely ignoring Bauer's comment, Oliver continued, "And when the time comes, there can be no resistance. Particularly from the mother. Lull Jess back to us, kidnap her, convince her to return of her own accord, whatever it takes—but _you_ must get her back to us, is that clear? Or am I too mentally unbalanced for you to fully understand my words?"

Ellison replied gravely, "No, it is perfectly clear, Oliver."

"Good. Now. These are our stipulations, ladies and gentlemen. There will be no negotiations and no further addendum to this agreement...what is your decision, Mr. Ellison? Jessie and her mother together again, free and clear for the next seventeen years? Or Jessie dead now along with a grandparent of my choosing? And remember, if you agree to these terms, then it is your word, your solemn vow to us, regardless of how you feel on the matter."

Though he kept his eyes forth and fixed on Oliver, Bauer said in desperation, "Ellison—"

"We agree to your terms," Ellison stated before anymore could be heard from his number two.

"Then it is your word, I take it?" Oliver raptly asked in confirmation.

"It is."

Bauer closed his eyes. And expelled an oppressive breath from his nose.

Oliver inquired, it seemed, directly down to Jessie, "Did you get all that, sir?"

And up from near Jessie within the compartment, the phone-filtered voice of Stanford Jordan responded, "I did. You can release them now."

Oliver fully flipped up the glass compartment lid on the purifier and then calmly stepped away, snatching up his phone as he did so. Once he was roughly ten feet away from the unit, he put the phone back on normal, non-speaker mode and placed it to his ear and cheek. "I am away and they are free to take them, sir...the parents might be internally damaged, should I provide stretchers?...very good...talk to you when they are out." He hung up, put away his phone, and offered the group, "In another room down the hall are stretchers for these two. If some of your people wish to accompany me..."

****

"I'm getting scared, Dean," Erin reported to her brother on the phone. They had not hung up since they first contacted each other fifteen minutes earlier. "It's taking them too long." She was beginning to shake and well up in her eyes again.

Dean reassured with, "They'll get them, Erin. Remember, mom and dad are in kind of bad shape. They might have to be carried out or at least helped to walk—"

" _Wait..."_ Erin cut him off as she noticed movement from the front entrance of the Pear-Paul building. From within, figures were walking forth and moving toward the doors. They opened and the figures became more apparent, they had guns that were poised and ready for any threat. For an instant, Erin panicked but then recognized the gun toters as part of Ell-Bau's security force. They motioned for the ones behind them to come forth and make their way out of the building. And they did briskly, the rear group pushing two mobile stretchers through the doors held open by the others.

"Mom and dad, Dean!" she abruptly announced to the phone. "They have them! But where's..." She couldn't finish as too much of her focus went to her visual scan of the scene.

An instant later, Ellison emerged from the entrance and was talking and pointing at one of the front-parked sedans.

Another instant after that, Bauer revealed himself to the evening air.

In his arms as he strode forth—with perhaps less vigor as the rest, she happened to peripherally notice—was the thumb in mouth and curled form of a one-year-old child; that seemed much more calmed than the last time Erin had encountered the tiny soul.

And Jessica was out of the building at last. Coming closer to Erin with every passing second.

"Jessie! It's Jessie, Dean! They're bringing her to me right now! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"I told you," Dean said enthusiastically.

"Yes," she concurred with euphoric tears and sobs. "Yes, you did..." A nervous laugh erupted from her as well.

Looking both ways, naturally, to make sure he could make it safely across the street, Bauer travelled on with Jessie in his arms. Jessie was only feet away now.

"Dean, I'll call you back soon, okay?"

"Okay. I love you, Rickets."

"I love you too, Polio," she said back with joy in her voice and a growing smile. She hung up the phone and placed it aside just as Bauer reached the car and peered through the backseat window. Jessie, of course, was visible in his grasp and she was now locking eyes with Erin in shared relief and excitement.

Bauer's lips held a pleasant smile, yet his eyes couldn't share the sentiment. A grave sadness was etched in his aging brow.

Erin, however, could only see her daughter, could only sit up and throw out her arms and spread apart her fingers toward the child.

"Mama!" Jessie called to her as she, too, launched her own hands forward, wanting desperately for Erin's touch.

"Jessie!" Erin didn't care about the agony in her leg that her present maneuver was causing, she leaned forth anyway so that she could have a better reach for Jessie. Bauer shifted her to one arm and opened the door wide. He then switched back to the two-hand hold and bent down and forth so that he could meet Erin halfway. He cautiously made the pass off.

And Erin and Jessie were together again, touching, holding one another. Both broke immediately into heavy sobs of relief.

Bauer uprighted himself again but only for a second as he kneeled down and eyed the two in their crying embrace. He let them go on with this for a good moment, then he had to announce, "Erin, you're parents are being taken to the hospital immediately. You'll have to go there quite soon, yourself, to have them look at your leg. But please...spend as much time with Jessie as you need before then."

"Okay," she managed, nodding at him, "And _thank_ you...thank you..."

He nodded back but began looking all about in what appeared to Erin to be mental exhaustion from over-amped nerves. Part of him wanted to tell her right here and now just how Jessie was released, what conditions they agreed to in making it happen. But he knew there was no way in his heart of hearts that he could deny Erin her moment of joy. He got back up and slowly closed the door, then leaned with his arms on the hood of the car and looked ahead with despondency. Once again in his life he was forced to make a questionable decision for the perceived greater good in the future. But this time, he truly felt as if there _was_ no greater outcome. Right now it only felt like lose-lose no matter what.

The car doors of all the sedans were slamming shut as the various members of Ell-Bau were securing themselves inside their respective rides. One, however, remained and was walking straight toward Bauer. The man was his friend and had been for the last eighteen years, but also his mentor and leader in the thick and thin of corporate affairs, through _life_. But now the respect that those titles had meant for Bauer was severely shaken. But, of course, this was exactly what the Pear-Paul people had wanted, he admitted to himself. It's how they worked best. Pestilence was clever.

"Nicholas," called his mentor, Tobin Ellison as he ended his walk roughly fifteen feet from Bauer.

"Yeah, Tobin?" Bauer responded flatly. He still stared ahead.

"Come on, son...let's get away from this den of filth."

"...Yyyyep, let's go..."

Bauer removed his arms from the hood and turned listlessly to follow Ellison to their car. Once they were in, they as well as the others were gone from the scene in a matter of seconds.

Chapter 24

The cover story had been formulated and distributed to all involved as to how the injuries to Al, Sophie, and Erin had occurred. The best explanation that Ellison could think of was that the three were driving when they came upon a sizeable animal blocking the road. It had sprung from the brush to surprise Al, who had been driving, and caused him to abruptly swerve, thus losing control and careening down a hill and finally smashing into a massive tree. The Ell-Bau people were on their way to a retreat when they came upon the family and offered their assistance. Miraculously, the baby was not injured in the crash.

Although both Al and Sophie were mentally shell-shocked by what they experienced—and by what they knew of Jessie's release conditions—they agreed to the cover story.

But both had told the chosen they rode with that they could not under any circumstances ever give their granddaughter to those corporate monsters, those filthy devils. Not at eighteen, not ever!

The chosen had done their best to not exacerbate the situation by telling them to remain calm and don't over-exert themselves. "Fine," Al relented, "But I'm telling my daughter what has happened." The chosen flatly told him that it was his right if he chose to do so. But he would be destroying the joy that Erin now felt for having Jessie back. Neither Al or Sophie said anything further on the ride to the hospital.

After being admitted to Camden General Hospital, all three were examined, x-rayed and allocated to different departments of the building. Erin and Al went to triage for casting/bandaging—Erin of her leg and Al of his broken ribs. Sophie incurred the same bone injuries as Al in addition to an internal hemorrhage. She was immediately rushed to OR for surgery. The bleed was stopped and she was moved to the recovery room shortly after. Dean finally made it to the hospital with Curt and Palmer in tow and found the Ell-Bau people. They explained the situation insofar as the medical status of his mother and father and Erin, and that he could see the last two quite soon. They omitted, however, any other details regarding how Jessie was secured from the Pear-Paul chosen. The little one, herself, was present and given over to Dean; both were clearly glad for the reunion.

"Hey little Jessers!" Dean said to his wide-eyed niece as he held her.

"Dee!" Jessie said back and hugged him.

"Are you glad to be back with unkie?"

"Ya!"

"Ya!" he echoed.

"Mama hurt."

"I know, but she's gonna be just fine. They're gonna put a big cast on her leg so it can get better real soon."

"'Kay."

"And then we can go back to making fun of her."

"'Kay."

"'Kay," he mirrored her again with a smile.

"No mean," she warned him.

" _Awww"_ he whined jokingly, "...Okay, no mean...you know, you drive a hard bargain, kiddo."

She brought both pudgy hands up and briskly patted his cheeks, saying, "Ha!"

"Ha!"

And he hugged her close.

An hour later, Dean and Jessie were allowed to go in and see Erin and Al in the recovery room.

"How's mom?" Dean asked with great concern as he handed Jessie over to Erin.

Al answered, "She's good, they told me. She made it through the surgery all right and they were able to stop the bleeding in time. They're giving her a transfusion and they want her to stay under for the night. We should be able to see her tomorrow, maybe in the morning."

"That's good...Dad, I'm...I'm so sorry that this happened, I feel like I brought this on you and mom—"

"You didn't do any of it, son. It wasn't your fault. In fact, I'm proud of you, you handled yourself, from what I hear, with great courage...I'm not sure I could have done the same..."

Dean knew, of course, to what Al was referring to—the killing of the Pear-Paul driver—though neither of them could voice that particular incident and its details. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out.

Al went on, also staring at Erin. "I'm very proud of _both_ of you in what you've done today to keep our family together and safe. If your mother were here right now she would certainly say the exact same thing. Both of you are two of the most incredible individuals we have ever known."

"Thanks, dad," Erin said while she was cradling Jessie; the little one was silent, content simply to rest her head near Erin's shoulder and stare on.

"Yeah, thank you," Dean concurred in heartfelt acknowledgment.

"You're welcome...now if you don't mind, I think I'm going to stop breathing for the next five minutes so my ribs will stop killing me."

Both Erin and Dean gave a smile and a touch laughter.

Jessie popped her head up and said, "Six!"

"That's right, baby," Erin said brightly, "Six after five."

Chapter 25

Two and a half weeks after the bombings near and of the Ellison and Bauer corporate building, a serious investigation by the federal and state authorities had been put into action.

Eyewitnesses of the first bombing had said that they saw a woman throwing a business pouch into a trash can—which happened to be direct ground zero of the blast. The witnesses also stated that they saw the same woman going into the Ellison and Bauer building later that same day. They reported that this happened before the second blast to the building itself.

The description, of course, was of someone remarkably similar to Erin: long auburn straight hair, pale skin, and dressed in semi-formal business fashion attire. She was not seen leaving the building until after the second explosion.

Both Ell-Bau and Pear-Paul were aware of the investigation, having known that it would naturally come about. Neither wanted the attention that would eventually follow from the tragic events—so, ironically, the two powerful organizations unwittingly worked together to use their political spheres of influence within the state and police departments to bury the inquest. To falsify certain eyewitness corroborations.

To the Ellison and Bauer people, it was yet another painful point of contention in that they knew that six people had lost their lives in the first bombing. But again, they were faced with the prospect of Erin possibly going to jail if it was determined that she was the one to commit the supposed acts of terrorism. Ellison simply couldn't have that.

Two weeks later, Bauer left the company.

Chapter 26

Sophie was up and around sporting her own bandaging to heal her broken ribs. Yet she was moody and distant from everyone she knew, even Al and the children. It was only through Jessie that she allowed herself any signs of emotional connectivity. At times, however, both were silent in each other's presence, choosing to just simply hold one another—grandmother and grandchild.

Al had told Erin and Dean to just give her some time, that their mother had never experienced anything this traumatic in her entire life. In a few weeks she'd likely come around. Inwardly, Al was seething as well, but he'd long considered the position that Ell-Bau people had been forced into. He was not a chemical weapons expert by any means, but he'd seen a few films—he knew that VX gas was the worst of the worst. To witness his little Jessie exposed to that hell's fog would be truly inconceivable.

Granted, he _still_ had no intention of ever letting those Pear-Paul insects get a hold of Jessie again. He would die first.

And Erin and Dean should know about what has happened—and what is supposed to happen...

...But not yet.

Three and half weeks after the "bad day," the Belaski's received notice that Grandy's cabin and a good portion of the land surrounding it had been sold. Erin had a bolt of shock go through her as it occurred to her who likely bought it. Or at least had finalized the sale.

Both Al, Dean, and Erin decided to talk to different lawyers to see what could be done in getting ownership of the property back. None that they had talked to seemed to offer any real glimmer of hope on the matter.

Sophie simply became more livid and closed off from the others. Finally, she blew up at Erin and told her that there were still several things of personal value stored in the cabin. And that it was Erin's responsibility to get them out. "I can't be moving stuff right now, with my insides the way they are! Your father either!"

"Have you seen my leg?!" Erin protested "What do you think _I_ can do?!"

"You can still organize and have everything ready for your brother when he's able to come up!"

"Why are you _being_ like this to me?!"

"Just get it done!"

"Give her some more time," Al advised Erin after Sophie had stormed out of the room. "This whole thing...has been harder on us than you know."

The truth was that Erin's leg had actually improved greatly coming up on a month after the injury was inflicted. In the first few weeks she had needed to use crutches to get around. But by the end of the third week, she was able to put some pressure on the thing for a decent hobble. She would likely be able to carry a few light boxes of odds and ends to her car—but that would be the extent of it. Anything else, her doctor told her, would be highly ill-advised and could cause the fragile bone to rebreak.

Still, her mother was technically correct, Erin was capable of organizing several items to place them in boxes either for herself or Dean to haul out.

And Erin _was_ becoming a bit stir crazy at home without a job or much place else to go. So she decided it was time to go visit the cabin, just she and Jessie. Driving was still a major chore with her leg's ailments but doable and, as it happens, recommended to strengthen the muscles of her tender calf area. Besides, on a long drive such as this one on a wide open road, cruise control was a plus.

She made the trip in just over an hour which was typical for a Sunday afternoon. The Condor Pass was jaggedy as always and played havoc on the frayed nerves in Erin's leg but she survived.

She made the long, winding road through Harvester Curve to the very front yard of Grandy's cabin. She put her car in park, killed the engine, and opened her door to gingerly spin her legs into position to get out. Though she was able to put pressure on both legs, she still employed a good amount of upper body assistance to lightly catapult herself to a stand.

Once gruntingly achieved, she closed the door and hobbled to the back door to open it and extract Jessie. The child was sound asleep and had been throughout half the trip—even through Harvester. She awkwardly and uncomfortably got the fastener undone for the child seat, then lifted Jessie up as carefully as possible. She was hoping to keep her asleep for at least another half hour so that she, herself, could rest from the trip.

Her daughter was getting heavier these days but still light enough to carry in one arm. She shut the door then turned as best she could to begin a slow hobble to the front door of the cabin. Once at the door, she unlocked it, opened it up and entered.

She made some more hobbles to the back bedroom down the short hallway to carefully lay Jessie down in the crib. Thankfully, the baby stayed in slumber and showed no signs of stirring. Good.

Erin retraced her hobbles back down the hallway, through the front living room, and back out the front door. Her travel bags for both Jessie and herself were still in the trunk of the car, and this was where she was heading in her awkward walk when Janice descended from the cabin roof and outer-walling to silently follow her.

****

The overlarge and blackened spider had been basking in the glow of open nature for approximately a month already. Its creators and owners had seen fit to reward their lab pet with this extended sabbatical into the forest. And it simply couldn't be happier for the journey and release.

It could remember the words that its prized Stanford had said, "I have a very pleasant surprise for you, my dear little Janice. I'm sending you to the forest for a few months...unless, of course, something comes up unexpected."

But nothing so far _had_ come up and Janice was left to roam in this spacious wonderland of heaven-reaching trees and rodent-rich bushes. The furry little critters were of particular delectable delight to the black widow, to the point that a snap of a twig or rustle of a bush automatically triggered its salivary venom glands. And Janice amazed itself by how much venom it was able to produce, replenish to paralyze even the larger forms of four-legged meals.

Life was good and showed no signs of letting up. Where most of Janice's natural unaltered brethren would prefer dark, dank corners to cohabitate and feed, this larger scientific anomaly catered to the light and the open air in obtaining its nutritional needs.

_Call me original,_ Janice thought _, the variant preferences an obvious result of my genetic advancement of cognizance. I have a more developed sense of myself and thus more of an emergent personality. I like the sky looking down on my back and the cool wind trying to resist me. Which is not to say that I don't relish a deep, dark hole once in a while—some of my original DNA programming is still in there. But I only reserve that for the moody days when I need to seriously ponder my place in the universe. Or not to think at all—just be what I am. Yesterday was like that._

But today is a different matter altogether. Today I'm looking for the big food! A beaver, one of the fat ones, or even a deer! Ant eaters were tasty blood but they were so rare in these parts. I sincerely hope I'm not needed for quite some time...what if it were possible to stay here an entire year? That would be extraordinary. Or at least another four to six mo—

What was that?

The rustling and the cracking of twigs...but also an unnatural humming, whirling noise...

A car...NO, not yet, I'm not ready! I was promised another month...

But if it was someone else...

Janice skittered quickly up the wall of the cabin from the backyard section and made her way to the roofing. It was careful to stay on the backend of the roof slant so as not to prematurely reveal its presence to the newcomer. Or newcomers? _Could there be more than one for me to trick and lure into my loving arms and biting range?_ Janice wondered. _Don't get your hopes up too high though—it could still turn out to be the Pear-Paul's calling me back to duty. Damn the suspense..._

The car had turned off.

It braved a small peer over the top point of the angled roof and saw a dingy car with a woman getting out of it. Her leg was buried in some sort of white cocoon from the knee down to the foot. It caused her to walk in a funny way and slow her down. She opened up the back door of the vehicle and eventually pulled out a smaller version of the human forms. This was interesting to Janice in that it had never seen one so little before now. Typically, they beat Janice in the size department when standing fully erect. But this new one here would actually be dwarfed by Janice's bloated hind segment. Certainly it would be easy to sting and overtake. The fully-sized one, however, might require some planning, some ingenuity. _No matter,_ Janice concluded— _big or small, come one, come all._ The black widow of all black widows was waiting and more than willing.

With fangs fat of venom and already dripping.

****

Erin was halfway to the car when something felt weird, a strange quiet that altered a sense within her. She froze.

As did Janice, waiting.

The disquieting intuition in Erin woke up the curiosity in her brain—and caused her to turn her torso to gaze behind her...

And instantly a thunderbolt of flight panic hit her, her eyes popped wide and a shout of "AH!" burst from her mouth. She whipped her upper body back around and bolted forth in a mad hobble; her breaths immediately turned rapid and strained.

Janice raced after her in a smooth skittering of its black and hellish legs.

Erin went straight for the car to attempt to open the driver's side door. But the door jammed again and wouldn't budge. As she was repeatedly, insanely trying to lift the latch, she felt the spider's legs prod her back and attempt to enfold her. Erin shrieked, "Oh God!" and swung her right arm out wildly to break free from the odd encagement. A split second later, she exploded into another mad hobble away from the car. Janice squealed angrily at the swatting away of her legs and shot off after Erin full speed.

A network of skyscraping and thickly trunked trees lie only thirty feet ahead and Erin was lamely dashing for it. Janice was easily on her heals every odd stepping of the way.

Erin didn't dare look behind her, a primal fear seemed to warn her that if she did it would be the death of her. Instead she rock-focused her sights on at least making it to the nearest tree.

The hugely diametered trunk would provide somewhat of a barrier from the nightmare practically licking at her heals. If she could just hobble fast enough to make it. This seemed highly doubtful as Erin caught easily in her peripherals blackened, broken canes of spider legs advancing on either side of her. She could hear distinctly a tight, alien rattle spit out from what Erin could only assume was the mouth of the thing at her back. It felt so close, as if the rattling were working its way into between her shoulders and infecting her upper spine.

_Ten more feet to the massive tree trunk—I couldn't possibly make it,_ her mind rationalized in a snap judgment of distancing logic. _The thing will pop out some sort of second head and shoot forth to open wide its extra mouth and engulf my entire head!_

Now the imagined feeling of something touching her upper back was without a doubt real as strange fondlings of mandibles played on her. The crooked legs at her sides seemed to be growing in length, becoming more threatening in appearance.

Five feet from the tree.

Something was pushing at her, inviting Erin to fall headlong into dirt and leaves. But she was determined, even in her near hysteric condition, even with her severely tried leg, to stay up and moving forward to that precious temporary sanctuary—the massive tree.

Three feet.

Shove! Stayed up somehow. Miracle.

Two feet.

One...

And it was done!—Erin swooped abruptly around and behind the bark-etched trunk, the diameter of which was at least four to five feet.

Janice halted, as a result, just short of the trunk.

Erin kept her stance quite close to the tree, semi-hugging it with her hands. Her almost hyperventilated breathing was complimented by high-pitch moans. Her mind had to scream, _"What is it?! What is this THING?!"_

She didn't have much time to ponder such a question, however, as the multi-jointed legs began to shift from behind the tree trunk. _It's going to try and round the tree and see if it can trip me up somehow,_ she quickly concluded. _I have to match its moves or I'm in trouble!_

Janice began to round the tree with vigor, making Erin step lively to stay ahead and out of the creature's reach. The sidesteps she took were excruciating as stabs of misery hit her leg at every footfall. Regardless, she winced and grunted through it to stay away from Janice.

But then the tremendous spider halted abruptly, sprawled some front legs against the trunk, gained horizontal progress upon the thing...

...And brought her fangs slamming down into the rubbery bark. Erin swerved out of the way of the sharp cones a mere inch from it. She hiccupped a shrieking _"Oh SH—!"_ as she dodged the venom-flecking head knives.

And suddenly, the spider was doing an odd half-walk on the ground, half-walk on the trunk itself, advancing around on Erin. And, at one second intervals, fast-lunging the thorn-like fangs inward to try and prick her. But she desperately kept just inches ahead of the almost constant and violent stabbings. So powerful they were that shards of bark flew with each spearing. Rises and falls of squealing moans emanated from Erin's throat as the fear of not being able to keep out of reach plagued her senses.

But Janice finally began to realize that, as determined and resourceful a killer as it might be, this woman might just be as resolute and keen a survivor. So perhaps it was time to change up tactics...

Janice halted her circular skittering and brought all her legs to the ground again.

Erin stopped as well, madly wondering what was to come next.

Janice repositioned to face the tree head on then began to bring the front legs up upon the trunk, gaining a leveraging purchase in the bark textures. The next row of legs was brought up, then the last, and now Janice was vertical and aligned with the hulking trunk. This achieved, Janice started inching its legs outward to the left and right, coordinating intervals toward the other end of the obese, cragged growth.

Erin was also facing the tree from the opposite end and was witnessing the progress of this new assault but couldn't quite fathom its purpose in her frazzled thoughts— _is it going to try and poke at me or slap me with its legs, what?_ If so, then she determined to turns herself around as quickly as possible to press her back firm against the trunk. She brought her fisted arms up in a defensive posture, ready for the possible onslaught. Closer and closer the legs approached from either end of the cylindrical and hardened mass of wood...

Only the jabbing didn't come, only more progression of the inching legs, now making their way over Erin's front. She cringed with each opposite end leg touch and pressing. She was now enclosed in a caging of eerily bent and opaque legs. Erin's breathing strained further.

Now the next phase of Janice's tactic became apparent as one end of the legs began to recede while the other continued to advance. All the while coordinating closely together so that Erin continued to be trapped. _Oh God!_ she hollered in her mind, _it's going to keep me locked to the tree while it inches its body, its_ fangs _, around to get me!_

Erin began to struggle against her entrapment, shoving against the formidable leg cage about her. Janice was now half way around the curve of the trunk to Erin's spot. The spider concentrated all of its focus and strength on side-stepping and flexing its legs to make Erin stay put, until the fangs could be in range of her.

But it wasn't enough against Erin's full force, scream-grunting push forth. She broke the caging, making a few of the legs swing away, and trudged forward with a harrowing scream. She hobbled as quickly as she could further into the populace of trees, bobbing and weaving as she went.

Janice, growing more frustrated, strategically disengaged from the tree and stood all legs once again on the ground. It then cleared itself from the tree by rounding it and skittering at top speed after its target.

Soon, Janice was forced to do what Erin had, swerve left and right to avoid the towering trees. And soon, again, Janice was at Erin's hobbling backside, forcefully nudging her in hopes of causing a nosedive into the dirt and foliage. Each awkward stepping Erin took became more and more agonizing.

Erin desperately motivated herself in her mind: _If I can just make it to the hole—_ my _hole, the one I've dug since I was a kid. The one that's hopefully still diametered at six feet and deep enough to allow me roughly five feet of depth.._. _Just make it there and drop myself in! Make it to the clearing, stay on your feet until then, keep moving...go! Go! Only a short way off, I can see it, taste the light with my eyes. I have to make it..._

_What is she running to,_ Janice pondered as it repeatedly skittered and shoved. _What does she think she can do now knowing that I am fully healthy and she is weakening? Is she running just to run, out of pure fear of her fate? Perhaps she knows of others in the area—though I hadn't encountered anyone in my roaming of the surrounding areas. If she by some large miracle happens upon some hunters with rifles, I may be in serious trouble. But that is highly unlikely, I think. We're coming towards a clearing, it looks like...good, better to be able to knock her flat! I'll have her then, I swear it! I won't be denied yet again._

Shove!

Saved!

Onward they went to the entrance of the clearing.

Just a few feet now...

And the sunrays painted them brighter as they emerged to the clearing, both racing fiercely to advance.

Now Janice had an inkling of what Erin's goal was: a sizeable and possibly deep hole gouged into the ground. _If this foolish woman makes it to the hole_ , Janice guessed, _I know I won't be able to follow her down...shove her! Shove her as hard as you possibly can before she can make it there!_

And it did. Erin felt a hard force in her lower back that kicked the air out of her lungs. She had to thrust her good leg out abruptly to stomp a foot to the ground in front of her. This was the only thing that stopped her from careening straight down. And if she allowed that to happen, if she was lying flat, she knew that the thing was almost sure to have her. It would simply take her far too long to get back up with her bad leg.

Fifteen feet from the jagged hole.

Erin felt her good leg's knee almost bust of the balancing stomp, the thing that kept her up. Yet she went on to take another hobbling step forward. Janice hard thrusted its head yet again into the small of Erin's back. Another hiccup of sound squeezed out her chest...

...And this time she couldn't keep her balance—Erin went sprawling for the gritted ground in front of her. She landed with a thud and an _"Oof!"_ from her mouth. Despite the sharp shoots of leg pain, she spun about to lay on her back—just as Janice was rushing to position the fangs right over the downed girl. The job was complete and the fangs were primed to hover above Erin's abdomen. It reared up and the moist fangs became ready for the spearing. But as Janice did this, Erin was already shoulder and elbowing herself desperately backward—so when the spider's pounce came, the fangs would hit her lower right leg.

Where the thick and highly congealed casting would block any piercing of the skin.

Erin had to bend up and over her right lower leg region to make it work, but it _did_ work—the fangs came speeding down on the protective casting and didn't even dent the surface.

But the pressure brought to the leg by the jab caused excruciating misery to Erin's whole leg. She stripped apart her lips over clamped teeth while grunting. _Keep going backward!_ her mind ordered, hollered with urgency. _Go! Go!_ Her body obeyed despite its rising exhaustion.

The fangs tried again, pressing forth as well with Janice's fervent skitters. It met with the cast again in another muffled crack. Erin grunted through grinding teeth once more.

The dirt hole came upon her, her head was losing contact with the ground and hovering over the large maw.

Once more the jab and it was barricaded by the lifesaving cast! Backing up, backing up...

And Erin fell in hitting her neck and shoulders— _OOF!_ again. Janice gave one more stab but it only came down splatting dirt into the air near the edge of the uneven hole. The spider angrily walked forward a few skits then faced Erin lying in the hole—her new temporary refuge.

The angry rattle grated away from within Janice's mouth. Its multiple eyes swiveled in insanity and rage.

Stricken with shock of being stared at by an unholy monstrosity, Erin's eyes were locked in bulges, her mouth was gaping. It didn't take her long to realize that she needed to start righting herself again—unless she liked her good leg to be bitten and chewed upon. With rapid movements, she hunched herself to snake out of the upturned "U" that her body had ended in after the drop.

Janice reacted by reversing a bit and clearing a solid path for its legs to skitter around the hole. Naturally this would bring it closer to Erin's head as she was rising up. The thing of black ran in a bit to position its fangs right near Erin's skull.

Yet as the abomination was prepared to strike, Erin peripherally witnessed this and swung about around the curved walling of the hole. Had she been fully accomplished in her attempts to stand, the maneuver would have been less awkward and painful to her damaged leg.

Janice sidestepped a quarter arc to approach Erin's new position. While the girl was distracted by her agony, the spider hovered its venomous thorns in stabbing alignment with her head.

But Erin's misery couldn't override her desire for survival and she vaulted herself forth a mere split second before Janice snap-lunged downward to stab her. She hobbled with fresh leg torture to hit the opposite end of the hole.

Undeterred, Janice coordinated her legs again to sidestep a one hundred and eighty degree swing around the hole—right towards Erin. But she yanked her head about to track the terror's movements. Logic told her it was unwise to stay near the edges of the hole, so she made a few careful hobbles backward before Janice could get near again. Now at the center of the deepened crater, Erin held her ground and watched, waited. Her teeth couldn't unclench, her breaths wheezed out.

Janice witnessed her middling position, and knew it would be much more difficult now to close in on its prey and immobilize. Difficult—but not impossible. The wretched thing inched itself forward to the edge of the curved drop-off, jutted its head out toward Erin's position, and performed another snap-lunge at its prey. In order to barely miss being stabbed in the throat or chest, Erin was forced to lean backwards, throwing her good leg back to support her, as a kickstand would a bike. The spider did another strike, darting out a bit further to hit its intended mark. But it only made Erin lean back further, eyes ever watchful of her enemy's movements.

Janice was at her limit of sticking her head out and knew it. Any more and its legs would lose sustaining purchase and the whole body would fall in. It moved backward a few skits keeping its head semi-hovering above the hole.

Time to change tactics yet again. The killer flexed its fluid circulating muscles within its venom canal and issued the poisoned liquid from its fangs.

Erin could see the amber venom ooze forth and fall slowly like saliva drip from the pointed cones. Janice cocked its head down and inward—then flung it out in whip-fast motion. The move slingshot the hanging spittle of venom to rapidly spray out directly toward Erin's face. Had she not quickly brought her arm up and turned her head away in defense, the toxic discharge would have hit her in the eyes or mouth. Fortunately for Erin, the majority of the spray contacted with her forearm and hair.

Janice side-swung around the edge again to better position the fangs to Erin's face, ejected more venom and flung it out.

Erin twisted about once more to shield her face from the new bombardment. She kept it there for a few seconds, then ventured a glance back around—and snapped back yet again as another volley of venom spat her way. This time, she kept her head turned away and waited for her sense of sound to judge her next move.

And telltale noises did come—ones that signaled that the spider was shifting, moving, travelling around the hole once again. But the creature had abandoned the sidestepping and was advancing to position itself to face Erin head on.

And now Erin got her first unadulterated look at what was stalking her. Although her heart didn't chill itself to a stop at the sight of the massive black shape, she did feel a terrifying sense of disbelief. This enlargened version of the black widow species was real and in front of her. Like a children's fairy tale gone horribly wrong. The fear and awe at what she was witnessing caused her to utter something she was barely aware of saying: "...What in God's name are you...?"

Janice only stared back. But within its mind it was attempting to cage its mounting frustration. Nothing had ever given it this much grief in hunting prey. It was so much prepared to simply leap at the woman and try to rip her face off, stabbing the damn human time and time again until she was purple with toxin. Visually, Janice couldn't hide this desire as it bobbed slowly, tensely up and down on her crooked legs.

_Control,_ Janice ordered its arachnid impulses, _control and concentration...new tactic...patience and it will come what to do next...bring it all in and channel it into pure strategy. Now what is the next move...?_

Janice brought its bobbing to a waver and lowered its head in contemplation.

_What was it doing_ , Erin wondered in numbing terror. _What would it do next...? This thing is clever...I've heard of spiders using instinctive tactics to catch a meal: an ant or a fly—wait in the shadows and pounce on the unsuspecting food. But_ this _...this was beyond the instinct of a spider...this was fully sentient thought processes and planning. And this thing has_ emotions _...I can tell, I see its anger, its strong desire to want to tear me apart...what is it going to do next...what's coming...?_

And suddenly, it had it, the solution...no more direct approach, time to make the target come to it...

Janice rose its head up, stared its several eyes almost beamingly at Erin...and rounded the hole for the last time to skitter back into the maze of trees.

At first, Erin only watched in a confusion as the darkened mass drew further and further away to reenter the way they had come.

But in the next instant it hit her almost literally like a damned freight train at a hundred miles an hour...

" _JESSIE!"_ she shrieked abruptly, and hobbled insanely for the edge nearest to the trees that led to the cabin. She tried desperately to use her arms to hoist herself up and out of the nearly five feet deep hole. But her exhaustion and the immobility of her leg foiled her attempts. Fear was catching her breaths and growing with each failed climb.

But she knew she _had_ to get out of this hole, _had_ to no matter what...

She hobbled backward to the opposite edge...braced herself for what was to come...and bolted a speed-hobble to the other edge again. Once reached she slapped her arms and hands on the edge and crazily swung her casted right leg up to gain a leveraging hold on the upper ground.

The maneuver worked—but not without an extreme explosion of fiery pain to her damaged limb. She screamed with full force but kept her hold, and even continued to hoist herself in her full weight on up out of the hole.

This maximum effort now finally achieved, she rolled herself onto her back and grabbed her right thigh in both hands. And screamed yet again. But she only allowed herself this for a second before she was using whatever maneuver she could to stand again.

Another second allowed to catch her labored breath, and she was hobbling with stark determination back into the network of trees. A burst of _"Egh!"_ sounds came from her throat with each mad hobble.

Soon, however, the pained _"Egh's!"_ became drawn out, agonized _"Eeeegh's!"_ as she increased her pace trying to catch up with the creature. Through the large family of trees, Erin caught glimpses of the fast crawling spider nearing the other end to approach the opposite clearing...and the cabin.

And Jessie.

Yet again, she had to pick up a greater hobbling speed, regardless of the agony in her right leg or her mounting fatigue.

And yet despite all of this rapid hobbling, she knew one immovable fact—unless Erin went much, _much_ faster, she would never reach the cabin before the spider.

She would have to run.

But to do so in a twist and turn manner to avoid the trees would surely be a suicide move in the bid to stay on her feet. She would have to wait and continue with the hobbles at maximum possible speed.

Janice would clear the trees in a matter of seconds, and then it would have only a hundred feet distance to make it to the cabin front door.

In that time, Erin would only cover a third of the tree-rooted land.

Now the time elapsed and Janice was free from the snaking style of skittering. Now it was just a straight path to the opened front door of the cabin...and a quick search of the house to find the tiny human. The strategy now was to clench the small one in Janice's mouth, carry it back out onto the clearing with the hole, and dangle it in front of the woman. Make her succumb to the spider's wishes: come out or I'll make your offspring suffer. Or at least come to the edge of the hole if the woman was fully incapable of coming out on her own. However it turned out, Janice was determined to win as a matter of keeping itself in prime fighting condition. And as a matter of pride.

Sixty feet to the front door for the forwarding spider.

Erin was halfway through the trees, grinding through the pain.

Fifty feet for Janice...

Erin, two-thirds through...

Forty feet, the spider...

Erin made it out of the maze.

And saw that the spider was now roughly thirty feet from the front door—gaping so invitingly open...

Wretches of preparatory _"Egh! Egh!! EGH!!!"_ came out of her mouth as...

...Erin exploded into a full tilt run toward the cabin, screaming at the absolute top of her lung capacity the entire way...

Janice heard her and halted to turn its body to witness what was coming forth. It turned back around and skittered faster toward the doorway in the twenty-five feet it had left.

Erin had forty feet left.

Janice, twenty feet.

Erin, 30 feet.

Janice, 12 feet.

Erin, twenty feet.

Janice, four feet.

Erin three feet.

Janice, two feet.

Then Erin leapt through the door with a roar and insanely swung the door shut just as she hit to the floor. With more misery than she had ever encountered in her entire life—even compared to the difficult labor of birthing Jessie.

She had just enough strength to jab a hand toward the deadbolt lock knob and latch it into place.

Before she collapsed and, again, brought her two hands swiftly to clasp her right thigh. Her head cocked back abruptly so that the full of her long, auburn hair was hanging down. Her eyes were bulged as her tightly-stretched and O'd mouth sucked in a giant rush of air to her wheezed lungs. She attempted a scream but it only came out in a stunted hiccup. Her head now shook from side to side, a maneuver to come to grips with the firestorm that was now her wholly rebroken leg.

A tremoring thump was heard from right outside the door.

Another.

And another—this one with more force. But the door held.

Curling up on her side, she somehow found that she had enough air in her lungs now to squeeze it out a mountainous scream.

Then she wept hysterically and preyed for shock to mercifully numb her.

It didn't come.

What did come was another hinge-rocking thump to the door, a thump rooted in severe anger and frustration at having been denied once again. The spider was purely livid. As much at itself as it was at its prey.

THUMP!!!

"GO AWAAAAY!!!" Erin shrieked, finding a small redirection of her focus from the unending misery.

THUMP!!!

"LEAVE US ALOOOOOONE!!!"

THUMP!!! THUMP!!!

The door held.

Erin sobbed the whispery plea, "Leave us alone...leave us alone...leave us alone, _please...pleeease..."_

THUMP!!!

Outside, through its red haze of fury and frustration, the strategist part of Janice's brain was slowly attempting to gain a controlling hold on the mind's focus. The majority of the spider's impulses wanted to continually batter-ram the door till it finally gave way and the path would be clear to feast. But as the intellectual side started to win over, it began to realize that the door would never budge no matter how many times it was hit. And its head was already aching from the slams it made so far. _Think...reformulate..._

And Janice had it.

The spider gained its adhesive leg purchase on the cabin's outer walling and climbed toward the roof...

Inside, Erin heard the mad skittering of the spider outside as it scaled the wall and achieved roof positioning. Once there, the muffled skittering continued in the direction of the hallway...and the back room.

Where the glass-windowed skylight was featured.

Where Jessie was sleeping.

"NO!!!" Erin gasped loudly and cried harder at the realization that she would now have to rise to her feet once more and travel fast. Roaring through insanely gritted teeth, she weathered the almost crippling misery to slowly, awkwardly support herself up to a fully erect stance.

But she dared not put any more pressure on the right leg. In doing so, she feared she might pass out from the nerve-shattering pain of each step. Now it was a question of hopping toward the hallway, then using its walls for extra support as she travelled to the back room. But Erin knew that even hopping forth was going to be a highly painful alternative to hobbling. Already she was feeling lightheaded and faint from the screams, her crying, and the exhaustion of enduring incredible agony.

She hopped anyway and did it as quickly as she could. Janice was at the skylight panel and, by now, applying pressure to the not-so-thick glass that provided the barrier.

A crack of glass was heard.

Erin had made it to the hallway and, like she had planned, used the walls of the narrow passage to aid in her progress. Her breaths were ragged and desperate; a terrified yet determined chant of "No" gasped from her mouth with each labored and harried hop.

Another and more wide-slicing crack was heard. But nothing had fallen yet...

"...No...No...No..." Erin was halfway to the room...

Cr-cr-CRACK!

And now a piece of the glass—an oddly triangular piece—fell to the floor and smashed to tinier shards. Erin could see the event happen before her eyes though the doorway of the room. _Crack—_ another jagged, sharp piece fell to crash.

Erin was almost through the hallway and to the room. A few more hops...

She could now see a black leg in its angled form reach down and under a large portion of the glass to attempt to pull it up and apart from the rest of the glass. It was now giving way from the pulling force— _c-c-c-c-crick-k-k-k-k-k..._

Now Erin was in the room and forcing herself to ignore the progress of the spider's breaking and entering efforts. Instead she hopped madly toward Jessie's lying crib.

Janice's dislodging of the quite sizeable piece of glass eventually brought it down with a severe crash. The highly audible and piercing smash to the wooden flooring was enough to shake Jessie out of her oblivious slumber. Like her mother, she began crying loudly.

The skylight glass was now almost half broken away, but Janice would still need most of it cleared in order to successfully enter.

Erin picked up her bawling daughter and brought her to a one-arm carrying position—God, the child was so heavy now that Erin was extremely fatigued and oppressed with pain. She steadied the embrace of the child nonetheless. And hopped a misery-jolted turn to face the doorway.

_Crrrrr-CRACK!—_ another vast sheet of the glass barrier was pulled up and apart from the rest. It fell to another shattering crash. One more big piece and the spider would clear its way.

Hop. Hop. Hop. Five more to the door...

Janice had that final obstructive large piece in her crooked grasp, pulling with hastened force...CRACK! Still held firm in a small attachment to the other glass...

Hop. Hop. Hop...

More effort to yank up the glass, it was going to give any second...

...Hop...

CRICK...SMASH!

Janice began speedily entering...

...Hop—through the doorway and—SLAM! Erin swung the door shut as she leaned against the hallway for support. Her sobbing came out in nerve-wrecked convulsions. Jessie cried on in protest of being so rudely awaken.

"Shh, baby, I got you," Erin tried to soothe the little girl, but to no avail.

The skittering now returned to the roof. Clearly, the spider was not going to make the same mistake twice with a closed door. The skitters seemed to stop just above where Erin and Jessie were...as if the spider were waiting for their next move.

Erin had a sickening notion that if she were to stand here for hours and hours, then so would the demon above for the same amount of time. But she couldn't stay there in the hallway holding her baby who was crying nonstop. She had to get to the living room to set Jessie down, rest up against something, and get her head together enough to figure out what to do next. So as much as she loathed to make any more movements, she hopped a turn and did her agony skips with one foot down the length of the hallway and eventually to the living room bar counter. It was connected to the kitchen area and adjacent to the dining room and the back door.

Placing Jessie's crying form down on the counter in a seated position, Erin supported herself miserably on the wide flat surface and awkwardly sat on one of the cushioned stools. There were three of the things that lined the front of the bar, and Erin _very_ gingerly placed her right leg up on one of them. Her teeth clenched under her wrenched face all through the maneuver. Once done, she fissured several quick and deep breaths of fatigue.

Yet she caught her breath when she realized one quite horrifying fact.

The muffled skits from the roof did not follow along with their move from the hall to the bar.

****

It was clear that Janice was not going to make the same mistake with the room door that it made with the front door. Even though it was so monumentally seething with anger that it felt like it could eat the door.

_Channel your anger into a singular focus,_ Janice disciplined her evolved consciousness. _Go back outside and follow the sounds and vibrations of the woman's movements. Make her feel hounded and trapped, that there's nowhere she can go that I won't be able to follow._

Janice travelled back out of the damaged skylight and made its way across the roof to where it judged the woman to be located down below, and waited for further movement. In that time of waiting, the spider worked on continuing its wrangling in of the charged anger that could serve to derail its tactics.

And in that process of funneling its mental and bodily energies, a key factor occurred to Janice that it had thus far overlooked...

Below, movement was heard and felt again but Janice ignored it in light of this newfound rationale. It dawned on Janice that the door at the front had a lock on it—the spider had heard it being latched into place just after it was shut out by the cursed woman. But there was no locking sound for the door in the back-featured room...and why would there be? The door _was_ closed but Janice knew that opening it had something to do with the circular device built into the door itself. If the spider could somehow stick a leg tip to the device and work it a bit, perhaps it could open the door and gain access to what it so desirably wanted to destroy. It was worth an effort.

So Janice skittered back and reentered the wounded and gaping skylight...

****

Erin heard a jiggling noise of the back bedroom door...and the door whine open...and skittering sounds drawing near from the hallway...

...And the enormous spider emerge into view and halt to leer right at Erin.

_OH GOD!_ Erin gasped within her shock-ridden mind. _THE THING IS IN HERE WITH US! THERE IS NO SAFE PLACE! OH GOD!_

She rapid-glanced at the front door.

As did Janice. Then it speedily made its way across the walling to park itself directly over the door. As if to say, _don't even think about it, you little bitch!_

Jessie, who had ceased her crying at the sight of this unholy enlargement of a black widow, now found her full voice again as the spider covered the door. She screamed with the might of her lungs.

There was only one way out now, and both Erin and the wretched Janice knew it. It was merely a question of whether Erin could make it fast enough to the back door before Janice could creep forth and catch her in time.

And no matter how it hurt or thought it would cause her to pass out, Erin _would_ have to hobble again. Her face creased once more as this realization brought heavy tears flowing to her face. Jessie cried along with her mother's plight.

Janice twitched her legs signaling its readiness to start the race.

Erin's face shook with manic preparation, her eyes bulged with dread...

Quickly, she snatched Jessie up and swung around to hobble the length of the bar counter to clear it. Erin's screams were horrific.

Janice launched into a full speed skitter run over the ceiling, covering half its distance in less than a second. It would win the race to the door. And Erin had suspected it would—which is why she grabbed the wood-handled broom leaning up against the opposite side of the bar counter. And viciously jabbed at the spider just as it hit the distance mark directly above Erin. As she madly speared the head of the insectoid—thus halting its progress—Erin inched her and Jessie closer to the firmly shut door.

Janice branched a leg out to attempt to ward off the highly annoying, ache-inducing pounds to the head. But naturally, the angle of the reach was not conducive to the spider's ligament structure. The defense had limited success at best. Upon the fifth jab, Janice lost her equilibrium and ability to hold onto the ceiling and dropped with a thud to the floor.

Erin threw the broom down at the upended, leg flailing creature and hopped an insane spin to yank open the door. Once it was wide enough for her to proceed, she howled her miseried self and Jessie though the door frame and out into the open day once more.

Janice collected its senses sufficiently and dealt with the pain of the fall. One expansive and jointed black leg reached for the dining room table to attach to its underside. Using the leg, it dragged its entire body toward the table. Once it had gotten close enough, the spider glued more of its legs to the table's underside and edging. With all of its legs now stuck to the sizeable and heavily planted oak table, Janice yanked and swung its bodily form to an uprighted position. It quickly shifted its legs to a better balancing stance and purchase on the flattened table top. The move shoved a vase and doily clear off the center of the thing. The vase smashed into tiny crystal pieces on the floor.

Ignoring its created mess, Janice skittered off the table and onto the wall where it was but a few skits to the open back door. It squeezed itself through the frame and out into the backyard—where Erin and Jessie were noisily attempting forward progress to, what it appeared to Janice, the wooden, moss-ridden old outhouse.

_Well, fat chance of making it to_ another _temporary refuge, my dear,_ Janice promised the woman silently within its charged and determined mind. _Because I'm going to knock you down well before that! And then I'm going to bite you and your little one until you're swollen to the bursting point with my venom! You're my feast now, mine!_

Janice crawled down from the outer wall near the door and began its exhilarated jaunt toward the ever-increasingly lame and exhausted hobbles of Erin and Jessie. In no time, it seemed, the spider was at their back and ready to strike.

Erin fully heard the fast-crawling behemoth come up from behind and twisted her torso and head to prepare for its attack. As she made the fearful spin, however, the great arachnid shoved her off her feet to land thuddingly on her back. _"OOMPH!"_ she squeezed from her throat as she hit then roared with terrible force as the impact's effect rippled to her injured leg.

Janice quickly came up over the two downed beings with a pair of toxin-salivating fangs highly anticipating generous and repeated bites into their soft flesh. Any instant...

But Erin was going to fight. Fight any way she could to save her daughter from any sort of bodily damage. As the spider reared its alien-like head up to go for the deep bite, the opaque fangs dripping with strings of poison, Erin joltingly brought both—yes, _both—_ legs up to her chest in a folded knee position. Her feet were now pressed with opposing force to Janice's underbelly.

The spider went in for the kill with its wanting fangs but couldn't make contact with Erin or the child. The girl's legs were pushing too greatly on its segmented underside. The two forces shoved with obsessiveness against each other, both hoping to gain ground.

Soon, Erin's pushing caused her to start dragging herself backwards across the dirted ground. Unfortunately, this now brought her legs to a more straightened position—and ready to be bitten.

Janice tried for them but Erin was ready for it and, at once, began a desperate and malicious series of alternating kicks at Janice's head. Yet with each kick, the spider tried to bite at Erin's shoes to snare them in her injecting fangs. The movements of action for both enemies were rapid and filled with rage. Erin let loose a string of obscenities as she attacked the spider with her catapulting legs. The pain of her right and casted leg seemed like only a gnawing phantom now against the pure rage Erin felt toward the unnatural attacker. Erin's eyes were possessed, primal as the core of her being screamed one glaring directive: protect your daughter at all costs.

That overriding instinct was increased tenfold as, even though Janice was being bombarded with either a sneaker-shoed foot or a plaster-casted one, the spider shot out a front leg and stuck its tip to Jessie's chest. Janice then yanked the leg back—or at least tried to—with the intention of snatching the child out of Erin's grasp.

But the mother howled, "NOOO!!!" and kept a firm arm lock around the wailing little girl while snappingly swatting the leg away with the other arm. "KEEP AWAY!!!" she spat and continued to slam the spider's head with crazily pumping legs.

But Janice had had enough of this head-on approach as its brain was beginning to fog a bit from the repeated traumas. It backed off and began to circle around Erin in hopes of being able to get closer to her head. But Erin immediately sat up and tracked the spider's arcing with her eyes _and_ her legs. Wherever Janice curved, Erin kept her legs pointed directly at the skittering monstrosity. She did this with quick, jerking movements of her one supporting, shifting arm and hand, spinning herself on the axis which consisted of her rear. Her exhausted and nearly locked up legs assisted in the harried, desperate rotation. Janice tried switching to the opposite direction in circling the two, but Erin was ready for it and continued her dead on track of its movements.

Suddenly, the spider stopped and faced Erin, its several bulging eyes jittering with utter rage.

From its fangs another generous amount of deathly fluid dripped down, threatening to hit the ground. Janice dipped its head then flung it up with a jerk. The toxic spray went flying toward Erin, who once again blocked it with her arm to shield her face.

But she couldn't completely barricade Jessie's and a splotch of poison landed on the one-year-old's cheek dangerously close to the mouth. A centimeter more and it would have been swallowed in. Erin saw the spot and hurriedly, forcefully rubbed it away and off of Jessie's face.

As Erin rapidly did this, Janice skittered closer, redirecting a bit to get out of the kicking line of sight.

Erin jolted herself into a realignment with her feet aim of the spider. The thing halted, produced more ooze, and vaulted the splatter straight at the woman and child yet again.

But this time, Erin was more prudent in her avoidance measures—she didn't block the volley of deadly spit, she got out of its way entirely. By convulsively repositioning her head and torso to one side, she was able to miss the venom altogether while still keeping her legs trained and ready for the spider.

Janice tried again. And again. Same effect. Erin was embolden now, a new adrenaline energized her being; the spider, the unholy and soulless thing would not win. No matter what it tried. _Protect the child,_ her core blared out like a repeated mantra over a central and powerful bullhorn. The order apparently superseded any body exhaustion or mountains of pain she had been mocked by in the moments before now.

Janice was seething beyond repair. It couldn't bring itself back to a clear reason of the situation at hand. It wanted the woman and the little one so vehemently, so obsessively that to be repeatedly denied their full access was preposterously insane and infuriating. It couldn't think of anything better to do than to back up a few feet, tensely haunch its rear legs, and madly, abruptly, ferociously launch itself into a truly blink-and-you'll-miss-it leap into the air. Its bounding was precise as it intended and landed in a dead-on target of Erin and Jessie.

Had she even reacted a split second later, the soles of her feet would not have been in the right position to make contact with the hyper-speedy descending spider's underbelly. Once it landed with all of its mammoth weight on her, her legs bent to their full clenched tension capacity, pressing against her sternum. For a second, the spider chomped away mere inches from Erin and Jessie's hollering, wrecked faces. A line of venom sparkled and expanded swingingly from a fang to come centimeters from Jessie's eye.

But then Erin screamed the majority of her remaining strength in her body and mind and took both her legs to shove the whole of the black horror off of her. The leg-flailing Janice landed on the very end of its much larger, ballooned hind segment and was slowly and slightly teetering. Erin pushed herself desperately forward to attempt more kicks in the hopes of upending the monster. Janice was madly bringing her legs in to latch onto Erin's legs in hopes of keeping the flipover from happening. But it wasn't enough.

In the next instant, the great spider was flat on its back, legs furiously pumping and swinging at the air above it. A deep, spewing rattle fissured from the near-insane-with-rage creature.

Erin stared at the upside-down behemoth with vicious eyes and a victorious roar from her tensed and teeth-baring mouth. She shouted, "HA!!! _HA!!!"_ with arrogant triumph, then she lay back down ploppingly and laughed with menace mixed with fatigue.

The upended spider could only continue to furiously work its legs, bending it segments in mad futility. The sputtering and long-issuing rattle vomited out of the seemingly defeated beast.

While Erin laughed with abandon, Jessie still saw fit to sob and howl in fear and disturbance. The girl saw the wildly air-stabbing and evilly-crooked legs and was truly petrified of the huge wretch, regardless of its current position.

Seconds later, Erin's laughter had died down and transitioned into heavy and labored breaths. She stared at the sky and reveled in a bit of restful respite, free from the threat of attack and the pressing weight of bodily misery—shock had finally kicked in. At least for the time being.

She brought her crying daughter up closer to her face and kissed her tear-streaked cheek. "Shhh, baby," Erin consoled Jessie, "I've got you, shhhhh..." The frazzled toddler buried her head in Erin's throat and hugged her mother tight. "...I got you..." Erin almost whispered.

"Mama," Jessie concurred through the sobs, "No bug!"

"That's right, baby...that's right..." Erin brought her eyes to glance at Janice once more, feeling unease at being just feet from the sprawled and leg-swinging demon.

Abruptly, however, the leg movements ceased. The slowed wobbling of the body as a result of the leg flails also subsided. The gigantic, opaque devil became motionless, as if it had expended itself of all energies and was drawing to a close in its mortal performance on this earth.

Erin's curiosity now married with her hopes in wondering if perhaps the cursed abnormality truly _was_ coming to an end of its life span. Spiders, normal ones anyway, typically didn't live that long, a few years at most...could it possibly be...?

Janice's legs began movement again but not in crazy grasps at nothing. They were angling, bending, curving on its body, hugging itself firmly and compactly. Now it seemed as if the legs were somehow a new structure of the bulbous and black-pearly skin of the hind segment.

And in the next instant, Erin watched in horror as the evolved and highly intelligent spider began see-sawing itself from side to side. It continued this maneuver with greater and greater teetering momentum. It would be a matter of a minute or two before it would right itself once more...

"OH GOD," Erin gasped, fear gripping her heart. _Get on your feet! NOW!_ her thoughts ordered. _RIGHT NOW!_

Keeping Jessie held close to her chest, Erin sat up with reckless haste and made the monumentally arduous bid to get to her feet...

Janice's continued progress with teetering had almost rolled itself on its side...

It was as if a bolder had been attached to her backside as Erin sluggishly rose to her feet; Jessie kept shrillingly bawling, which only compounded the psychological burden. The adrenaline rush she had encountered on her back seemed to have stayed on the ground as massive fatigue pressurized her entire being. Her face utterly reflected the loss of heightened energy as it sagged; the eyes drooped, drained of intensity.

She took a step—and nearly fell back down. The right leg was fully numb and, were it not for the hardened cast, it would have faltered completely underneath her.

Another step was attempted with a bit more success, but it felt incredibly odd to do when one appendage felt as if it wasn't there. She had to keep her head down and train her eyes on her highly awkward and rigid steps.

Jessie was becoming extremely heavy, even with both hands to support and secure the profusely sobbing child. Which was another point of increasingly contentious drag and frustration to her mind's stability. On the verge of tears again herself, Erin begged, "Jessie... _please..."_ But it did nothing to quiet the little girl, the quivering howls railed on.

Janice rolled on her side, balanced a promising teeter...and rolled on to her back once more. The spewing rattle from the spider was deafening now, soul-wrenching.

Erin had roughly ten more steps to the far-out-of-commission outhouse. But each new step seemed more leaden and burdensome. She feared she would simply collapse before she covered even half that distance. Jessie's crying was now triggering an irrational anger in Erin's instinctual reflexes, and she gritted, _"Jessie...stop it...PLEASE..."_ No avail. Another step. Her left leg was now wobbling, shivering from pure fatigue. The kicks had caused a great deal of muscle overexertion. It was clear to Erin now that it would take everything she had to close the distance to the termite-weakened outhouse. Another step. Somehow she stayed up. Another. Her left knee buckled but held her in standing. Roughly seven more to go...

Roll...teeter...but suddenly, a bursting pain to one of Janice's legs. Back on its back, rattling deeply and hellishly...

Another step—THUD!—her left knee faltered and she dropped down to it. Now both of them were bawling inconsolably. Erin quickly ordered herself, "Get up, get up..."

A white hot poker seemed to have replaced a long segment of Janice's leg and it never felt such pure agony before. Clearly its legs were never designed to hug themselves around its ridiculously enlargened back half, and when the last roll to its side put too much pressure on one of the hind legs, it overstrained the crooked appendage. Nevertheless, Janice kept the severely inflamed thing wrapped and in alignment with the rest of the legs. It would ragedly see-saw on to achieve its goal _no matter what._

Erin's face shook and her eyes cinched shut as she struggled against all reason to lumber her left leg back up to stand. The strain was crampingly felt in that knee and pain found her again. Her breaths powerhoused speedily from her lungs and throat. Another step, the leg wobbled and jittered worse than ever. Another. Now it simply locked up on her, and she stepped the next like a child's version of a petrified mummy.

Rolled on its side, hoping, hoping—white flash of shrilling, stabbing agony—rolled back down with a side-to-side wobbling once more. _Weak! Weak fool!_ it screamed in its poisoned mind. Teetered the rolls to gain progress once more...

One more step, walking like she was on mini-stilts—that were about to break as if supporting enormous weight. Her whole body rattled with crippling trauma of pure exhaustion. But her mind still boomed the core directive of Jessie's safety.

Unfortunately, her body's depletion of energy had wholly other instructions. She plummeted to the ground landing to her front side. Jessie became sandwiched between her mother and the dirt kicked-up ground. Needles to say, she cried even louder, with more fearful intensity. They were approximately six feet away from the outhouse. There was, however, no way that Erin was getting back up again. She cried with tears spilling from her wrecked face. She allowed Jessie to get out from under her then directed the child, "Go, baby, go! Get to the outhouse!"

But Jessie sat up and faced her mother. "Mommy! Come!" she pleaded through hiccupping sobs.

"I will, baby, I will, but you have to go ahead of me! Go! Go! The door's open, _GO!"_

See-saw...see-saw...seee-saaw...roll through the inferno of pain...on its siiiiiide...

Shattered but compliant, Jessie crawled vigorously to the outhouse, reaching it in seconds. She crawled inside and turned to look back at Erin, her eyes bulging with hysteria as she screamed, "Mommyyy!"

Erin dragged her ground-flattened body by the hands and slowly made forward progress. Her arms tensed terribly...

...Siiiiiiiiiiiide, teeterrrrrrred, enduring the misery, aaaaannd...rolled onto it's belly, righted once more! The rattle issued longingly in victory of the spider's hard-earned achievement. Now it had to unwrap and uncross its legs...even the damaged one. It began the difficult and awkward process...

Three feet to the outhouse, to her old refuge from "The Great Grandy Monster" of her cherished and deeply missed youth. How Erin wished she was a twelve-year-old again, and the only dread she experienced was whether she would be caught and tickled beyond repair. Two feet to the outhouse. She silently begged her arms not to lock up, like it seemed they were threatening to do at any instant...

The two front legs on either side of Janice were now unhugged of the body and branched out to their natural extension. They now aided in propping the body to uncurl the two sets of middle legs...

A foot from the door and the scream-pleading Jessie—Erin tortured her energy-starved arms to drag her leaden body forth. Her breaths warned of hyperventilation and a loss of consciousness. Her eyes shimmered with glaze as she glanced away from Jessie to turn a look at the spider.

She noticed that it was still faced away from her but that it now had its front and middle legs unwrapped and in normal positions of sprouting outward crookedly to its sides. It was in the process of righting its hind pair of either-end legs. What Erin couldn't see or know was that one of those legs was the searingly damaged one. And the spider was not going to unwrap them in a rapid fashion by any means.

She whipped her head back around and desperately pleaded with her mind, body, and soul for one last burst of precious, muscle-fueling adrenaline, no matter how limited it might be. She closed her eyes and buried her head in the dirt; a blossom of now folded, bent weeds pressed up against her mouth, tickling her lips.

" _Moooomyyyy!"_

Janice had the uninjured hind leg uncoiled and at its proper extension, but the damaged one was proving a miseried and prolonged task...

Erin summoned all of her courage—even though she had a massive feeling she would faint by the end of the task—all her remaining scraps of core energy...and roared teeth-grittingly to the close of the last foot. A few fast spews of harried breath and she roared forth again to grab the splintery wood frame with one convulsive hand, then the other.

Janice shook its way through the uncurving of the final and injured leg. But now that it was in its rightful place, the spider was loathed to put any pressure on it. It decided to proceed as best it could to do so with the remaining seven good and capable legs. And although agony still rang out from its damaged part, it found it could still maneuver quite well as it turned to focus its attentions unwaveringly toward the outhouse. And the woman who still had her legs jutting out of the doorway of the dilapidated structure. The little one appeared to be behind the bigger, embracing the chest. The woman was staring back at the spider with a severely pained face, as if she was plagued with kidney stones or in the process of giving birth. Only twenty feet away, nothing it couldn't handle in seconds flat...

The seven demon's legs in their segmented glory rushed forth in coordinated fury...

"JESSIE, GRAB MY LEGS!!! GET ONE AND PULL IT UP!!! QUICK!!! QUICK!!!"

Jessie obeyed and did her damnedest considering her limited age and strength to pull upward Erin's right leg. Once it was up enough and inside the doorway, Erin inched a move to prop it against the dingy walling.

"NOW THE OTHER ONE!!!"

Janice was five feet from the door, closing...

Jessie screamed horrifically as she pulled the other leg of her mother's up and out of the way of the door frame. Erin reached up and over Jessie to madly reach for the door.

She slammed it shut and latched it just as Janice ferociously, forcefully, rattlingly smashed itself headlong into the thing. The impact rocked and shimmied the entire structure of the wooden and dusty latrine.

_NO!!!_ the insane spider raged at the center of its consciousness. _NO! NO! NO!!!_ Its hind leg flared with explosively frayed nerves with each holler of the mind. But it didn't care, _damn the pain, I won't stop, I'll never stop! These two are mine if I have to agonizingly strain the rest of my legs tearing this little box into a thousand pieces!!!_

It backed up six or seven feet then came ramming forth at top speed and jammed itself into the outhouse a second structure-reverberating time. It could hear the screams of the two inside. And inwardly, Janice drank in their fear like warming liquor. It backed up and pounded again...

And noticed something encouraging...

The outhouse, for an instant, had reared, lifted up a tiny fraction as a result of the hit.

_Aaaah yesss,_ Janice soothed itself in realizing the answer to a particular problem it faced...

Now it reversed way, way far back—thirty feet at least...

...And came charging...

WHAM!!!

The outhouse shook on its hinges and reared up roughly three to four inches before it slammed back down. The screams inside were maddening, high-pitch hollerings of gripping fear.

The multiple eyes of the spider swiveled with madness and a certain loss of equilibrium as a result of the hit. But it also drowned itself in sickening euphoria at the knowledge of its accomplishment. It would suffer a severe concussion if it had to. If it finally meant acquisition and gluttonous consuming of the two females inside the wooden box!

Janice took a brief instant to collect its bearings, fix its eyes, then it proceeded to back up once more. This time it went as far back as it could—all the way to the outer walling of the cabin. It zeroed its focus dead on the ramming target of the outhouse and tensed its body to spring forth...

...And then catapulted into a full-force, top speed skittering run. Within seconds, Janice closed the distance and battering-rammed its head into the unrooted outhouse. The impact immediately injected phantoms of stars within the spider's vision but it could still witness what was happening before it: the outhouse was noisily, creakingly teetering at roughly a forty-five degree angle on the opposite bottom from Janice. To help the structure make its decision to fully tip over, Janice quickly dove in and shoved from underneath, somewhat upward.

And that did it. Inside the outhouse, Erin and Jessie howled all throughout as the outhouse around them fell over and crashed to its side. The two felt the overturning impact knock them to their cores and chatter their teeth. The shock of the crash also lessened the structural integrity of the wooden cubicle, unhinging edges and corners, misaligning walling and roof connections. What the termites and time hadn't done, the violent fall certainly had. Within, Erin and Jessie were now shot with random and harsh, dust-exposing shafts of daylight. One stabbed Erin in the eye and she squinted, turned away. Both cried fearfully.

Outside, Janice waited half a minute to allow the dancing stars in its vision to subside at a reasonable level. It felt a rolling and severe ache in its brain center but wasn't deterred by it. In fact, the sanity-free spider now reveled in it, used it to fuel the rageful desire it had to do what came next.

It climbed atop the outhouse in what used to be the sidewall featuring the door. And immediately began jabbing its leg tips into the loose boards and unhingings. Once the legs were set in wounded divots of the structure, Janice viciously yet joyfully started pulling its legs upward.

Within, Erin and Jessie witnessed some of the disturbing light shafts wink out as blackened and multi-thornish tips plugged or dug in the hinging gaps. In the next instant, they heard horrid creakings of wood being bent upward. Now greater and more horrifying rays of dust-populated light poured down on their shivering forms. Jessie screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Erin simply could no longer scream, she was expended of everything but the ability to grimace horribly in silent and gushing tears. Failure was coming. Failure to keep her daughter from a monster beyond all monsters. Failure at protecting what she most ironically didn't want at one period of fear and uncertainty in her life.

As the wanting and soulless thing slowly but surely tore up the final barrier between itself and her and Jessie, Erin's tried and true gnaw of curiosity poked through her shredded mind to wonder if her life would have had any real meaning had she chosen to terminate her pregnancy—as she as had once considered doing. Would she have found something else that gave her life a satisfying purpose to continue enduring the seemingly countless days, some of them blinding, crushing hardship or humiliation.

She could now see the head of the spider staring down at her and her angel through a jagged and knifing large gap in the structure. It rattled deeply and wantingly. Then continued ripping the boards for better access.

The curiosity gave way to remembrance of when Erin had just found out she was going to have a baby. And instead of going directly to her parents, she drove straight to here, to the cabin and confided in Grandy. Shamefully, she admitted that she wasn't sure she was going to have the baby, thinking that Grandy might become enraged, slap her, and tell her she would be disowned if she did so.

But Grandy was nothing of the kind. Instead she hugged her granddaughter and sat her down on the couch. They talked for a long time about the options: abortion, adoption, and, of course, keeping it. Finally it came down to the question of a lack of money to successfully fund the raising of the child. Erin had feared, "What if I'm just another idiot who can't support their kid, and then it gets taken away from me? I mean, I graduated from college and everything, but my internship led to nothing and I have no prospects. What am I going to do?"

"Well," Grandy said after letting out a deep breath and staring intently at Erin, "if you decide to keep it—and I really hope you do, darling—then...you'll think of something. Do you remember what I told you when you were younger about surviving in trying times? You have to _use_ what you have around you. There _are_ resources—and I'm not talking about being another leech off the government, I'm talking about putting your fear and despair aside and coming up with a strategy that's worthy of what you're capable of. There's more in this world than you've considered, _believe_ me." And then Grandy gave Erin one of her famous disarming yet loaded smiles. "You'll figure something out, sweetheart..." Then her lined with years brow rose with an indication of harsh reality's logistics. "...I mean, you'll have to, won't you."

Erin had glanced away from her grandmother, one of her best friends in life, zigzagged her eyes in meaningful contemplation, and then nodded a few times in slow motion.

The spider's legs had ripped and torn away a massive portion of the outhouse's walling. Had the cubicle been built of the same thickness of wood and firmly planted nails that the cabin was made of, the spider wouldn't have stood a chance of getting through to terrorize the fragile minds and bodies of the two girls. But to Janice's supreme and psychotic delight, it was nowhere near that solid a construction. Another board to turn into a ripped away projectile. And Janice would be cleared enough to angle inward, sink down its head, and _definitely_ to sinks its fangs into the woman's throat. Or maybe the eyes, Janice considered with mad delight.

"Goodbye, Jessie," Erin hoarsed through her convulsive sobbing. "I love you..."

"Love mama!" Jessie replied in hysterical fear at what was coming for them.

RR-RR-R-RRRRIIIIIP!!!

The board was torn completely off and flung far away behind the Janice.

The gigantic spider hovered above them for a brief instant, clicking and smacking its wetted fangs in giddy anticipation...

Jessie shrilled a top-of-her-lungs and prolonged scream in fear of the coming attack...

And Janice insanely plunged, fangs at the ready and aimed straight down at the woman's drooping, almost lifeless eyes— _RATTL-L-L-L-L-L-LE—_

And then it CEASED right as a short squelching sound was made. Halted literally two inches above Erin's face, the spider's fangs hovered twitchingly, drippingly over her closed and cinched eyelids.

While Janice had been tearing the boarded wall to fibrous and dangerously jagged bits, most of the multi-pointed and splintery-sharp pieces had been tossed far away behind the ferociously working spider.

Some, however, fell inward in the rapid frenzy of wall destruction and elimination.

One actually fell quite close to Erin's midsection...a ten to twelve inch spikey-ended shard of wood.

That piece was now pointed upward, gripped in her muscle-locked hands near her chest.

And deeply embedded in the segmental divide between Janice's over-sized rear section and its now lifeless head.

Erin had hoped to position the makeshift weapon just right so that it would possibly stab the assumed softer, less armored hinge that was the segmental division of the spider. She only had a wing and a prayer aim to make it true.

And God be praised if you truly believe, it actually worked.

_Of coursed it worked, deary-dear,_ Grandy's phantom voice sailed through her mind. _It worked because it had to. You used what you had about you and now you have survived. And your daughter is safe. Your fear and dejection didn't win._

Then Erin found herself mentally talking back to the soulful voice of her cherished grandmother: _Thank you...thank you. And don't ever worry, I've never forgotten anything you've told me. You'll always be one of the best things to happen in my life...even when you tickled me until I couldn't breath...Thank you, I love you._

And then consciousness quickly left her.

Chapter 27

"Boy, you sure are one lucky ricket-face," a familiar voice drifted up from the black fog of unknowing.

Erin's eyelids felt thick and heavy, a burden to open. She managed a tentative separation of them to gage her present surroundings, which appeared to be predominantly a blurrish white and mired by repetitive machine beeps. She let her vision sink into dark grey again and assessed that she was lying on a bed in a hospital room. Again. within a month's time. The pain of her leg was coming back to her. "Hm?" she muttered to the voice, the familiar one that she couldn't pinpoint right away, but eventually identified as Dean's.

"I said you're damn lucky to be breathing, Toehead."

Erin ventured another go at splitting her lids to let the world come fuzzily into view. She turned her head to track the unfocused face of her older brother. "Hey..."

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"My leg is starting to hurt."

"Yeah. They had to recast it. The swelling was too much and they had to take the first one off to allow the pressure to subside a bit. If the pain gets too bad we'll get someone in here, okay?"

"Okay...where's everyone?"

"They're eating right now. I'd eaten earlier at work so I agreed to stay and watch to see if you'd wake up. So you'd at least have some family to wake up to. Good timing, right?"

"I feel so blessed," she dryly announced.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, I have a question for you, if you don't mind me asking."

"Okay."

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT THING that attacked you out there? It looked like a black widow but was _huge._ It was like some _really_ strange freak of nature or something, no one I've talked to has _ever_ seen anything like it. It's being studied by top experts or something, probably as we speak."

"They shouldn't study it, they should burn the hell out of it."

"Well anyway, like I said, you're super lucky to be alive, especially with what Jessie did—"

"She okay?" Erin asked quickly.

"She's terrific, couldn't be better," he beamed.

"What do you mean, what she did?"

"Well, that thing apparently had its, you know, _fangs_ right directly over your eyes. And it was dripping venom out of its biters there. If Jessie hadn't put her hands over your eyes, that stuff probably would have gotten into your tear ducts and into your bloodstream. And then it would have been, you know, adios for you, most likely anyway. I mean, isn't that crazy? How would she have known what that stuff really was and what it could do?"

Erin stared off in morbid contemplation. "...Maybe...she just didn't want any of that thing to touch me..."

"Maybe...she's truly remarkable, that kid..."

"...She's one of them."

"Hm?" confusion screwed up his face.

"The people from Ellison and Bauer. Who they are, what they are..."

" _Jessie?_ Is one of them?" His eyes wrinkled further under drawn-in brows. "They told you this?"

"No...the...other ones did."

"The Pear-Paul's?"

She nodded. "They were going to use her as some sort of...plant or spy or something when she got older...that filth, Stanford Jordan, he was practically frothing at the mouth to put the plan into action."

"You think they might try and come after her? Maybe it's necessary that we all give up this town and move _far,_ far away. Did you discuss this with the Ell-Bau's?"

"No...I haven't wanted to face them."

"Why?"

"...Because I've just been trying to sift through all of this in my head. Those sick bastards, they wanted to use her...but what do the Ell-Bau's want her for too? That scares me. I mean, would they want to take her away from me as well? What is it they're all really about, _who_ are they really?"

Looking away and resting his chin in his cupped hand, Dean contemplated. "...Yeah, I see your point..."

"...I think that thing that attacked us at the cabin was part of Pear-Paul."

"What makes you think that?"

"Don't you remember from that police report of the company exec that was killed?"

"Wholly crap, I totally forgot about that..."

"How he was injected with a serious amount of spider venom...?"

"Oh my God," he uttered as his eyes wandered in realization and horror. "...You're right...cripes, they _made_ that thing...how sick and twisted do you really have to be to create something like that...?"

"Dean, have the Ell-Bau people contacted you at all about anything? About Jessie maybe?"

"No...I haven't heard from them since the last time you were in here."

"Nobody's going to take Jessie away. No matter what anyone has planned. I'll die first."

"So will I," he said with as much conviction as he heard in her voice.

She took a breath of digression then said to him, "Thanks...for coming out there to get us—"

"Oh, it wasn't me..." Now there was a sly smile on his face as he continued, "It was Curt actually."

Now it was her turn to grimace in complete confusion. _"Curt?_ What was _he_ doing out there?"

Sheepishness owned his bodily movements. "Um...I can't believe I'm going to talk to you about this, this is _so dumb_ , I mean, he's such an idiot..." He shook his head, embarrassed.

" _What?"_

He tried to compose his thoughts enough to trudge through the uncomfortableness to answer. "...He...he was going to come up and surprise you with some help in organizing and packing...and then he was going to ask you out..."

She looked away, embarrassed herself now, but not looking too terribly disconcerted by her brother's revelation. _"Really..."_

Dean's eyes kept staring at her, darting away, looking back, and so on. "...Sooo, what do you think, pretty silly, huh? I guess he had done some reevaluating of his priorities after what we went through and all...I guess I always suspected he had a thing for you but, you know, you being my sister and all, I didn't really have any, uh..."

"Desire to see your best friend date your ricket-face sister?" she finished for him with a sly smile of her own.

"Yeah...something like that." And he smiled with continued abashedness. "Look, if you want to go out with him, go out with him. But if you don't, then tell it straight to him, don't go through me and make me the barer of bad n—"

"I'll tell him."

"Good. Okay... _what_ are you going to tell him—?"

"I'll go out on a date with him."

"You're still silly from the drugs maybe..."

"No, I'm serious, I'll do it."

"What? You have something for him too?"

"Well...that really depends on _how much_ reevaluating he's done."

Chapter 28

Twenty minutes later, the rest of the family returned to Erin's hospital room and enthusiastically celebrated her consciousness. Al, who had Jessie, gave the child to her mother and they embraced tightly, staying close to each other in the bed. They all morbidly marveled over the freakish spider that had been responsible for putting Erin back in the hospital. The topic held the room for a good twenty minutes. Then they moved on once again to the motives as to Curt surprising visit to the cabin. Al ribbed Erin about the attraction the young man of twenty-seven had for her. Dean being Dean naturally announced that his sister had agreed to accept Curt's invitation for a first date. This elicited a sharp look of disdain from sister to dear brother.

Two hours later, it had become time to be heading back home—Jessie's bedtime would be coming up shortly. Al and Dean agreed to go on ahead so that Sophie would have time for a private and crucial chat with her daughter.

Erin kissed Jessie at least twenty times before she allowed the little "chosen" one to part from her sight. Then she said heartfelt goodbyes to the men and Jessie, and settled in to focus intently on her tensed, anxious mother.

When they were alone, Sophie smiled as warmly as she could considering all that she had bottled up inside, all that was ripping away at her mind and soul. She began with, "You know, Jessie's beginning to look more and more like you everyday."

Erin rolled her eyes a touch, _"Oh,_ she looks the same, come on now—"

"No, I'm serious," Sophie beamed emphatically, "She does, I've really noticed it, she's changing before our very eyes, it's remarkable..." She blinked and darted her eyes about as she braved a new path in the conversation. "...I wanted to...I wanted to apologize for how I treated you, honey."

Out of obligation, Erin said, "It's okay."

"No, it really isn't...there are things that...there are things that I've been struggling with...things that I've wanted to talk to you about but I haven't quite known how to do it..."

"Do you blame me for what has happened to us—?"

" _No,"_ Sophie breathed, _"No..."_ Tears lined her lids quickly and further lensed her eyes as she continued. "No, it was..." Sophie's chin shivered.

"What _is_ it, mom?" Erin asked with tremendous concern, her eyebrows arching in.

Sophie looked away then back at Erin, intensely. "...Do you know how proud I am that you've endured so much to protect your daughter? To protect all of us? And I know that you will continue to do so. No matter what comes along... _All_ of us are willing to do what it takes...to keep this family safe and together. Right?"

"Right," Erin echoed but the concern never left her face. "Mom, what has happened?"

"Not now, dear," her mother denied almost robotically. "Perhaps another time I'll know how to talk about it with you...but not at this moment."

"...All right..."

"Do you forgive me?"

"Of course."

And now Sophie's face crumpled into lining tears of sobbing. "And for sending you up to the cabin when you clearly shouldn't have...?"

" _Yes,_ of course," Erin said as she reached out her IV-free arm to gently clasp her mother's upper arm. Crying generously, loudly, Sophie fell her head into Erin's chest and embraced her bed-ridden daughter. Erin returned the enfold. "I just wish I knew what was eating at you."

"I wish I could tell you..." Sophie bellowed sobbingly.

And they held each other for a while.
