Page 25

Fiona's eyelids fluttered open, revealing a harsh white ceiling. Her throat ached as she shifted in the stiff hospital bed. Bandages wrapped tightly around her neck felt like a second skin, uncomfortable but necessary. The sterile scent of antiseptics invaded her nostrils, a sharp reminder of where she was. Memories of the night before lingered at the edge of her consciousness, hazy and fragmented like a nightmare she couldn't fully recall.

"Ms. Red," a voice broke through her disorientation. Fiona turned her head slightly, wincing at the pull of tender skin. A doctor, clad in pale blue scrubs, stood beside her with a clipboard in hand. His face was a mask of professional concern, eyes scanning her vitals on a nearby monitor.

"You're incredibly lucky," he said, his tone even but carrying an undercurrent of gravity. "The knife... it came dangerously close. Any deeper, and it would have severed your jugular vein."

She processed his words slowly, each syllable heavy with meaning. Lucky. She almost laughed at the irony. An FBI agent, freshly minted yet nearly joining the victims she sought to avenge. But there was no time for self-pity; she was alive, spared by mere millimeters from a fate she had seen all too often in her line of work.

The doctor continued to explain, detailing the delicate procedures done to save her life, but Fiona's thoughts drifted. She imagined the orb-weaver spiders, silent witnesses to violence and death, much like she had been throughout her career. Even now, their silken threads seemed to connect the fragments of her past and present, weaving a pattern that led her to this moment.

Survival. It wasn't just about living through the night. It was about piecing together the puzzles left behind by those who had succumbed to darkness. Fiona knew that better than anyone. With Gregory Dalton dead, the questions that gnawed at her were momentarily silenced, replaced by the raw reality of her own mortality.

"Rest now," the doctor advised, stepping back as the machines beeped rhythmically around her. "You've been through a significant trauma. It's important to let your body heal."

As he walked away, leaving her alone with the steady pulse of the heart monitor, Fiona closed her eyes. She breathed in deeply, the scent of antiseptics grounding her to the here and now. There would be time for answers, for closure. But for now, she clung to the doctor's words.

Incredibly lucky.

Yes, she thought, she was. Not just because the blade missed its lethal mark, but because she had something to wake up for—a purpose that reached beyond the pain and the sterile white walls. She had a chance to continue her search for truth, and for that, she was truly grateful.

The click of the closing door signaled the doctor's exit, and in the same breath, her parents burst into the hospital room. Their faces were canvases of conflicting emotions—relief painted over a base coat of worry. Without hesitation, they enveloped Fiona in a tight embrace; their arms felt like the walls of the morgue back home, cold yet oddly comforting.

"Sweetheart, we're so sorry for all you’ve been through," her mother's voice trembled like the delicate legs of a daddy longlegs. "We should have known, should have realized how dangerous your job can be."

"We've been so wrapped up with Joslyn," her father added, his face creasing with guilt, "that we forgot about the risks you take every day."

Fiona felt the pressure of their hug tightening around her bandaged neck, but she didn't wince. Their concern was a balm to her bruised spirit, even as it smothered her slightly.

"Joslyn?" Fiona managed to whisper through the pain. Her thoughts flew to her sister, whose silence had been a heavy shroud over the family for too long.

Her parents stepped back, their hands lingering on her as if to ensure she was real, unharmed by their grasp. "She's... well, she hasn't spoken again," her mother said, the light dimming in her eyes for an instant before reigniting. "But she seems more alert, Fiona. There's something different about her gaze, as if she's fighting to break the surface."

A smile flickered across Fiona's face, cutting through the discomfort. Alert. That was promising. In the world of entomology, behavior was a sign of life, a signal that there was still fight left within. If Joslyn was becoming more aware, then maybe, just maybe, the cocoon that held her captive was beginning to unravel.

"Can I see her?" Fiona asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"Of course, honey." Her father nodded, the undertaker's habitual somberness shifting into something softer. "When you're ready."

"Thank you," Fiona murmured. Despite everything, Fiona clung to the belief that, like the intricate webs spun by the orb-weaver spiders, connections mattered—and Joslyn's reawakening connection to the world was a thread worth following.

The rap on the door was soft, almost hesitant, but it shattered the fragile calm that had settled in the sterile hospital room. Fiona's parents, who had been hovering close by, turned as one toward the sound. Jake stepped into the threshold, eyes scanning the room before settling on Fiona. His posture was a mix of concern, etched with palpable relief.

"Jake," her father said, stepping forward and clasping the younger man's hand fervently. "Thank you for what you did. You're a good man."

"Couldn't have done anything less," Jake replied, his voice tinged with modesty. A slight discomfort flickered across his features, a telltale sign that praise sat uneasily on his shoulders.

"Thank you," her mother added, her words laden with gratitude. She reached out to touch his arm briefly before looking at her daughter. "We'll give you two a moment."

Fiona watched as her parents filed out, their silent exchange speaking volumes. They trusted Jake; they owed him their daughter's life. The door clicked shut behind them, and she felt the shift in the room as privacy enveloped them.

"Hey, Red," Jake murmured, taking a seat beside her bed. His hand found hers, warm and steady. He looked into her eyes, and she saw the unspoken fear that had haunted him since the attack—a fear that mirrored her own.

"Jake..." Fiona started, but her throat tightened around the word. Swallowing hard against the pain, she tried again. "I could see it in your eyes, back there. You were scared."

"Terrified," he admitted, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Seeing you like that... I thought I'd lost you."

They fell into silence, a comfortable space they had learned to share. It was filled with the unspoken understanding of two people who had faced death together. They didn't need to rehash the grisly details; the end of Gregory's reign of terror was closure enough.

"Gregory's gone," she whispered, the simple truth carrying the weight of finality. "It's over."

"It is," Jake agreed, his voice low but firm. "And there's justice for my mom now. Fifteen years... and finally, this."

Fiona nodded, feeling the closure for Jake's long-held wound, for the women whose lives had been brutally taken, for the city that could breathe easier now. Gregory Dalton would haunt no more kitchens, plant no more spiders. And while the ache in her neck was a reminder of how close she had come to being another of his victims, the presence of Jake—steady and true—was a balm against the memory of steel against her skin.

Fiona's gaze lingered on Jake, the sharp lines of worry that had creased his forehead now smoothed into a look of quiet resignation. "I wish we could have seen him stand trial," he said, eyes clouding over with a regret that seemed to age him beyond his years.

"Me too," Fiona murmured, though in her heart, the relief of survival was a louder beat than the desire for prolonged justice. She had attended enough trials as an analyst to know the agony of reliving trauma in the pursuit of legal retribution. "But you're here, and I'm here. That's what matters."

Jake nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The room felt smaller, somehow, the two of them cocooned within it, away from the horrors that had so nearly claimed Fiona's life. Her fingers brushed against the scratchy hospital blanket, the sensation grounding her as she leaned into the moment's fragile peace.

The door burst open with such sudden force that Fiona's heart stuttered in her chest. Her parents stood framed in the doorway, their faces alight with an emotion she hadn't seen in ages—hope. "Fiona, darling!" her mother exclaimed, rushing forward with arms wide.

"Joslyn's awake," her father said, voice thick with unshed tears. "She's asking for you!"

A surge of emotions flooded through Fiona, a torrential mix of joy and disbelief. Joslyn, her sister who had been lost in more ways than one, reaching out from the silence that had ensnared her. Fiona felt the bandages tug at her neck as a smile broke through, the pain a dull ache compared to the elation blossoming within her chest.

"Really?" The word was a breath, barely audible over the pounding of her own heartbeat.

"Really." Her mother nodded emphatically, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Can I see her?" Fiona asked, pushing herself up despite the weakness that protested every movement.

"Of course, love. Of course." Her father moved closer, ready to assist.

With each step toward hope, Fiona's exhaustion waned, replaced by a growing lightness she hadn't dared to feel since Joslyn's disappearance. She clung to her parents' words, letting them carry her forward on a tide of relief and anticipation. The nightmare that had plagued her for a decade was giving way to the possibility of a new day, and as she looked up into the eyes of her family, Fiona knew they were on the cusp of something miraculous—the rebirth of their once fractured family.

Fiona leaned heavily on Jake as they made their way to the psychiatric ward. Her legs were still shaky, her body protesting with every hurried step. But urgency propelled her forward, through the sterile corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. She barely noticed the disinfectant that clung to the air, a sharp reminder of the hospital's ceaseless battle against the invisible.

Jake's hand was firm on her elbow, his presence an unspoken vow of protection and support. In the maze of white walls and polished floors, he was the constant she could rely on—a lifeline in the shape of a partner who had seen her at her weakest yet never wavered.

"Almost there, Red," he murmured, reading the exhaustion etched in her features. His voice was low, meant for her ears alone, grounding her when the world threatened to spin out of focus.

"Thank you," Fiona whispered back, grateful for more than just the physical assistance. He had been her rock since the case—since before—and she found comfort in his unwavering strength.

They paused outside Joslyn's room, the number on the door standing like a sentinel to the hope that lay beyond. Fiona's heart hammered against her ribcage, a rhythm of fear and anticipation. For a moment, she hesitated, gathering the shards of courage scattered by pain and fatigue. Then, with a breath that felt like it carried the weight of years, she pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted her stopped Fiona in her tracks. There sat Joslyn, upright and aware. She was so different from the hollow shell of a sister Fiona had visited day after day, clinging to the slim thread of possibility that Joslyn would return to them.

Joslyn’s gaze met hers, lucid and piercing, and Fiona felt something inside her shift—the taut strings of despair loosening ever so slightly. She noted the faint movement of Joslyn's lips, a soft conversation with a nurse that was more miraculous than any symphony.

"H-hello," Joslyn said, the word simple yet heavy with the weight of silence broken.

"Hello," Fiona replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She drank in the sight, committing every detail to memory: the light in Joslyn's eyes, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the life that danced once more upon her features.

In the doorway, Jake remained silent, a sentinel respecting the sacred reunion unfolding before him. He offered a small nod, his role shifting seamlessly from protector to witness.

Fiona's steps faltered as she crossed the threshold, her gaze locked onto Joslyn's form on the hospital bed. The air was thick with an antiseptic sting, but it couldn't mask the sweet victory that pulsed through Fiona's veins. With a burst of energy fueled by relief and longing, Fiona closed the distance to her sister. Her hands trembled, reaching out, as tears broke free from the dams of her eyes.

"Joslyn," she choked out, the word barely escaping her lips before she wrapped her arms around her sister in an embrace that merged ten years of pain with the hope of this single moment. Joslyn's body was warm against hers, real and alive, not just a figment of wishful thinking or a shadow in her investigations. She held Joslyn tightly, afraid that letting go would somehow reverse this miracle.

Joslyn returned the embrace, her own arms weak but insistent. For those few seconds, the world outside their connection ceased to exist—there was only Fiona, Joslyn, and the bond of sisterhood that no darkness could fully extinguish.

As they parted, Fiona studied Joslyn's face, searching for signs of the vibrant, outgoing spirit she remembered. Joslyn's dark brown hair framed her pale face, a contrast to Fiona's fiery curls, yet the resemblance was undeniable. Their shared history, woven into every feature, every freckle.

"I was trapped in my own mind," Joslyn whispered, her voice raw but gaining strength. "It was like shouting into a void, no sound, just... silence." She paused, her eyes darting across Fiona's face, tracing the lines of worry that had etched themselves there over time. "But I felt you, Fiona. I started to remember your voice, your laugh, the way you'd get excited about some strange bug."

Fiona exhaled a shaky breath, each word from Joslyn dismantling another brick in the wall of dread that had surrounded her heart. Memories and self—these were the threads that wove Joslyn back into the fabric of the living. With each syllable, Fiona's analytical mind cataloged the change: the clarity in Joslyn's eyes, the purpose in her tone, the gradual return of the sister she knew.

"Keep talking, Joss," Fiona urged, a smile breaking through her tear-streaked face. "Tell me everything."

And as Joslyn continued, recounting fragmented memories, hints of her old self shining through, Fiona felt the tide turning. In a sterile room filled with the hum of medical machines, healing began—not just for Joslyn but for Fiona too. As the weight of years lifted, hope took root once more.

Jake's presence in the doorway was a silent pillar of support, his eyes never straying from Fiona as she held Joslyn. In the quiet of the room, punctuated by the soft murmur of conversation, he remained steadfast, a quiet observer to the unfolding miracle.

The door creaked, and Fiona's parents appeared, hesitation in their steps giving way to shock. Their eyes widened at the sight of Joslyn—alive in ways they hadn't seen for a decade. Wordless, they moved as one entity towards their daughters, their faces shedding years of fear and sorrow.

Fiona watched as her mother's hands fluttered like anxious butterflies before finding solace around Joslyn. Her father, ever the stoic, let out a choked sob that crumbled his composed facade. They enveloped Joslyn, a family quilt wrapping her in warmth and tears. Through the blur of her own relief, Fiona saw the lines of worry on her parents' faces smooth into expressions of awe.

"Joslyn," her mother breathed, a prayer and a plea all in one. "You're back."

With every word Joslyn spoke, the air grew lighter, as if each syllable carried away a portion of the darkness that had settled over them. The weight, the heavy cloak of uncertainty that had draped itself over the family, lifted with the cadence of her voice.

Fiona felt it—a shift in the atmosphere, a crack in the dam of pent-up emotions that now flooded the room with unspoken words and tender revelations. She clung to Joslyn's hand, a lifeline grounding her in this moment.

The room was charged with emotion, a palpable force that resonated in Fiona’s chest. She soaked in the scene: her parents holding Joslyn, Jake's watchful gaze from the threshold, the white walls of the hospital room unable to contain the magnitude of their collective relief.

Hope flickered within her, a delicate flame nurtured by the love and strength of the people around her. It wasn’t just hope for Joslyn’s recovery, but for the mending of fractures time had etched into their lives. Fiona's heart swelled, buoyed by the realization that they were turning a corner, together.

The nightmare of the past months wasn't over. Shadows still lingered, memories of blood and fear that wouldn't easily fade. But now, there was light seeping through the cracks, promising that the darkness wouldn’t last forever.

Joslyn's voice, once lost to silence, now filled the room with the music of resilience. With each word, she wove a tapestry of their past and a vision for the future—a future that seemed reachable now.

Fiona allowed herself to believe in that future. She pictured family dinners, laughter, shared stories of the days lost to them. She imagined Joslyn finding her place again, her own journey of healing entwined with theirs. And in that imagining, the fear that had gripped Fiona's heart began to loosen its hold.

They were survivors, all of them. Bound by blood and forged by trials, they stood united in the sterile glow of the hospital room. Their path forward would be laden with challenges, but they would walk it as one.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Fiona could envision moving beyond survival. They would thrive. They would rebuild stronger.