Page 2 of High Stakes

The moisture on my tongue from the glass is gone almost immediately, leaving an arid dryness. Desperate for relief, I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste provides a fleeting reprieve, but it leaves a foul aftertaste. My body trembles from the cold and dampness, and the overwhelming stench of decay fills the air. Marcel’s rotting body is grotesque and what Leone ordered Milo to do to his corpse haunts me.

Once again, I’m left alone in the dark, with only the echo of Leone’s footsteps fading into the distance and the soft drip of water from my saturated dress. Every minute stretches into eternity. Every sound is a potential sign of more torment or fleeting hope of rescue I know will never come.

And as the hours stretch into another night, I’m unsure how much longer I can hold on, or even if I want to. Time doesn’t exist here, only the endless stretch of silence.

I'm half asleep when something tickles my wrist. I freeze. The sensation moves up my arm—a spider. My breath catches as it crawls closer. Each tiny step feels magnified, its weight far greater than it should be.

I try to tell myself it’s just a spider, and it’s more scared of me than I am of it. But panic grips me as my breathing quickens.The fear tightens its hold as it ventures closer to my shoulder. I freeze, breath caught in my throat, unable to move.

It reaches my neck. My skin crawls. My chest tightens, and my breathing becomes shallow. I don’t move. I don’t scream. Thrashing will only make it worse, so I stay still, my thoughts spiraling into the horrors of spiders crawling into ears, or up noses. The idea nearly makes me scream, but I know no one would hear me. If they could, they’d have come the first two nights I was here, when I did nothing but scream.

The spider skitters across my cheek, its legs brushing my skin. Tears slip from my eyes, but I stay still, my body locked in terror. As the minutes tick by, I’m not sure what’s worse—waiting for its bite, or knowing in this place, I’m as powerless to control the small creatures as I am to escape the monsters who walk on two legs. The spider moves closer to my eye, and a tear slides down my cheek.Please don’t bite me.

I start humming. It’s the only way to keep my panic at bay.

“In the dark where shadows creep,

Little Firefly takes her leap…”

The rhyme steadies me, pulling me back to Grandma's cabin. I don’t know if that is worse or not, but right now it's a distraction from the tiny legs moving across my skin. At least I know the ending of my memories, the spider’s actions are yet to be seen. For a moment, the darkness recedes, replaced by the hum of crickets and the glow of fireflies.

“Wings aglow, she dances light,

Unaware of the Spider’s sight.”

I focus on the memory, letting it wrap around me and draw the darkness away.

Flashback

The night was warm, the kind of summer evening when the air buzzed with life and the sky was dotted with stars, twinkling like a thousand fireflies. I was small enough that the backyard felt like a vast, magical forest, and the shadows along the edges of the trees seemed mysterious, full of adventures I knew I’d never go on.

I remember the grass beneath my bare feet—cool and soft, cushioning every step as I darted around the yard, chasing the flickers of light dancing in the air. Fireflies were everywhere, tiny lanterns flitting through the dark, and I was determined to catch them.

“Come on, Firefly, you can do it!” My father’s voice floated through the night, filled with laughter as I chased them. I could hear the smile in his voice, making me giggle and try even harder to catch one in my jar.

I was his “Firefly.” He always called me that when we played this game, as if the lightness in my steps and the joy in my heart made me one with those glowing bugs. And he was the Spider, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. I loved our little game—until I had to go back inside, back to her.

I could hear him now, his steps slow and deliberate as he pretended to sneak up on me. “Watch out, Firefly,” he teased, his voice dropping to a mock-threatening growl. “The Spider’s coming to get you!”

I shrieked, reaching out to catch a firefly that had ventured too close. My fingers clasped around it, feeling the gentle tickle of its tiny wings against my skin. I squealed, holding up my prize to show him.

As I tried to take a step, I felt his hands on me, swift and sure, as he swept me off my feet and spun me around. “Got you!” he declared, his laughter ringing out as he pulled me close, his arms warm and strong around me.

I squirmed and giggled, trying to escape, but he held me tight. “Now the Spider’s going to bite!” he warned, his fingers digging into my sides, tickling me until I was breathless with laughter.

I remember how safe I felt in those moments—how his arms shielded me from her—and the sound of his laughter, which was like the sweetest music.

As I reflect on it now, a bittersweetness colors the memory. Those days are gone, lost to time and the harshness of reality. I can still see his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the way his love wrapped around me like a blanket on those warm summer nights. But the warmth of those memories is now tinged with cold, a reminder of the darkness when he had to go to work. Of when he left me with her.

I was his Firefly, and he was my Spider. And even now, when the nights are long and the darkness feels too heavy to bear, I find myself wishing I could return to those days—just for a moment. Back when the world was full of fireflies, and the only thing I had to fear was the tickle of his fingers and the sound of his laughter echoing through the night.

Now, the Spider has taken on a new meaning. Its bite is no longer a tickle. It’s poison—venom so paralyzing I can only watch as the Spider devours me whole.

Two

Milo

I stand in the dimly lit hallway, my heart pounding as I watch Leone storm up the basement stairs. He’s been down there twice tonight, though the second time, I don’t think he went inside. I left the surveillance room, so I can’t be sure. His face twists with anger and frustration, sweat glistening on his forehead. My gut churns with anxiety—something is terribly wrong.

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