Page 23 of Black Widow's Bite

I don’t think Cain slept at all anymore, the dark circles under his eyes growing more pronounced with each passing day. We all stayed vigilant. The guys didn’t venture out of the house alone, and the clients who came were all regulars since no one wanted unfamiliar people wandering inside the studio. Cain took me grocery shopping after work on Friday, having kept up his chauffeur services despite his growing exhaustion. He was as snarly as I had imagined he’d be in a public place, following me around the store with the cart, hunched over and glowering at anyone who got in our way. At one point I had to stop him from nearly taking off a grocer’s head when the poor man accidentally bumped me with a box of cabbages. I was thankful when we finally got out of there, and Cain and I sat in stony silence the rest of the way home.

We made it to the weekend without any more of Piper’s episodes, but that didn’t seem to reassure Cain at all. Apparently, Piper’s omens or visions or whatever they were didn’t exactly have a precise time estimate, so what he had seencould happen years from now, for all we knew. Nobody wanted to be the one to point that out though, since sleep-deprived Cain was somehow even more volatile than everyday Cain.

By the third week, we’d gotten our new routine down to a science. Every morning, I would get ready, check on Piper and Austin, and have my coffee with Wyatt. Cain would meet me by the door at the usual time and we’d head down to the car together. I would always put my bag on my lap, and he would always take it off and put it in the back seat with a scowl. On the way to work, I’d pepper him with questions until he looked so annoyed he might drive us off the road, and on the way home I’d tell him about my day, whether he wanted to hear about it or not.

I enjoyed the consistency. It was comforting in a way, like nothing bad could happen to us if we just followed our normal schedule. So when Cain didn’t meet me at the door Thursday morning, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled in warning. I brushed it off as superstitious nonsense ingrained in me by my grandma, setting in to wait. I waited for Cain for ten minutes and even checked to see if he’d already gotten into the car, but he wasn’t there. Giving up, I left my bag at the door and headed back up to the kitchen, but only Wyatt was there, sipping his coffee and reading something on his phone.

I walked hesitantly over to Cain’s room, where the door was still shut, and I knocked tentatively. When he didn’t answer, I knocked again, then quietly opened the door and peeked inside. Cain was lying in bed, shirtless and asleep, his sheets half-off and tangled around his legs. He looked sick, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his forehead somehow furrowed even while unconscious. I watched his fist clench, and then the sheets underneath him started to smoke, like when you left an iron against the fabric too long.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” I muttered, dashing over to the bed, looking for something that could put out a fire in a pinch. Ofcourse, he didn’t keep anything non-flammable nearby. That would’ve been too easy. I grabbed his shoulder, shaking it lightly. “Cain, wake up!” I insisted, but that didn’t work. More smoke was filling the room, along with the smell of burnt fabric.

“Cain, please wake up.” I bent over him, pressing my hand to his face. He was burning hot and clammy, and I wasn’t sure what we would do if he was sick enough to warrant a hospital. His eyes suddenly popped open, wide and terrified, like he didn’t know who I was. He moved so fast I didn’t have time to react, just scream, as Cain grabbed me and pulled me down onto the bed, rolling on top of me to pin me down. His hand was at my throat, and his other made a fist, cocked like he was going to hit me.

“Cain, stop!” Wyatt grabbed Cain from behind, dragging him backwards off the bed. I scrambled to my feet, watching the two men struggle on the ground. Wyatt had the upper hand, and slowly Cain settled in his arms and finally stopped trying to pull him off. Wyatt let him go only after a few minutes, both of them out of breath, and the skin on Wyatt’s arms was red, like he’d stuck them under hot water too long.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Cain groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Wyatt patted him awkwardly on the back, getting to his feet gingerly.

“It’s fine, man,” Wyatt replied, walking back over to me. He touched my arm gently, and I realized I was shaking a little. “I’ll take you to work, okay? You might want to, uh...” He touched my neck, which ached like a fresh sunburn. “I don’t know if you have a scarf or anything you might want to wear?” he suggested quietly. I just nodded mutely and left the room as quickly as possible, running downstairs to the basement.

I let out a shaky breath as I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. It might’ve been a first-degree burn, nothing worse than that, along my neck just above my collarbone. Unfortunately, it was the very obvious handprint shape thatwould raise a lot of questions, so I opted for a less revealing outfit today. I didn’t have any scarves, since working with spiders didn’t really encourage loose layers, but I did have a turtle neck that would do nicely. It was a little warm for a sweater still, but I could pull it off without anyone being too suspicious. With the burn now covered up, I ran back upstairs to grab my bag, Wyatt already waiting by the door.

We climbed into the car in silence, and it was only when we were on the road that Wyatt finally spoke up. “I know that was horrible, and you have every right to be mad,” he told me quietly. “But you need to know that he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, or any of us, for that matter.” I absorbed his statement, chewing my lip.

“So, that has happened before?” I asked finally. “He just goes crazy?”

Wyatt grimaced. “The best I can figure is it’s a side effect of a traumatic brain injury he had when he was a kid. We don’t know because he’d never go into an MRI willingly. Think of it like a PTSD flashback, but because Cain is... well, Cain, they’re a lot more dangerous.” he sighed, and I touched my neck where I could still feel the sting of the burn as it brushed against my shirt.

“How did he get hurt?” I asked quietly, but Wyatt just shook his head. “I don’t know the details. All I do know is that his brother was not a good guy. He was a couple of years older than Cain, and he had something messed up in his head. You know, like those serial killers on TV,” he explained. “He doesn’t feel emotions like a normal person. It’s like he can’t have them, so he just fakes them. But he likes to hurt people, and he hurt Cain a lot.” His jaw clenched, and my stomach twisted as I thought about the pain in Cain’s face when he’d woken up.

“Why didn’t his parents stop him? Shouldn’t they have noticed something was wrong?” I demanded, horrified.

“His brother is sort of like us,” Wyatt replied quietly. “More like you, though, I guess. He’s very good at getting his way. People just listen to him and believe him. It didn’t work on Cain, but it worked on his parents. His brother would tell them everything was fine, and they believed it.” My stomach clenched again in disgust. Someone with that kind of power, and no moral compass... that was a nightmare combination.

We pulled into the parking lot, and I clutched my bag, which I’d left sitting on my lap. Wyatt pulled out his phone and checked the time. “You can text me when you’re ready and I’ll come pick you up, okay?” he smiled, but it was clearly forced. I nodded and gave him a weak smile in return, kissing him softly on the cheek before sliding out of the car.

The day went by at a snail’s pace, which I didn’t mind for once. I didn’t feel like going home just yet, not after what had happened. I wasn’t mad at Cain. It had obviously been a horrible accident and not intentional on his part. But I just wanted some time to absorb what Wyatt had told me. It did explain a lot about Cain’s whole stand-offish personality. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn’t even hear when someone joined me in the lab.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt.” I jumped out of my chair, nearly knocking over the tank I’d been working with. A man I hadn’t seen before was standing just inside the door, his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry, yes, hi.” I scrambled to collect myself, and he gave me a wry smile. “Are you looking for someone?” I asked. The other faculty member who was normally around in the afternoons had left early today. I hoped he hadn’t forgotten he was meeting his TA or something.

“Something actually, I’m supposed to have an office in here?” he replied, looking around. “I’m the new researcher,” heexplained. “My study is on scorpions.” Oh shit, a jolt of pain went through my chest. He must be Pete’s replacement.

“Of course, it’s just down the hall there,” I pointed. “The one furthest down. It should be unlocked,” I told him. He smiled gratefully and headed down the hallway.

I finished up with my subjects and settled them away on their shelves for the day, heading back to my own office to type up my notes. I’d almost forgotten about the new guy when he knocked on my door, opening it a crack. “Do you mind?” he asked, stepping in before I could answer. It was the same thing with every new person that came in. They wanted to make friends and chat, and I’d have to be nice but distant until eventually they’d get the hint and leave me alone. He walked over to the bookshelf set up against the one wall of my office, studying its contents.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked politely, but with a bit of an edge. I was tired and not in the mood to play this game today. Not answering me, he pulled a book off the shelf and flipped it open idly, thumbing through a few pages.

“I just wanted to meet my new colleague,” he smirked, closing the book with a snap. “You study the spiders, right? Black widows?” He walked over to my desk but didn’t sit down, just stayed looming over it, toying with my book. He and his annoying smirk were really starting to grate on my nerves.

“Yes, that’s right,” I replied, and typed something on my computer, hoping he’d get the hint, but of course, he didn’t.

“Would you say your research subject is a deeper, introspective look at who you are as a person?” he mused, still fiddling with my book. I stopped typing and looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you know what happened to the guy who used to be in the office I’m in?” he asked, switching topics abruptly. I bristled and looked back at my computer screen, quickly coming to the end of my patience.

“He passed away,” I bit out, pursing my lips to avoid snapping something nasty when he perched himself on my desk, sitting on top of the notebook I was currently working in.

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