Page 60 of Spiders in the Grove

I put a cell phone on the charger and call Fredrik, but he doesn’t answer, so I hop in the shower and stay there for a long time, letting the hot water beat down on me and soak into my hungry muscles. I watch blood and dirt swirl down into the drain and take everything else with it that I brought back from Mexico. After my much-needed shower, I lay down on the sofa, intending to relax for about thirty minutes before getting back to work, but I end up passing out again, and waking up after two in the morning.

I try calling Fredrik again—still no answer.

I call Victor—no answer.

Niklas—nothing.

Nora—nope.

What the hell?

A strange feeling sits in the pit of my stomach. After grabbing my keys from the coffee table, I slide into my flip-flops by the door and jump into my car parked under the carport.

There’s a light on inside Fredrik’s temporary new house twenty minutes from mine. His car is parked outside alongside another one. Maybe he’s getting laid, and I should just turn around and go back home. No. Fredrik would answer the phone no matter how preoccupied, if any one of us from Victor’s Order were calling him. The same with Victor—it hurts a little that he, of all people, doesn’t answer, especially since I’ve been in Mexico for weeks. Niklas and Nora aren’t much the phone type, so they not answering isn’t so unusual, but it still picks at that feeling in my stomach.

I get out of the car and make my way to the front door, my eyes scanning the window into the living room on my way up the porch steps, but I don’t see anybody.

After a few knocks, and still no movement inside the house, I let myself in, surprised the door is unlocked—Fredrik always locks his doors.

With my gun in-hand, I go through the living room and startle when Fredrik comes around the corner.

“You scared the shit out of me.” I lower my gun.

“Sorry.” Fredrik walks past me and heads toward the kitchen; there’s blood on his hands.

Knowing something is wrong, I don’t ask questions for a moment, expecting Fredrik to get around to telling me.

He comes back out of the kitchen, hands cleaned, and drying them off on a dish towel.

“Did you kill Apollo?” I finally ask, assuming that’s whose blood he just washed down the drain.

“No.”

No? That’s it?

“Fredrik, what’s going on?” I glance down the hallway in the direction where he had come from; the basement door is open at the end; a dim light pools on the floor in front of it.

“Izabel, you need to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

Ok, something’s definitely wrong.

I head straight for the basement door, and then sprint down the concrete steps when I hear the rush of Fredrik’s footsteps coming up from behind to stop me.

When I make it to the bottom, I gasp at the gory sight, and even throw up a little in my mouth. My free hand flies over my face. “Holy shit, Fredrik! What the hell did you do?”

Despite the horrific scene, I move in closer to the man laying strapped to a hospital bed, and at first, I’m furious that Fredrik would kill Apollo. But it’s not Apollo, I see. It’s…Dante? The skittish man from the auction. His bloodied face is almost unrecognizable; his mouth has been propped open with some weird device; all of his teeth are gone; his gums have been slashed open; blood is everywhere.

“Oh my God.” I pause, letting the discovery sink deep enough into my brain that I know it’s real; then I turn to see Fredrik. “Assistant to Amell Schreiber; that’s where I’d heard that name before; it’s one of your aliases. Dante was basically telling the truth. You sent him.”

“Yeah. I sent him.” Fredrik’s shoulders fall with a heavy breath, and although I’d expect him to be apologetic, having to admit that he’d done exactly what I told him not to do, I get the feeling he has far worse things on his mind, and so I decide to save the scolding for another time.

“Why is he dead?” My eyes move back and forth from Fredrik to Dante. “Why’d you kill him?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

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