The Web

Chapter 3 - Huntsman Spiders Have to Hide

"Naturalists have pondered this for years: there are spiders whose bite can cause the place bitten to rot and to die, sometimes more than a year after it was bitten. As to why spiders do this, the answer is simple. It’s because spiders think this is funny, and they don’t want you ever to forget them.” – Neil Gaiman

He hasn't aged well.

Gabriel, the head of the Harlow family's retained legal team looks up as I make my way into the prison waiting area. I plaster what I hope looks like a genuine smile to my face.

"Gabe! You are looking very well, old friend!

You look like s**t, you fat fool.

I stride over to where he is seated, and he rises to shake my hand.

"What are you doing here? I thought mother would pick me up?"

Gabriel clears his throat nervously.

"Liam, wonderful to see you. There has been, err, a slight change of plans." I arch my eyebrow at him and stare, tightening my grip on the fat, clammy hand I'm still holding despite my disgust.

"I see. Care to explain this..... change of plans?" I hiss, trying not to attract any more attention than necessary.

"Of course Mr Harlow, of course, but first please follow me through to the change area. I have brought you some more..... suitable attire."

The f*****g nerve.

I decide to bite back on my annoyance at his words and simply follow him to get changed. He hands me a suit, complete with dress shoes and tie, and again I arch my brow at him.

"What is going on Gabriel? Why the suit? It will be a long journey, and I wish to make it comfortably. And just where IS mother?"

"Mr Harlow, your mother has decided that it is best to be abroad for your release. The media attention has been quite.... relentless."

I pause, then take the suit and move into the cubicle to change.

My voice is dangerously low as I ask, "What media attention, Gabriel?"

"Liam, getting your sentence reduced by more than half was quite the sensation. Mrs Harlow has thrown an incredible amount of money at your case. Every household across America has been following the tabloids, and your name has been on the front of every single one for weeks now."

I cant help but feel pride swell in my chest at this. Of course the entire country should know my name. I'm Liam f*****g Harlow. But my moment of smug satisfaction is short lived. No, no, this won't do. That means SHE knows. She knows I'm out, she knows to run.

Now dressed, and with my face carefully arranged into a nonplussed expression, I exit the cubicle.

"So do you care to explain this suit, then?"

Gabriel looks me up and down before nodding his approval.

"Liam, the outside of this prison is swarming with press. There are many people who are angry at your release. We will be taking the back staff exit, however there is a good chance you may be photographed. It is very important to your mother that you are presented in the best possible light should this happen."

Well, mother does know best.

I shrug, and follow his lead to the staff exit where we are met by a team of half a dozen guards.

"Right this way, Mr Harlow," the armed one says, gesturing towards the black Lincoln that has just pulled up in the drive.

I march toward the car wordlessly, flanked by security, completely impervious to the shouts of the press and the vain flashing of cameras as they realise, too late, that they've been foiled.

It's going to be a long drive.

******************************************

The winter sun filters through my bedroom window, causing me to stir and open my eyes. I glance sleepily over to my bedside clock. Seeing it show 9:00 causes a momentary panic to set in, before I realise that it is, in fact Sunday.

The panic is quickly replaced by that lazy, luxuriant feeling of having nowhere to be and nothing to do, and for a few seconds I internally debate whether to get up or simply settle back down under the duvet for another hour or three. A loud rumble from my stomach settles that debate, and I slip out of bed and pad down the hall towards the kitchen.

A quick inspection of the culinary offerings of my fridge and pantry quickly reveal that I definitely stayed at the lake writing far too long yesterday afternoon, and that I really need to start taking into account that shopping does not do itself.

Looks like Dee's it is for breakfast then, I think to myself, not at all unhappily. Cooking may not be my forte, but it sure as hell is Dee Wilson's, and she has the cafe to prove it.

I head back to my room and quickly dress for the chilly weather, hastily pulling my wild long dark mane into something vaguely resembling tidiness.

I glance in the mirror and grin. Good enough for Greenville.

I walk briskly through the streets, spurred on by the chill and the thought of the hot coffee that awaited me.

I push through the door and it is buzzing, as is normal for Sunday breakfast. Everyone who is anyone in these parts knows that if you want breakfast and you don't want to make it yourself, Dee is your girl.

"Oh hey there Elliot, honey! You just grab a seat right up in that far booth, and we'll be out shortly." I flash Dee a grateful smile, pick up the Sunday paper and slide into the booth.

"Yes please, thank you" I murmer to the pretty young girl who offers me coffee from the pot on her rounds. As I settle in to catch up on the headlines, I close my eyes and mentally prepare myself for what I may be about to see.

He has been all over the news these past few weeks, and I know the ruling was made on Friday.

Against my better judgement, I have held fast to a glimmer of hope that justice would be served, that the appeal against the length of the sentence would be overturned. The Harlow's were no easy foe, however. The sheer wealth of the family was staggering, and I knew exactly how much of it had been thrown towards Liam's freedom.

The twenty five year sentence they were appealing may seem a long time to some, but to me, to the girl who lost her mother before her very eyes, it could never be enough. I take a breath and open my eyes. You must look. You must know, either way.

My heart sinks at the headline.

Harbour Hotel Killer Walks.

The buzz of the cafe surrounding me seems distant and muffled as I struggle to maintain my composure. Hands shaking, I reach for my coffee.

Ok Elliot. Ok. You knew this was the likely outcome. You knew this was a possibility. Breathe, Elliot, breathe.

I subtly glance around, checking to make sure that my momentary loss of poise was not acknowledged. It is vital now, more than ever before, that my protected identity is not compromised in the slightest.

Ok Elliot. This is happening. So you might as well get a grip and get ahead of the game.

I know in this situation, my only chance is to stay a step ahead of Liam at all times. He will come for me, of that I have absolutely no doubt. In fact, as soon as I got wind of this appeal, I made it my business to wrap my head around it and start planning.

I already know Liam recieved the false information about my whereabouts before he was released. I know he has no reason to doubt or question the information. There was no way for him to know that the man he recieved that information from was paid off by me.

I also know that because of the intense media scrutiny surrounding his release, it will be awhile before Liam will be able to make his move. Things will have to settle.

I mentally smirk at the thought of Liam Harlow having to be patient, having to bide his time, only to finally travel to the end of the country that is completely opposite to my whereabouts.

Looking for one girl in LA is like searching for a needle in a haystack at the best of times. But looking for a ghost?

Ha! Good luck asshole. Your move, Harlow.