two
Jingle hell, jingle hell, jingle all the way...to Hell.
Blood red nail polish. Check.
Sexy ninja-looking tracksuit. Check.
Nerdy headband lamp. Check.
Syringe filled with tranquilizer. Check.
Narrow vent infested with crawling carriers of viral diseases.Bloodycheck.
Should have packed smelling salts as well.
“I can’t do it! Can’t infiltrate the spider nest,” I whisper shakily into the microphone inside the band around my wrist while staring at the square entrance of the vent. The beam from the headlamp reveals floating dust moats and shimmering cobwebs decorating the metal trap.
I should have brought Wednesday, my hen; she snacks on spiders like a vampire on sweet virgins.
Ollie’s voice comes out from the earpiece. “Lori, slide in that damn hole already!” His husband Rague grunts in agreement. They are waiting for me in the kidnapping van on a hill near the house.
“And enter this bacteria colony? Have you lost the plot?” I whisper-scream.
“Silence, or someone will hear you,” Rague states. I look around the long corridor of the luxurious home. All the house staff is gone at this time of night.
I’m inside the maggot’s huge home—more a palace if you ask me—and the only way to get to his room undetected is through one of the vents. I have the grave suspicion that this whole crawling nightmare is Rami’s way to pull my leg. In which case, I’ll castrate him and the other bros as well out of accuracy—except my fiancés; I love the feel of their heavy balls hitting my arse too much while they’re having their way with me.
“Lori, all the spiders…went to bed.”
“One could suffer from insomnia,” I suggest. Gabe certainly does.
Ollie continues, disregarding my undeniably valid point, “And the rest… It’s just bacteria, teeny tiny bacteria.”
“Superficially! Bacteria appear to be relatively simple forms of life, when in fact, they’re sophisticated and highly adaptable,teeny tinysuckers.”
“This was Rague’s donor, but since you’re so eager to be moronically initiated, he yielded it to you. How many moretimes do we need to do this?” my bestie reminds me after a long, exasperated sigh.
“Don’t get your tinsel in a tangle!” I groan. Fuuuck! I need to put on my figurative big boy pants and finally accomplish my initiation tonight—if Krampus stays out of my biz for once—or my name is not LoriGorgeousBoone.
“Remember what this shithead of a donor did,” Rague utters.
I close my eyes, and the file Rami showed me an hour ago appears. The maggot kills people and steals their identitiesMr. Ripleystyle. He’s impersonated five people in the last four years, that we know of. And I can’t let a hairy, multi-eyed, fangy, eight-legged creature stop me from instilling justice down his throat.
I kiss the tiny urn around my neck before sliding it back under my shirt.Here we go, Gran.
I take a few fast breaths, lift the sunset purple bandanna around my neck to cover my mouth, and enter the tight, dirty tunnel of hell.
I’ll be like Spiderman… Shite, no! No spiders. Like Batman, yeah. The Dark Knight is confident and tenacious and cool as a cucumber. I always wondered abouthiscucumber. I mean how packed can he be under that heavy utility belt?
Bugger, I need to stay focus. This is not the time forpecker wondering.
Rague—blueprint of the house in hand—is directing me toward the maggot’s room through the labyrinth of vents. While Serena is reading all the heat signatures inside the building and will let me know if someone comes my way.
“The donor is in the bathroom, taking a shower,” Serena lets me know.
“You can grab him when he comes out,” Rague adds.
“How are things? Any unwanted encounters?” Ollie mocks me, and I suddenly feel itchy—bloody power of suggestion. Sari explained it to me, he’s been trying to help me overcome my arachnophobia, with no results whatsoever, it seems. The mere mention of visualization of the fangy wankers triggers a subconscious response in my brain, the itchiness. Scratching myselfall overis bloody difficult in the narrow metal space even though I’m dainty. I keep bumping against the metal walls.
