Prey

Cynthia tapped the glass. The black widow in the terrarium started and froze, causing the web to tremor.

“I’ve been watching her all morning,” Cynthia said. “She’s been seeding the web.”

“Seeding?” Helena asked.

Cynthia blushed, pulled her bathrobe tighter, then glanced away, her voice dropping.

“Pheromones. She’s preparing to mate.”

Helena raised an eyebrow. “Good for her.”

"I feel bad, but I can’t stop watching. She’ll probably eat him," Cynthia said.

“Boys should learn better manners.”

Cynthia shook her head, her voice trembling. “It scares me. He can’t help himself. Once he makes his final molt, he stops eating. His entire life is about mating until he dies—or until a female consumes him. It’s awful.”

“Reminds me of my last boyfriend.”

“The drive becomes his entire life, trapped and obsessed.”

Helena looked from the spider to Cynthia. She’d not left the penthouse in a year. Her floor-to-ceiling windows commanded a view of the entire city, but that view was blocked behind dark, blackout curtains. They could have been in a subbasement, and the only way to tell was the direction the elevator moved.

Cynthia’s father owned three downtown office towers, as well as a multitude of parking and retail properties. He’d started from nothing, and when Cynthia had been born, he swore she would never have to be hungry, cold, or alone as he’d been when building his empire.

As brilliant as her father, Cynthia had been precocious. Her affinity for butterflies had led to entomology, which had led to biochemistry.

Then, she’d been mugged on a subway platform. After the mugger had robbed her, he pushed her into a utility closet and barred the door. She’d screamed for help for hours and had been ignored in the bustle of the station. A janitor had discovered her the following morning and let her out.

Unable to go outside afterwards, she’d withdrawn further and further into herself. Her father had turned the top three floors of prime space into one of the finest labs in the world.

He’d approached Helena when, deep in the grip of her agoraphobia, Cynthia had not allowed her father into the penthouse. He’d tolerated her isolation from the world, but he’d tearfully begged Helena to help him see his daughter again.

He gave Helena ten times her normal fee despite Helena’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, and Helena had conducted the first sessions through a locked door. On the third, Cynthia had allowed Helena into the penthouse entryway for ten minutes.

In the six months after, Helena had gained trust so that Cynthia even smiled and only trembled at the beginning of sessions.

“So, is today going to be the day we go outside?” Helena asked.

Cynthia’s eyes darted from Helena to the terrarium, uncertainty flashing in her expression. She shook her head quickly, worry framing her face.

“But, I have isolated the active component in the pheromone.”

Cynthia reached for Helena’s forearm and closed her hand around it, softly leading Helena without a word. Helena let herself be guided, not commenting on the touch.

Cynthia stopped at the workbench, which took up an entire wall. Centrifuges and shelves of glassware reminded Helena of freshman chemistry, but with an unlimited budget.

Still holding Helena’s forearm, Cynthia reached for a test tube of greenish, oily syrup with her other hand. She lifted it with care, holding it up like a trophy.

“The rest of the pheromone indicates the widow’s state of hunger and correlates with what they’ve eaten, but this,” Cynthia said, “is what triggers the male mating behavior.”

Helena met Cynthia’s eyes. Cynthia looked to where she held Helena’s arm. Fear widened her eyes, and she let go.

"I’m glad you trust me this much," Helena said.

Cynthia shook her head and gestured to the test tube. “But, isn’t this neat? It’s spider aphrodisiac.”

“It’s brilliant. Are you going to submit it to a journal?”

Fear returned to Cynthia’s eyes. “No. They’ll-“

“They’ll nothing. You write it up and submit, and if they ask you for a presentation, you do only what’s comfortable.”

Mouth tight, Cynthia swallowed. “What if?”

She hesitated.

“What if I write it up, and you submit it?” Cynthia asked.

“I would, but it has to be in your name. You did the work.”

“What if I change my mind?”

“I’ll withdraw it.”

She set the tube back into the rack. “Thank you, Helena. I’ll start writing it up.”

Helena glanced at her watch. “We still have time. Anything else you would like to talk about? Have you thought about going for a walk?”

“I thought about it, but,” she pressed a trembling hand to her chest, breath quickening. “I just get so frightened. My heart races every time I imagine it.”

“Can you try thinking about it again and write down the specifics of how you felt?”

Cynthia’s hand trembled at her chest. "Helena, can you leave? Please don’t be mad."

“Of course,” Helena said. “Thank you for showing me. I’m honored.”

Helena turned towards the door. Cynthia padded just behind. Helena stopped at the door and smiled back.

“Next week?”

Cynthia nodded, then froze. “Oh. I almost forgot.”

She darted across the wide, marble floor to the workbench. She grasped a small metal box and hurried back, holding it out to Helena.

“You asked about those pills last week.”

Helena reached out slowly, her movement cautious and gentle. Cynthia didn’t flinch. It was a small victory, and Helena allowed herself a soft, proud smile.

“It’s an odd combination for therapy, isn’t it?” Cynthia asked.

“Hypnotics help patients, especially with anxiety,” Helena said. “This will be very helpful.”

“I couldn’t eliminate the side-effect. I’ll keep working on it.”

“The erectile effect?”

“Sorry, it’s amazing how much fear and arousal get mixed up in the chemistry,” Cynthia said.

“It is amazing,” Helena said.

---

Selene Asylum had been built in the country on a cliff overlooking a broken shore. When built, it’s where someone was ‘sent’, but the growth of the metropolis had swallowed it so that it now stood in the midst of mansions and urban estates. The original Gothic pillars and stone edifice remained. It appeared as though Dracula’s castle had been planted in the midst of modern oceanfront mansions.

Inside Selene Asylum, Helena draped her ID around her neck and tapped it against the card reader. It blinked green. An electronic buzz preceded the release of a spring. The door came free, and she stepped inside.

Damp, cool air tried to escape as she entered, and a gray-uniformed security guard nodded and stood as Helena laid her briefcase and purse on the examination table.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Webb,”

“Hello, Harold.”

He looked from her belongings to Helena, eyes trailing down to the black pencil skirt that ended above bare calves. He smiled.

“You’re fine,” he said and gestured to her things.

Helena winked. “Thank you.”

She smiled and stepped through the metal detector. The label above the arch read "Perkins Security, Inc."

After two more security doors, Helena turned down a darkened hall. She retrieved a notepad from her briefcase, along with the metal box of pills Cynthia had given her. She put the rest in a locker. The lock on it was labelled again with Perkins Security, Inc. She set the combination and closed the door.

Heavy doors with reinforced mesh windows at eye level lined each side. Several of the overhead lights had burned out, and Helena walked from darkness to light until she reached room number 301.

A security guard appeared. He wore the same dark green tunic as Harold had, a wooden baton at his hip. Keys rattled on an enormous ring at the opposite hip.

“Hello, Dr. Webb,” Lester said.

“Lester.”

A retired police detective, Lester had taken the job at the asylum to prevent boredom. A life as a cop had hardened him to criminality, but his time at the asylum had led to his first questions, and he’d asked Helena if it was possible that these people might only be sick. If they were sick, he asked, might they be cured?

“He’s been busy all morning. He asked for cleaning supplies and a broom, then kept asking if you were still coming,” Lester said. “It’s like he’s in love.”

Helena watched through the window. “Obsessive-compulsive, Lester. Not really the same.”

“Well, he’s obsessed with you.”

Helene looked into the window. Dr. Marlowe Perkins sat on the edge of his bed. Tense and nervous like a cat, his forearms flexed as he gripped his hands together.

“Let’s see if we can use that,” Helena said.

Lester inserted the key and turned the lock. Metal scraped against metal, and the door creaked as Lester pushed it open. Perkins leapt to his feet, hands at his sides, playing at the seams of his surgical green pants.

“You going to behave, doctor?” Lester asked.

He looked past Lester to Helena, vibrating with nerves. “Yes, yes.”

Lester stepped back and looked at Helena. “You sure?”

Helena nodded and stepped inside. Lester pulled the door closed. Metal scraped against metal, sealing the door.

Marlowe swallowed. Helena scanned the room, pausing at the camera in a heavy cage in an upper corner.

“You’ve been cleaning all day, Marlowe?”

Lester looked around the room. “Yes, things needed to be just right for you.”

His eyes locked on something at the edge of a table. He almost leapt towards it and wiped at it with a fingertip, then stepped back.

“You’ve done a wonderful job. Very organized. Very clean.”

“Thank you, Dr. Webb.”

The room was furnished with a small bed, a single table and chair, along with a sink and toilet. A barred window was inset in the thick stone walls. The bar cast slanted shadows across the bed.

“May I sit?” Helena asked.

Marlowe gestured to the chair. “Please.”

Helena sat. She set the notepad and the metal box onto the table. Marlowe’s eyes flicked to it.

“I did as you said. Every day.”

Helena withdrew a pen from inside her coat and began to write.

“Tell me what you did,” she said, pen poised above the paper.

“I took the pills,” he said and glanced at the box. He swallowed. “And thought of you.”

“Thought of me? What did you think when you thought of me?”

He swallowed. Helena looked up.

“What did you think, Marlowe?”

“I apologize, Dr. Webb.”

“Why are you sorry, Marlowe?”

“It was inappropriate,” he said. “You’re my psychiatrist.”

Helena set down the pen. “We talked about this. If you’re going to get better, you have to be honest.”

He held his mouth closed, and his lips quivered. “I love you.”

Helena picked up the pen and wrote. “What do you love about me?”

Desire bent his body. His shoulders dropped, and his hands closed into a frustrated knot. “You’re perfect. Beautiful, brilliant. And so kind.”

Helena didn’t look up from her pad and kept writing. “What else?”

The springs on the bed creaked as Marlowe rose. He stood in the narrow space between it and the chair, looking down on Helena. She looked up, meeting Marlowe’s eyes.

“Sit down,” Helena said, raising an eyebrow.

Marlowe sat.

“What else, Marlowe?” Helena asked.

His hands seemed to move on their own. They reached for Helena as though they would cup her face. His expression was raw, unguarded, caught at the edge of affection and desire. He rose and turned away, going to the corner near the door.

“I love you, doctor.”

“I’m an attractive woman, Marlowe. I care for you. I want you to live a happy life. It’s normal that you would have strong feelings.”

He didn’t turn. “But, do you love me?”

“I’m fond of you, Marlowe.”

He looked at her, pained and needy.

“You don’t love me?”

“I want you to get better.”

He swallowed. “I want you to love me.”

She shook her head. “Not now. One day, maybe, but for now, I’m fond. Can you accept that?”

“That’s not good enough.”

Helena rose. She tucked the pen into her coat and gathered her pad and the box of pills.

“Then, I’ll go. Dr. Brunner can assign another therapist.”

She stepped towards the door.

“No, no,” he turned and fell to his knees. “Please. I need you.”

He clutched at her skirt. “Please.”

Helena frowned and flipped open the pillbox. She held it out. Marlowe picked one pill out, put it into his mouth, and swallowed hard. Helena closed the box.

“You going to behave?”

He nodded, looking at the ground.

Helena returned to the chair and set down the notepad.

“Now, you said you thought about me and other things. What were those other things?”

“I thought about breaking out and coming to see you.”

Helena paused and glanced up at the security camera. A small logo with an old-style brass key was embossed on the side, Perkins Security, Inc. This was the company Marlowe had founded before his obsession with order and security had turned to madness.

“We’re locked in Marlowe. This is the most secure location in the city.”

Marlowe lifted his eyes and smiled. “You told me to behave.”

“But, if you wanted to escape, you could?”

Marlowe didn’t speak. He only met Helena’s eyes.

She wrote another note.

“What if I told you, I might be able to get you furloughed?”

Marlowe brightened. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m speaking with Brunner today. I think a few days per month would do you good. You could come to my office, and we could have our sessions there.”

He looked at her, his face glowing. Still kneeling, he began to speak.

“Any-,” he exhaled, his features softening.

He blinked. “Anyth-“

His eyes became glassy, unfocused, and he swayed as the drug entered his bloodstream. Helena rose. She closed a hand over his arm.

“Come lie down, Marlowe,” Helena said, lifting.

He tried to rise and staggered, his body going loose. Helena lifted an arm over her shoulder, grunting at the strain. She managed a step before he tumbled and collapsed on the bed, the springs creaking. One leg hung over the edge. She lifted it onto the thin mattress.

His pants bulged, and she put a hand on his cheek.

“If you behave, we can be together, Marlowe,” she said.

“Togeth-“

“That’s right. You’re doing so well. Taking your pills and thinking of me.”

“Love.”

“Yes. Soon. Sleep and dream of me, visiting me, and how that will feel.”

He smiled, an incomprehensible mumble escaping his lips.

Helena straightened. She took the pill box and slid it under his pillow, retrieving the empty one she’d left the prior week.

Gathering her things, she rapped on the door and waved to the camera. The lock turned a moment later.

---

Dr. Elmore Brunner’s office was in the high tower facing the sea. A spiral staircase led to the battlements above. Helena had stood atop it, looking from the sea to the sprawl of the city. It had made her feel like the witch queen in fairy tales, and she imagined controlling minions with a casual wave of a finger.

Brunner rarely used it. Instead, he sat in an enormous black leather chair with stacks of patient reports flanking him to either side.

“There is no way in hell I’m letting that maniac out,” Brunner said. “Not for a weekend, not for a second.”

“Keeping him locked in that room only makes it worse,” Helena said. “Have you seen what he does in there?”

“I know what he doesn’t do in there. He doesn’t crack bank vaults. He doesn’t break into rich people’s houses. He doesn’t embarrass the mayor’s security detail.”

“Not once did he ever hurt anyone. Never robbed a penny. He even shook the mayor’s hand when he hijacked his limousine.”

“As though scaring people to death isn’t harm,” Dr. Brunner said. “No furlough.”

“Let him out for a day, just to relieve the pressure,” Helena said. “A day.”

“Are you listening, Helena? No. If I even crack the door, Sentinel will swoop out of the sky and put him back in about twenty minutes.”

Helena smiled. “Sentinel runs the asylum now? I thought we were psychiatrists. We help people, remember?”

“Sentinel put him here. The court agreed. When the court says he can leave, I’ll swing the doors wide. Until then, he’s not moving.”

“Until he decides to leave.”

“He designed the security. Even he can’t break it. He told me that when his company installed it.”

“He hadn’t been locked up in that room for months at a time then.”

Helena sighed.

“Final answer? I promised him that you would consider it.”

“Final answer. He stays.”

Helena frowned and rose, gathering her things. “Then you tell him. I won’t do it.”

Brunner shrugged. “Fine. You should know better, Helena.”

Helena moved towards the door and stopped. She returned to the desk and tapped it. “You have to tell him everything. All of it. That I wanted him to get a couple of days, and that you said no. You tell him that.”

“I said I’d do it.”

Helena turned and exited the office. She held her face neutral. At the main entrance, Harold smiled and trailed his eyes over her body.

“Next week?”

Helena winked.

She exited and let the door close behind her. Looking up, the uneven stone facing rose to the sky. One of the inset windows was Marlowe’s. She smiled. They would see each other soon.

---

Helena stepped out of a cab and looked up. Cynthia’s glass and steel building reached for the sky. Helena’s cell phone buzzed. An alert blinked: Escaped fugitive escaped from Selene. Do not engage. It was the third time the message had appeared in the last two hours. Helena smiled. She could hear Brunner’s desperation.

The phone rang. Dr. Brunner’s name appeared.

“Dr. Brunner.”

“He’s out,” Brunner said. “I can’t believe it.”

“You told me the asylum was secure,” Helena said.

“It was. It is. He promised-“

“Yeah, and I promised you’d built a pressure cooker.”

“We’re reviewing the security footage, but it’s all erased, even the archives. It’s just gone.”

“You told him?”

“Of course I did.”

“And what did he say?” Helena asked.

“He looked right through me. Kept repeating that Dr. Webb was the only one who cared.”

“And what else?”

“Nothing. He settled down and asked if he could listen to the radio.”

“And you gave him one?”

“It was a radio!”

“You gave an electronics expert a radio?”

“Oh god.”

Helena smiled into the phone and held the silence. Brunner groaned.

“You call the police?” Helena asked.

“I’ve called everyone, even put it out as a public alert.”

“You know what that means.”

“I don’t care.”

Helena looked up at the building. She smiled. Sentinel.

“Helena?” Brunner asked.

“I’m here.”

“Get to a police station. They’ll take you into protective custody.”

“I have patients,” Helena said.

“Please, Helena.”

“I warned you about this. Call me when anything develops,” Helena said and ended the call.

A thrill charged up from the base of her spine. She scanned the street around her, then looked skyward. There was only traffic and blue sky. She entered the building and spoke to the security guard.

“I have an appointment with Cynthia. I’m Dr. Webb.”

The guard pushed a button and gestured to a private elevator. It dinged and opened. Helena stepped inside. Accelerating upwards, Helena controlled her breathing, counting on each exhale and matching it to the inhale.

The penthouse level blinked on the panel, and the doors opened.

A heavy door blocked the entrance to the penthouse. A panel beside it glowed. The Perkins Inc. logo glowed in the bottom right corner. Helena pushed the intercom button.

“Helena?” Cynthia’s voice came through a speaker.

“Yes.”

The lock buzzed and thunked. Cynthia pulled the door open. She smiled.

“I did it,” Cynthia said, her face alight.

“What did you do?”

Cynthia shoved the door closed. The lock thudded back into place. She almost skipped across the floor, beckoning for Helena to follow.

Helena tried to keep up, but Cynthia was already at the lab bench. She had what looked like a mister bottle.

“You remember how you said that formula was useful with patients with anxiety?”

Helena nodded. “Yes, it helps calm them.”

“But, the effect takes time to enter the bloodstream, right?”

“Right.”

She held up the mister. “Not anymore. This will let it be absorbed through the lungs. The effect will be almost instantaneous.”

She handed the bottle to Helena. “You’ve tested it?”

Cynthia flushed. “I modeled it on the computer first.”

“You tested it.”

“I had to see if it would work.”

Cynthia’s blush deepened, and she looked away.

“It works,” she said in a near whisper, her face a deep red.

“And?”

“Well, I-“, Cynthia said. “I couldn’t get the side-effect out, and it’s really strong.”

“The erectile effect?”

Cynthia whispered. “It’s really strong.”

Helena laughed. “And you liked it?”

“Like feeling the safest I’ve ever felt and super turned on all at once,” Cynthia said.

Helena looked at the bottle. Generic, it had no label, only a faintly green liquid filling it about halfway.

“This is amazing, Cynthia.”

Cynthia couldn’t meet Helena’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Helena waited. Cynthia’s cheeks were crimson. Helena let her sit with the embarrassment.

Cynthia coughed, then brightened.

“Oh, I have something else to show you.”

She moved off towards the terrariums. Helena followed, her eyes on the bottle. A click echoed from the front of the apartment. She looked up.

Helena had frozen in the doorway between the labs and the terrariums.

Marlowe stood in the center of the floor. He still wore the pajamas from the asylum.

“Dr. Webb,” he said.

Cynthia screamed. “No, no, no.”

She ran, retreating towards the lab. Marlowe didn’t move. He fixed on Helena.

“Thank you for trying, Dr. Webb. Dr. Brunner told me.”

“Marlow, you know this is inappropriate,” Helena said.

“I love you,” he said.

“Of course, but you have to go back.”

His face became stricken. “You’re angry with me.”

“Marlowe, listen carefully. I understand why you did this, but it’s wrong. We’ll call the police-“

A faint whistling grew beyond the curtains. Helena looked towards it.

“No,” Marlowe said from behind her.

The sound grew, resonating through the glass until the air inside the penthouse pulsed with it. In the distance, Cythia’s cries had become repetitive and deteriorated towards sobs.

Cynthia stepped away from the windows. Marlowe’s arms circled around her.

“Never leave me, Helena,” he said, his mouth close to her neck.

A crash erupted, and the black curtains billowed inward. The silver and blue figure of Sentinel burst through, rolling over a shoulder and finding his feet.

His eyes scanned, finding Cynthia, then Helena. They narrowed when they saw Marlowe.

“Let her go,” the hard voice commanded.

“I love you,” Marlowe whispered.

Helena’s heart pounded as Marlowe’s grip constricted like a snake’s cinch. She struggled to breathe.

The disc appeared in Sentinel’s hand, but he hesitated, his eyes recognizing Helena. She drew a halting breath through Marlowe’s grip.

“Help,” she gasped. “Please.”

The disc flew. There was a thud, and Marlowe fell over backwards. He dragged Helena down with him. She thudded atop him and scrambled free from his slackening grip, twisting and finding herself on all fours. The mister slipped from her hand and rolled. Helena gasped and scrambled for it, finding herself at Sentinel’s feet.

A strong, long-fingered hand in a blue glove appeared in her vision. She grasped it. It lifted her to her feet. She looked up into the ice blue of Sentinel’s eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She hesitated. She wasn’t, but she continued to look into those eyes.

“I’m not sure.”

“Take a minute,” he said. “Breathe.”

She nodded, and he drew an exaggerated breath in rhythm with hers.

Helena’s hand moved without conscious thought. As he drew breath, she lifted the mister and depressed the button.

He almost stopped her. His hand had begun to block, but before he could, a cloud of greenish mist blew into his face, droplets forming on his mask.

Hesitation. He stepped back and waved at the mist. He looked at Helena, eyes hard. He reached for something on his belt.

While still holding Helena’s gaze, his eyes softened then blanked, becoming glassy and unfocused. He staggered. Helena stepped to him and put a hand on his chest. The hard muscles slackened, and he fell to the ground, landing in a sitting position.

Helena knelt beside him as he sank to the ground.

Never losing consciousness, his eyes stared upward. Helena glanced towards his waist. The swell confirmed the drug’s effect. Helena slid on top of him, half lying on his chest. She ran a finger over his lips.

“I’m Dr. Helena Webb,” she whispered.

He mumbled, eyes glassy. She kissed his mouth. His mouth answered. She broke it and stared into his eyes.

“Remember me,” she kissed him again. “You want me. Remember.”

She continued to whisper until his eyes began to focus. As they did, she rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes.

He moved and began to rise. Helena groaned and fluttered her eyes as though waking up. He looked down on her, uncertain. He looked over her body, and a flush appeared behind the mask. Swallowing, he tore himself away and went to Marlowe, binding him and hauling him to the platform before returning to Helena’s side.

“Dr. Webb,” he said, kneeling beside her, a finger checking her pulse at the throat.

He was staring, uncertain.

“Are you ok?”

She nodded. “Thank you. You saved me.”

He lifted her to her feet. She lifted onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. He did not try to stop her.

“I don’t know how to ever repay you,” she said.

“You don’t have to,” Sentinel said.

“But, I want to,” she said and leaned against him. “Very much.”

He tried to speak but hesitated, then he turned away. He went to the platform and stepped onto it. He paused, looking at Helena before gliding away, the whistling sound fading.

Helena exhaled and squinted her eyes shut, heart thudding. She felt his gaze, feeling as though he’d traced his hands over every curve. She’d made him hesitate, and he would remember her.

Cynthia still whispered in a corner of the lab. Helena went to her, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Cynthia,” Helena whispered. “You’re safe.”

Cynthia sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. She hid her face against her knees, tears streaking her face.

“You’re safe, Cynthia,” Helena said. “I’m here.”

“Never safe,” she sobbed.

“I understand.”

They sat that way for a long time. The flicker of sky through the fluttering curtain darkened from blue to the orange of sunset.

Cynthia’s breathing calmed, and she raised her puffy, reddened eyes to meet Helena’s.

“They’re gone?”

Helena nodded.

“You’re sure?”

Helena nodded again.

Cynthia moved in slow motion, her arms reaching for Helena. They encircled her, and Cynthia buried her face against Helena’s shoulder. Her grip almost matched Marlowe’s, desperate and ferocious. Helena stroked Cynthia’s hair.

Eventually breaking the embrace, Cynthia pulled back.

“Safe?”

Helena smiled. “Yes.”

Looking towards the twisting curtain, Cynthia frowned at the broken glass.

“Daddy’s going to lose it.”

Helena giggled. “I suppose he will.”

They sat in silence, then Cynthia brightened.

“Oh, I didn’t show you.”

She rose and grabbed Helena’s hand. Leading her to the terrarium, she leaned close to one, pointing at a black widow lurking in the center of her web. An oval silk package was woven into it.

“She laid eggs yesterday,” Cynthia said.

Helena looked. Another package was wrapped nearby, along with the broken legs of a male widow spider.