CHAPTER 13
SERIAL KILLER FAN CLUB

SNOW BEGAN TO FALL as the clock struck 2:45 AM. It was light, but the air was cold enough to make Sloane pull on a pair of thick wool socks over her thermal leggings. She tugged on a pair of boots, her favorite puffer jacket, and attempted to tame her hair back into a ponytail. Nothing could save the dark circles under her eyes though. She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep – and only about ten minutes of a stupid wet dream – before she got that call from Spider-Man. He had to be arriving any minute now. How? She didn't know. He could just ring the buzzer, or maybe he'd arrive on the patio. Jesus, how was she going to be able to look him in the eye after –

A fist knocked against her bedroom window.

Sloane gasped when her eyes met Spider-Man's mask through the glass. He stood on her fire escape, waiting for her patiently. She swallowed hard, casting the memory of her dream away, but it was ... difficult. With a huff, Sloane walked over to the window and slid it open to the side, stepping onto the already-small fire escape. Their chests were practically touching as she locked the window behind her. "Um – good morning?" She greeted, more like a question, and tried to look at anyone but him.

"Sorry to wake you," he said. Sloane thought of the dream once again, and pressed her nails into her palm as a distraction. "Let's go."

Before she could protest, Spider-Man had already cast a web to the building across the street and gathered her small form into his arms. Sloane screamed, even before they were flying through the air. But once she felt the wind whipping against her face, and watching the way they were almost hitting the traffic below, her voice went even louder, reaching octaves she hadn't yet explored. She clung to Spider-Man's neck, digging her nails into the thick spandex of his old suit. At one point – she wasn't sure when – she stopped screaming, and instead opted to shut her eyes.

Spider-Man swung them all the way to the Rego Park borough, just northwest of Forest Hills. He wasn't as agile or quick-thinking as he used to be, and they definitely came close to becoming roadkill a few times when his webbing didn't stick to a surface just right. But they somehow made it in one piece. He landed on top of an abandoned building, which stood in front of an apartment property with four cop cars parked beside it, lights flashing. Sloane's head had already been pounding from a hangover, but she felt like she was truly spinning as soon as he set her down. She jumped away from his hold immediately and exclaimed, eyes darting away, "You could've given me a warning, asshole!"

She approached the edge of the roof and looked down, spotting the group of police officers huddled in front of the entrance of the shitty-looking apartment building. Tilting her head up, her gaze locked on a window directly across from them. It was the only apartment with all the lights on, and when she squinted, she noticed more officers in the small space. Some were talking to a shaking couple, another was consoling a crying boy, and the rest inspected the place with flashlights and various tools.

"If I had given you a warning," Spider-Man said, bringing her out of her thoughts, "you probably wouldn't have come." He halted by her right side.

Sloane squeezed her hands into a fist, ignoring the knots in her stomach. She crossed her arms over her chest and replied, "Well ... you have a point there."

"And you did say we were a team. I see it's only fitting I wake you up at two in the morning to investigate a crime scene," he said, pulling a pair of binoculars out of his backpack.

Sloane scoffed, keeping her eyes away from him, afraid of what her mind would conjure up. She could hear the smile in his voice though, and that was enough.

Spider-Man paused and she could feel his mask burning into her cheek, which was probably covered in pillow lines. She wanted to cover her face inside a hood, ask him why he wasn't looking at the crime scene across the street from them, like they set out to do. But then, he asked, "Is there a reason you're avoiding eye contact?"

"What? No. No, I –" Her head snapped in his direction, and she finally took him in. His mask was dirty, as if he'd been crawling around in a sewer system, but his muscles look more pronounced tonight, or maybe she was just now noticing them. She swallowed hard, wondering if the suit was thin enough to show when he was h –

Get a grip, she told herself. And finally, she cracked a fake smile.

"I wasn't avoiding eye contact with you. See?" She pointed at her eyes with her index and middle finger, and then did the same in his direction. "I wouldn't call this eye contact, anyway. Your eyes are hidden behind a mask."

He snorted, not believing it.

Sloane snatched the binoculars from his grip. "Just focus on what we're trying to see here, Bug Boy."

"Spiders are arachnids," he corrected, but his voice faded away as Sloane took in the close-up view of the crime scene. The lit-up window led into the living room of the apartment, where she could see the words, BEWARE THE JAWBREAKER, etched onto the wall behind the family's couch. The substance slid down the walls, onto the cream-colored carpet, sticking to the surface better than Spider-Man's webbing. One officer approached the wall and took a few pictures with her camera, while another sat the young boy next to the open window for some fresh air. Sloane's hands went slick with sweat.

"That definitely doesn't look like spray paint," she said, handing off the binoculars to their rightful owner. Their digits brushed slightly, and Sloane flinched when she remembered the dream again. She quickly stuck her hand in the pocket of her coat, pretending like she hadn't noticed a thing. It seemed he hadn't either.

"You're right," he said, looking through the lenses. "The substance is goopier. It has to be blood. What other liquid could stick to a surface like that?"

Sloane bit the end of her fingernail. "If my step-brother is involved in this ..." He might be a murderer, she finished in her head.

"I know what you're thinking." Spider-Man turned his face in her direction, keeping his binoculars in the air. "Sloane, I don't think your seventeen-year-old step-brother is capable of murder. I do think, however, he's rolling with the wrong people."

She wanted to believe him. She did, but ... "These are the same people that used to be friends with the two victims, though."

His hands went slack at his sides. For a second, she thought he was going to touch her shoulder, reassure her, and her whole body went frozen as it embraced for impact. But he didn't move a muscle, as if he sensed her jitters. "The Jawbreaker is a sick, perverted individual – not a teenager. Your step-brother is definitely involved in the vandalism, but this one seems more sinister. The killer might be trying to get in on their game; let them know that he knows of their existence. Almost like a fan club."

Her brow shot up. "You think my step-brother is involved in a serial killer's fan club?"

"Indirectly, yes." He shrugged. "I mean, think about it. The media is booming with true crime documentaries, podcasts, and even films based on real cases. There isn't a millennial out there who hasn't seen almost every episode of Law and Order: SVU. Everyone is obsessed with serial killers, like they're characters in a story and not real psychopaths."

Sloane swallowed hard, turning back to the window below. Spider-Man's words were like a cold shower, silencing her memories of the dream, and she knew he made a fair point. She just didn't want to believe it, no matter how rude Everett was.

"So that apartment was where Isabella Woods used to live?" She asked, pointing to the window.

"Yeah," he replied, just as they spotted an officer approach the window and pull the shade down, cutting their view off. Spider-Man sighed, hanging his head back, before looking at her again. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume the Jawbreaker did this one, and he used Isabella's blood to write the message. Next thing you know, he's gonna start leaving a paper trail with victims' teeth he collects. That's what any sick individual would do," he added. "But I'm going to get in there tomorrow while the family is at work and the kid is at school to collect a sample. I wanna be sure."

"And Peter will test it at his lab?"

"Obviously. I don't ..." He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't have that kind of technology. He does, thankfully."

Her mouth formed into a cat-like smile. She attempted to conjure an idea in her head of what he looked like, but nothing stuck. Maybe if she saw him in person that would silence her desire for him. His face could be incredibly scarred under that mask, or he could be blonde. Sloane wasn't into blondes.

Leaning a hand on her hip, she said, "You should be there with us when we test it."

He chuckled. "What would you say if I told you I have a regular nine to five?"

"I'd say you're a liar."

"I also have a family."

She shook her head. "No offense, but you're kind of a drunk sometimes. I would know." Her index finger poked his lean chest. "And drunks don't want families."

His hand latched on her own when she touch him, wrapping his gloved digits around hers. The rubber grooves sewn into the fabric of the gloves stroked against her cold hand, and she was instantly reminded of the dream once again. She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat, clenching her legs together. Spider-Man sighed, and it sent a rush through her entire system.

"I think it's time I take you home," he declared, using that firm grip to scoop her into his arms again. Sloane didn't even find time to breathe before he was swinging them back into the dark sky.

━━━━━━

Despite only getting a few hours of sleep last night, Sloane was on high alert that morning as everyone left the penthouse for their expected plans. She kept track of when each person left. Everett exited the apartment to walk to school at six-fifteen AM. Frank left for the office at precisely eight-thirty. Sabrina was finally out by nine-thirty to schedule her Thanksgiving order with the catering company and go out to brunch with some friends. Everett and Frank would be away most of the day, but she only had a few hours of silence before Sabrina arrived back at the penthouse, tipsy from her three mimosas. Sloane got to work as soon as her mother left.

She was too curious for her own to not search through her step-brother's room. She didn't exactly know what she was looking for, but it had to be proof related to the case. Sloane was getting tired. She needed more evidence to connect Everett to whatever was happening because she was almost certain he was connected ... somehow. There had to be something in his room that linked him to whatever "fan club" bullshit that Spider-Man was spewing last night.

She had to find a way to put this puzzle together, but all she had been given were jagged pieces. The last thing she wanted was to find out that her step-brother was obsessed with a murderer, but she needed to know. No matter what the cost.

There was nothing in the piles of dirty clothes on the floor. Nothing in his drawers – not even in his sock drawer, which was where most teenagers hid their valuables. (That was where she used to hide her weed.) His bed was messy, but contained nothing hidden between the pillows. Sloane finally resorted to searching his nightstand, which was every girl's worst nightmare. She had just started pilfering through the first drawer when her phone rang. Bobby's contact picture lit up the screen.

"Hello?" She said, half distracted.

"Bernstein," her boss greeted, "haven't heard from you in a bit."

She feigned a laugh. "Well, I've been distracted. I'm pretty engrossed in something right now –"

"By writing, I hope? The deadline for the Seldon award submission is early next year. You haven't forgotten how important your piece is, right?"

Sloane paused her search, pushing a box of contacts and solution to the side. She peered into the darkness. "Uh ... of course not. I mean –" She groaned as she got to her knees, running a hand through her tangled hair. "There's been some developments in the case. I've been taking notes, and Spider-Man's been helping me –"

"New updates?" Bobby asked incredulously. She could hear him typing on the computer through her speaker. "I haven't seen anything."

"It just happened last night." She huffed under her breath and gave up on the top shelf. There was nothing of interest. "You know that vandalism that was happening before? Last night, the same words, BEWARE JAWBREAKER, were found written in blood in the home of the last victim, Isabella Woods. I'm having Spider-Man get me a sample of the blood today to test and see if it belongs to any of the victims. He thinks this act was done by the Jawbreaker, as a way to get the other vandals' attention."

"Huh, interesting. I can't tell what this guy's motives are at all. In all my years – hey," he paused, listening in. "What are you doing? I hear a lot of movement on your end."

Sloane halted her search and rocked back on the balls of her feet. "I'm ... searching Everett's room for more evidence."

Bobby released an annoyed sigh. "You seriously think your teenage step-brother has something to do with this?"

She began fishing around the bottom shelf and inspected a pair of old underwear. Gagging, she threw the underwear into the small pile of clothes in front of his closet. "Listen," she replied, recovering from the putrid smell she just had to endure, "I know he's part of the vandalism."

"Why don't you ask him then?"

"You think I haven't considered that already?"

"Well, I wouldn't know unless you told me –"

"He's not gonna tell me the truth. He's a teenage boy who doesn't trust me. I mean, he already lied to me about knowing the two victims. I saw pictures of him with Hayden and Isabella on his Instagram." She pressed her phone to the crook of her neck so she had access to both hands. "So I'm currently searching through where every teenage boy puts things they want to hide: their nightstand."

Bobby let out an exasperated sound. "A nightstand is a man's personal space."

Sloane narrowed her eyes, pushing aside a box of Cheez-Its. "He's not a man. He's a boy." She huffed, pulling out another small box. She expected it to be more snacks, but upon turning it around, Sloane realized it was a box of Trojan condoms. "Oh, gross," she whined, throwing the box to the floor and wishing she had some hand sanitizer.

Her boss laughed. "Found the condoms?"

"Unfortunately."

"What about the nips of tequila?"

Just a second later, Sloane dragged out a few nips of Captain Morgan. She snorted to herself. "Actually, it's rum." She cracked one open and sniffed the contents. It still smelled okay. With a smirk, she pocketed two bottles and stashed the rest back on the shelf.

"Did you just take some?"

Sloane scoffed, "That's none of your –"

She went radio silent as her hand wrapped around a small, plastic bottle. Thick red liquid sloshed inside, crusted slightly on the edges of the cap. It was partially empty. The label on the front read: Rubie's Costume Blood.

Sloane held her breath. Her ears began to ring. She gripped the neck of the bottle as tight as she could, but her hands were sweaty, and the fake blood almost slipped out of her hands before she set it on the ground clumsily.

Everett had fake blood in his nightstand. It was used. It was his. Could the message written last night have been in fake blood?

"Sloane? SLOANE? Can you hear me? Goddammit, has this stupid phone lost connection again –"

She blinked. "Um – huh?"

"Oh, you're there. Did we lose connection? Did you find something?"

"No, I just ..." Her eyes didn't leave the used bottle of blood. She could feel her hands shaking, her body was getting outrageously hot. "I think ... I think I did find something, but –"

Her phone began vibrating during the call, and she looked at the screen to find that Peter was calling her as well. She gasped, eager to know if he had received the sample already, and said to Bobby, "Listen, Reyes, I know this is the worst time, but I gotta go."

"Fine," he exhaled, "just make sure you keep me updated."

"Will do," she replied, knowing fully well that she wouldn't go through with that promise. There was too much on her plate and too little time to fill him in. Sloane ended the call and picked up Peter's, finally tearing her eyes away from the fake blood. "Peter?" She said, confusion echoing in her tone.

"Hey, Sloane," he greeted with a hint of hesitation. "I know it's early, but I was wondering if you had time to meet me at the lab."

Sloane got to her feet. "Why? Did Spider-Man already get you the blood sample from the crime scene?"

"Um – yeah, he gave it to me early this morning. He as in – uh – Spider-Man." He cleared his throat. "I tested it as soon as I got to the lab."

With an arched brow, she picked up the fake blood and inspected it. "And?"

"You're not gonna believe this, but ..." He huffed a laugh. "Sloane, this blood is fake."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: WHAT COULD IT MEAN WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN

this is sloane right now in the story ⬇️