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"Another one to cleanse," he whispered, "a necessary extermination."
He pulled on his black gloves and grabbed his briefcase, the tools of his trade hidden inside. He left his apartment, descending the stairs to the garage below. The dim lighting of the garage was illuminated by the flickering bulb above his truck, casting eerie shadows against the peeling walls. As he approached his vehicle, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. This truck had been a constant companion to him during his work, a trusty steed that had never let him down. And it never let him down now.
In the back, he had his equipment. He pulled the tarp off the back of the truck, revealing the various tools he used to carry out his work: his full body suit and gear, so his skin would not be tainted, and of course, his spraying device with its long, thin spray wand. Perfect to shove down a person's throat and shut them up forever.
And, of course, a supply of the right poison. Cyphaclide. It was perfect. Quick and deadly. He was glad he'd stocked up before the heavy restrictions were in place.
Now he had enough to keep himself going for a long time. To keep his work going.
He was going to exterminate again, but he was not going to exterminate insects.
No, this extermination was only for humans.
The most vile parasite of all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie glow on the cracked pavement as Fiona and Jake stepped into the motel lobby. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and cheap cleaning products assaulted Fiona's nostrils; she was used to staying in nicer hotels with Jake, but this was the closest one, so they'd settled for it. They were both exhausted, their faces worn from hours of fruitless searching for the man who killed Sharon French and Glen Hartwell.
They'd spoken to David Finch's neighbor, Jon, who had vouched for him.
They walked up to the counter, snapping Fiona from her reverie.
"Two rooms, please," Fiona said, her voice a little more breathy than usual as she locked eyes with Jake for a brief moment before turning to the disinterested clerk behind the counter. She couldn't ignore the surge of heat that rose within her, threatening to consume her. But now was not the time or place for such thoughts.
"Here you go," the clerk mumbled, sliding two keys across the counter. Fiona reached for hers, and Jake reached for his. Their fingers brushed when she reached for the keys, and Fiona pulled back as though she'd been burned. She looked at Jake, who was watching her intently, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Sorry, Red," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He gave her a lopsided smile that made her heart clench. Part of her still regretted her gut reaction when he brought up their kiss earlier, even though her logical brain knew it was for the best. Jake was her partner, her mentor--and she had just broken up with Mark. Although leaving Mark didn't give Fiona much other than relief, she knew it would be unhealthy to jump right into something else.
Besides, she had no indication that Jake wanted it to be anything more than it was. He'd kissed her in the heat of the moment. She couldn't read too much into it.
They walked down the dimly lit hallway together, their footsteps echoing in the silence. As they reached the doors to their separate rooms, Fiona hesitated, knowing how much she wanted to confide in him about her sister's disappearance. She knew he was confused about all of it.
"I'm gonna keep doing some research," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But we both need some rest. Could be a big day tomorrow."
Fiona nodded, understanding the weight of his words. She had been fighting to keep her eyes open since they left David's house. "Yeah, I guess so," she said, turning to her door. "Goodnight, Jake," she murmured, her eyes lingering on his strong jawline, the soft curve of his lips.
"Goodnight, Red," he replied, his gaze intense as if he could read her mind. The romantic tension between them was palpable, but the weight of the case pressed heavily on her chest. With a small nod, she retreated into her room, leaving Jake standing in the hallway, his face a mix of longing and understanding.
With a hushed click, the door to Fiona's room closed behind her, muffling the sound of Jake's retreating footsteps. She leaned against it for a moment, trying to still the pounding of her heart.
"Get a grip, Fiona," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. Pushing away from the door, she surveyed the small motel room. The walls were a faded mustard yellow, and the carpet was threadbare in places. It wasn't much, but at least it was clean.
She crossed the room and dropped her duffle bag on the worn armchair near the window, then walked over to the bed, running her fingers over the stiff white sheets. As she did, she could feel the presence of Jake just on the other side of the thin wall that separated their rooms, as if she could reach out and touch him. He was so close and yet so far away, like a forbidden fruit, that she couldn't help but crave.
"Stop it," she scolded herself, irritated by her wandering thoughts. With a determined sigh, she turned her attention to getting ready for bed. Changing into her pajamas, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her eyes appeared tired, haunted even, and she quickly looked away.
Climbing into bed, she fluffed the pillow beneath her head and tried to relax, though her body remained tense. The silence felt heavy, oppressive, as if it carried the weight of unspoken words between her and Jake. Despite the exhaustion gnawing at the edges of her consciousness, sleep seemed elusive. She could picture Jake lying in bed just like her, separated only by the flimsy barrier between them.
Her heart ached with the longing to share her burden with him, to tell him more about her and Joslyn and what she had been doing, but wouldn't it only complicate things more? Sleeping in separate rooms, avoiding emotional bonding--that seemed like the better choice. The smarter choice.
Fiona lay there, staring at the peeling wallpaper on the ceiling and listening to the sound of insects and birds through the window. The steady rhythm of it was somehow both comforting and unnerving, a reminder that they were not alone in this strange place.
She turned onto her side, the springs of the old mattress creaking beneath her, and drew her knees up toward her chest. This case was messing with her head; she had this phantom image of the killer, this faceless exterminator shoving spray wands full of poison down victims' throats, and it made her sick. He was out there, somewhere, maybe searching for his next victim, and Fiona was here, in a motel room. There was nothing she could do to stop him now. Not with so few leads to go off.
She was supposed to be getting some rest, but her mind wouldn't relax. Her thoughts wandered back to her sister. To how close she seemed to be.
"Joslyn," she whispered into the darkness, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. Anger and fear churned within her, but alongside these emotions flickered a small flame of hope. She couldn't let herself believe her sister was lost forever - she had to hold onto that hope, no matter how fragile it seemed.
