Will you Walk into my Parlour?

“Not yet,” Anabelle gently touched Martin’s arm.

“She’s right there .”

Annabelle leaned forward, fingertips brushing the strand of silk Martin desperately clung to. “I’m aware.”

There was a spider on the other end, stuck to the ceiling of the hallway. It watched as an elevator beeped and a woman stepped out. On the other end of the Spider’s Silk, Martin traced every movement.

“He’ll be fine, darling.”

“I know,” Martin’s knuckles were white.

Anabelle chuckled to herself. “Just a few moments yet.”

…

“Off you go then,” Mike gestured to the door. “Tell your Spider I didn’t touch a hair on you and never come back.”

Jon sucked in a breath. He looked fuller than he had before, face filled in, clothes actually somewhat fitting his figure. “I, er you-”

There was a knock on the door. Mike’s entire body stiffened. “So that’s him then?”

“I-maybe?” Tim stared, static rising in the air. There was something on the other side of that door, and it wasn’t human. That was all he could discern.

Mike paced. The knocking only grew louder.

He turned to Tim, face hardened. “You open it.”

“I- what?”

Mike grabbed Tim’s wrist. “This mark, it’s the Spider’s. He won’t hurt you if you’re his but I rather value my life, so either you open the door or his little pet does.”

Jon winced. “I’m not his- fine. I’ll open it if you’re going to be such a coward about it,” he spat at Mike.

“Like hell you will,” Tim stood and marched towards the door.

It was then that Jon made a realization. Martin hated knocking, any repetitive loud sounds, really. Ever since Prentiss, he’d stopped bothering with it entirely.

“Tim, that’s not-”

Tim opened the door. Daisy Tonner was on the other side.

…

“Alright,” Annabelle grinned.“Now.”

…

“Detect- Detective?” Jon rushed forward to Tim, who was clutching his stomach. That was one hell of a punch.

“Shut up. He human?”

Daisy’s hand was on her holster. Jon didn’t take any steps further. “I- what?”

“Is this man human?”

No, he wasn’t. “Yes? Yes.”

“Hmm.” Daisy kicked him to the side and stepped forward, into the apartment. “And this one?”

Mike stomped forward. He was very, very tired. He had had a nice relaxing day planned before all this. A nice long bath, and a cup of tea, and maybe throwing a few ppl out of planes and off cliffs if he was feeling in the mood. “Get out of my-”

Mike’s eyes went white. “Hello Daisy.”

Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “And what are you then?”

Martin grinned with Mike’s face. “Apologies for taking over your strings on such short notice, Mike. Thank you for looking after my boys though. And I didn’t even have to ask, either! So polite.”

“Martin?” Jon stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around Tim in effort to keep him standing. No normal punch could do that. At least not a human one.

“You should get some rest, Jon. You need it.”

“Martin, what in bloody hell are you-”

“I said go to sleep.”

Jon’s world went black. Tim’s didn’t. Static filled the air, burning away at the cobwebs in the corner. Martin wasn’t safe, not when Tim could See him, could see and know and catalogue-

“Sleep.”

…

“... hell is going on?”

Jon opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he adjusted to the light.

“Yes, I’m certain we’re all dying to know. Aren’t we?” That was Elias’s voice. Smug bastard.

Jon’s throat was dry. He swallowed thickly before looking around. They were in Elias’s office, he could tell that by all the eyes carved into notches on the walls. How had he never noticed that before? Everything else was blurry. Jon wasn’t used to waking up screaming and the absence of that particularly unpleasant routine left him too disoriented to properly appreciate it.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Georgie. Go home.” There was a hand in Jon’s hair. It was Martin. Who else could it be?

Wait. Georgie?

Jon sat up quickly. Martin’s grip tightened around him and a third arm slipped underneath the frame of his back. He scanned the room. There was Elias, Melanie, Basira, and Georgie. Tim was still passed out, held gingerly in Martin’s other three arms.

“Jon?” She looked different than Jon remembered her, more put together somehow. She had one hand on Melanie’s shoulder, stopping the other, it seemed, from doing something rash if the hatchet clutched in Melanie’s palms was any indication.

“You know this man?”

“He’s an ex.”

“Well, he killed a man.”

Elias leaned back on his desk, calmly fixing his tie. “Oh no, that was me.”

…

Back up a bit. What happened to Jude? The same thing that happened to Daisy, which is to say, nothing the Eye could see.

…

It was at that moment that Tim blinked his eyes open. “Wha… ?” He squirmed when he realized just who was holding him up, kicking at Martin’s many, many legs. “Let the fuck go of me you piece of-”

“Behave.”

The web at Tim’s wrist wound further up his arm.

Martin sighed. “We’ve discussed the language Tim, I really don’t appreciate the way you speak to me.”

It wasn’t that Tim was frozen in place, or that his lips had been sewn shut. Tim might have even preferred that. He simply stayed still and quiet because to do otherwise was unthinkable. It was not impossible. If he had truly wanted Tim could knee Martin in the groin right now - but it simply didn’t make any sense. It was better to stay put. That was only polite, afterall. So Tim stayed put, not because he wanted to, but because he was simply far too afraid to do anything else.

Martin hadn’t touched Tim’s thoughts. No, those threads were already there, he’d simply pulled the right ones.

A hint of static in the air. [I always tell myself there was some force there. Something that held me in place and meant that all I could do was watch. But sometimes when I think back, I remember how my legs shook, and maybe I could move. Maybe I’m just a coward.]

Tim felt Elias’s gaze on him. The Eye, cannibalizing itself, feeding off the scraps of another god’s fear.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Elias spoke. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Elias.” Jon stepped forward, detangling himself from Martin’s many arms. Martin let him. “I don’t need to ask you anything. I already Know.”

Elias frowned. “Hmm. Disappointing.”

“He’s not yours to manipulate anymore, Elias.” Martin was grinning, a wide chitinous smile.

“Why are you here then?”

“A trade.”

“And them?” Elias gestured around the room, to Basira glaring stormy in the corner, to Melanie and to Georgie.

Martin said nothing.

…

Back up a bit. What happened to Daisy? Jon couldn’t See it.

…

Georgie was not afraid. She could not be afraid, not anymore. What she lacked in fear instinct she made up for in common sense. So when Melanie got a call from her work regarding an accused murderer, she had the foresight of calling 999 before rushing after her. After all, she wasn’t about to let Melanie go off and get herself killed.

She hadn’t realized accused-murderer-Jon was the same as ex-from-college-Jon. To be entirely fair, Melanie had never mentioned his last name and Georgie had never mentioned that particular ex at all.

She didn’t expect him to look so familiar when he met her eyes, familiar in a way that might have sent fear crawling up her spine if she had any left to give.

Alex Brooke , he mouthed. Georgie barely caught it, he turned so quickly away.

How did he know? Georgie had never told him. Then again, there was a man that might also be a spider standing in the middle of the office, or perhaps a spider that never was a man at all.

“A trade then,” Elias nodded.

His eyes, Georgie realized, his eyes were wrong.

“What do you say?”

Alex Brooke. [“The moment you die will feel exactly the same as this one”.]

Jon was warning her.

…

Back up a bit. What did Martin do to Jude? Where was Daisy? The Eye couldn’t See what happened, and Jon was the Eye - except that he wasn’t quite yet.

That’s the thing Martin had failed to understand. Jon didn’t need to See.

Something had happened to Jude. [What didn’t? She’s still alive if that’s what you’re asking. Poor wretch.] Martin was the one who did it.

That was all Jon needed to know.

…

Georgie let go of her grip on Melanie’s shoulder.

The axe swung. The Spider’s head fell clean off its shoulders.

Melanie could hear the music, they all could. It was the most beautiful thing they’d ever heard.

Tim stumbled forward, out of Martin’s arms. “I-I don’t-”

“No time,” Jon hissed, tugging on his arms. “Georgie, Basira-”

Basira’s ears were bleeding. She hadn’t yet noticed. “Run.”

They ran, the four of them, and didn’t stop.

…

Statement of Jude Perry [Redacted]

April 24th 2017

Statement begins

I didn’t know. That’s a piss poor excuse but I don’t care. I wouldn’t have shaken his hand if I’d known who he was of the Web, that’s all.

Is this how the Spider feeds? It hasn’t killed me yet. I don’t think it wants to. It’s a strange idea to me, to deliberately not destroy something. 

What has been done to me? I don’t know. I can see the webs, a starry sky of silvery connections across the infinite expanse. I look to the ones connected to me. There aren’t any. Or perhaps even that is a lie, the sweet delusion of freedom. It must be a lie, spider are tricky like that. They plan and scheme and weave their intricate little webs- and yet a single flame can destroy them. That’s a wonderful thought. I want the web to burn .

There are hooks, hanging from the ceiling.

I killed my Fiance, Gretchen. I killed myself. The choice was mine and I reveled in it. The feeling of kerosene and heat, an unholy baptism to show my devotion to my new God. I’d never felt such pain before. It tasted like love as I’ve ever felt it, passion and agony and-

There is something in that memory I had forgotten. It is not Gretchen’s face. I saw her tears and they fueled me. No, there is something in me which I had forgotten.

I hate the Spider. I hate it for showing me my own doubt, how I wavered over the bucket of kerosene, how my limbs shook when I lit that final match.

I did not want to die.

I told myself it was meant to be, surely a love such as ours would be its own reward. I do not know if I meant Agnes or the Desolation. I loved them one and the same, as a single being and yet... 

Did I?

The hooks, they mock me. They offer the illusion of choice, except that it is no illusion at all. I want so desperately to know that it is a trick. That the wide open door will slam on me if I try to leave. That the hooks will sink into my shoulders, my hips, my palms. This is all some plot of the web, a bored little Spider playing with its food. It has to be.

There is no one else here but me. Me and the hooks in the ceiling and the wide open door.

I should leave. I should at least try . I do not.

I do not regret my devotion. How could I? I had to do it. It was destined, only because of the spiders that we failed. They got their pincers in Agnes and caused her to doubt. 

I loved Agnes. I loved her as a God and as a woman, but I did not know her. Was she even capable of loving me in the way I did her?

The door is wide open. I scowl at it. It must be mocking me. What else could it be for?

I pause. What happens if I try to leave and nothing happens? I will have stayed because I chose to stay and nothing more.

That thought, it scares me more than anything else. No, this must be some elaborate machination of the web. It has to be.

There are hooks in the ceiling. There are hooks and they dangle, waiting for their pound of flesh.

How did I get here? I do not know. I do not remember.

I glare at the hooks, swaying softly from silvery threads. I wait for them to dig into my flesh. They never do.

“I know what this is,” I say, and I laugh. “Stop taunting me and show yourself.”

There is no one else in the room but me. I am alone and I know this. It does not scare me. The Spider is feeding off me in this moment which means he must be watching. He will hear every word I have to say. I will make certain of it.

“I will burn you,” my eyes dart around the room. The hooks, they flash on the light from the doorway. “Feed all you like- you can’t kill me. I am not something that can be killed.”

Wax is incredibly moldable and it burns hot. I gathered the heat in my palms, watched as little drips of myself splattered onto the linoleum floor.

“Show yourself!” I spin quickly. There is no one behind me. There is no one to the front or to my sides. “Fire is wonderfully painful. Perhaps you’ll worship it yourself in your last moments, because you will burn.”

Is the Spider even watching? It has to be. It wouldn’t leave me to die in the dark, would it?

No, I decide. It simply cannot see me. Spiders watch with their legs, don’t they? They feel the tremors on their webs, I think. I can’t remember it quite right.

The hooks dangle from the ceiling from long silvery threads. I can’t kill the bastard if he doesn’t even know I’m here, can I?

The door is wide open. I could leave at any moment.

It is a trick, I tell myself. Those hooks will spring to action the moment I reach the door and then I will be caught up in the Spider’s web the same way Agnes was. That is not what I am afraid of.

I tell myself, when I reach for those hooks, that it is out of anger and spite and fury. It is a lie. The door is wide open, and that is the thought that terrifies me. I could leave at any moment and so the reason I am here, the only reason, is because I choose to be. There is nothing controlling me at all. My actions are my own.

The hooks impale themselves in my hands and I tug.

“Listen to me!” I screech.” “I’ll fucking kill you, you hear!”

The Spider will hear me now. I refuse to believe otherwise.

“Listen to me!”

More hooks imbed my flesh and I am the one who put them there. I thrash and I scream and I twist myself up. There are knots in the silvery web and hooks and my skin.

I will burn him. I will burn his whole damn web and to hell with everything else.

A hook twists deeper from my shoulder up and curling into my throat as I thrash. Wax drips onto the floor and I cannot speak. The sound that exits my throat is a guttural howl. Wax splatters onto the floor.

I will kill him. I will take away everything he’s ever loved and I will burn all the brighter for it.

The door is wide open.