Page 19 of Let Her Hide

"Alright," Jake said, breaking the silence as he rolled down his sleeve. "So if Bert's innocent, where does that leave us?"

Fiona considered the question, her mind racing through the evidence they'd gathered so far. As much as she wanted to believe that they were making progress, it seemed that every step forward only led them deeper into the darkness.

"Back at square one, I suppose," she finally admitted, her voice tinged with resignation. Fiona's thoughts swarmed around her like the bees that had stung them earlier, each idea buzzing with potential but never quite connecting into a coherent pattern. She could sense the truth hiding just beyond her grasp. Someone out there wanted both Craig and Carrie, these seemingly unconnected people dead... but why?

"Could there be another beekeeper out there with a grudge?" she wondered aloud, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Jake rubbed his chin, considering the possibility. "It's possible, but it doesn't explain why they're only targeting certain individuals. Maybe we should focus on the profile. If it's not a beekeeper, then who? Someone else with an obsession with these kinds of insects?"

Fiona nodded, her mind beginning to turn over various possibilities. Another beekeeper or even a collector. She wasn't sure, but the day was slipping away, and they couldn't give up yet.

The killer was out there somewhere, maybe even hunting his next victim.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the sweet aroma of honey as he stood in his sanctuary, a secret room hidden in his home. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a series of small glass windows that lined the walls, allowing him to observe his precious hives without disturbing their inhabitants. Housed within thick glass cases, these hives were no ordinary bee and hornet colonies - they were deadly.

"Good evening, my darlings," he whispered to the buzzing insects.

He had been cultivating them ever since he was a boy, each hive a testament to his dedication, his patience, and his need for control. To him, they were more than just insects; they were his friends, his family, the only creatures who truly understood him. With them, he finally belonged.

"Your work is never done, is it?" he murmured as he ran a gloved finger over one of the glass cases, feeling the vibrations of the insects inside. "You toil tirelessly for the greater good of the colony."

He admired the way they operated--efficient, ruthless, unburdened by morality or conscience. They existed solely to serve the needs of the hive, and in doing so, they flourished. He often wondered if humans would be better off if they functioned the same way.

"Sometimes I envy you," he confessed to the buzzing mass. "You have no doubts, no fears, no regrets. You simply follow your instincts, and everything falls into place."

He glanced at the metal table in the center of the room, where the tools of his trade lay neatly arranged: rope and knives he could use to tie up and threaten those who opposed him.

"Look at all we've accomplished together," he said with pride, gazing at the trophies displayed on the walls - locks of hair, photographs, personal items that once belonged to those who had crossed him. "We serve a purpose, you and I, weeding out the weak, the unworthy."

He could feel the familiar itch in the back of his mind, the need to hunt, to exert his dominance over another living being. It was an appetite that could never truly be sated, but he had learned to control it, to channel it into his work with the hives.

"Patience," he reminded himself. "All in good time."

For now, he would tend to his colonies, nurturing their growth. Because he knew that eventually, the time would come for them to serve their true purpose--when he would unleash them upon an unsuspecting world as judge, jury, and executioner.

But for now, he had to focus on his next task. One life only. A life that deserved to pay.

He turned to a table, where he had a photo album of potential prospects simply waiting to be chosen from. But he'd already made his pick. He peeled open the laminated pages, landing on his most recent find.

"Ah, there you are," he murmured, his finger coming to rest on a photograph of a middle-aged man with a smug smile and piercing blue eyes. "You've caused pain to so many, haven't you?"

He could feel the anger building within him, hot and fierce, as he considered the man's transgressions. The way he manipulated those around him, exploiting their vulnerabilities for his own gain, made his blood boil. This man was like a parasite, feeding off the suffering of others, and it was time for him to pay.

"Tonight, we will right the wrongs you have committed," he vowed, turning to address the hives that lined each wall of the room. Their low, constant hum seemed to grow more insistent, as if in response to the promise of retribution.

He reached for a glass jar filled with a special mixture that he had brewed himself, a concoction potent enough to drive the bees to a frenzy. He twisted the cap off the jar and dipped a cotton swab into the viscous liquid, coating the tip liberally. His hand shook with anticipation as he made his way to the door, the bees agitated by his presence. They would need energy to prepare for the night to come, so he would give them a treat, a taste of sweet blood and honey.

Soon, it would be blood they'd be feasting on.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Fiona's fingers drummed against the table, a staccato rhythm echoing through the dimly lit briefing room. She glanced at Jake, whose eyes were bloodshot and glazed from hours of staring at the computer screen. A half-empty coffee cup sat next to his laptop, its contents long gone cold.

Much like the direction of their investigation.

Jake rubbed his temples, fatigue etched on his face. But his determination was palpable as he kept researching, reminding Fiona to do the same. There had to be someone else out there who could fit the profile.

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