Twisted roots

Setting the Snare

Jessie had seen a lot of blood in her life—on bodies, on walls, on her own hands. But nothing prepared her for the way it felt to clean blood off someone she cared about.

Levi had been awake for a couple of hours so Jessie decided to clean him up. Levi winced as she pressed a damp cloth to the deep cut above his eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she murmured, though her touch remained steady. “You should’ve gone to the hospital.”

Levi gave her a grim smile. “What would I tell them? ‘Hey, the behavioural analyst I was investigating tied me up and tortured me in a hunting cabin?’”

She didn’t smile back.

Jessie finished stitching the last gash along his ribs and leaned back, her jaw tight. She had cleaned every wound, applied salve, and wrapped him in clean gauze. She worked quickly, efficiently—like she was afraid she might fall apart if she slowed down.

He watched her in silence for a moment. “You haven’t asked me the obvious question.”

She didn’t look up. “I don’t need to.”

“You’re not even going to ask if I gave you up?”

Her eyes met his. Cold. Certain.

“If you had, you wouldn’t be here.”

He exhaled, finally letting himself relax into the couch.

She stood, stripped off her gloves, and threw the bloody towels in a trash bag.

Then she said, “We’re going to end this.”

The next morning, the plan began to take shape.

Jessie had already scouted the location: an abandoned textile factory on the edge of town, forgotten and falling apart. No security. No electricity. Just rows of decaying machinery, broken glass, and shadows deep enough to hide in.

Levi was against it at first. “I just got out of that psycho’s torture chamber, Jess. You want me to waltz right back into danger?”

She crossed her arms. “You want him to keep killing?”

That shut him up.

“We’ll control the environment,” she continued. “You lure him there. I’ll be waiting in the rafters. High enough that he won’t see me coming. I’ll bring chloroform. We knock him out, tie him up, and find out why he’s doing this.”

“And then what?” Levi asked. “You going to kill him?”

She hesitated.

He noticed.

“Jess—”

“We’ll deal with that part later,” she said, too quickly.

The next 36 hours were spent preparing.

Jessie gathered everything she needed: surgical restraints, gloves, industrial-strength chloroform, a full blackout bodysuit, and a modified tranquilliser backup—just in case. She repurposed one of her crime scene kits to double as a field interrogation kit.

Meanwhile, Levi sent the message to Aaron—just vague enough to pique his curiosity, just urgent enough to sell desperation.

“I was wrong. Meet me tomorrow night. Alone. Old textile plant. I need to talk.”

It was the perfect bait.

Aaron wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of cleaning up a loose end.

The night of the trap arrived.

The factory loomed like a corpse in the dark—rusted walls, shattered windows, weeds rising from cracks in the pavement. Jessie arrived early, climbing through the second-story window she had mapped out the day before. She positioned herself above the main floor, crouched on a metal beam. Silent. Watching.

She wore black from head to toe, her hair tucked into a tight braid beneath a cap. No badge. No trace. Just her, the chloroform-soaked cloth in her hand, and cold resolve in her veins.

Below, Levi waited.

He limped to the centre of the floor, his injuries real, his nerves raw. A single overhead light flickered as he leaned against a concrete pillar, like a wounded animal ready to be devoured.

Minutes ticked by.

Then footsteps echoed through the wide open space.

Aaron stepped from the shadows, wearing his usual quiet smile. Calm. Controlled. Dead behind the eyes.

“Levi,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah,” Levi rasped. “Takes one to know one.”

Aaron’s head tilted. “You said you needed to talk.”

Levi nodded. “I wanted to understand why. All those who work with the bureau. All that profiling. Were you just studying yourself?”

Aaron chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He stepped closer.

And that’s when Jessie moved.

She dropped silently from the catwalk, landing behind him like a shadow peeling free of the wall. In one fluid motion, she clamped the cloth over Aaron’s mouth and nose, locking her arm around his neck.

He thrashed, surprised—but not fast enough.

Within seconds, he went limp.

Jessie lowered him carefully to the ground.

Levi stared, wide-eyed. “Jesus…”

Jessie looked up at him, breathing hard.

“Help me tie him up,” she said. “We’ve got questions. And tonight, he’s going to answer every single one.”

Aaron came to slowly, his head pounding like a war drum behind his eyes. His body ached, wrists burning from the tight zip ties digging into his skin. The air was heavy—metallic, like rust and dried blood. Cold concrete bit into his back, and overhead, a single swinging lightbulb cast flickering shadows across the peeling paint and decaying walls.

The factory was silent, except for the occasional creak of metal and the rhythmic drip of water from some unseen pipe.

He tried to move, but the restraints were tight—ankles and wrists, tied down like an animal on display. Blinking against the light, he shifted his gaze until a silhouette stepped into view.

Jessie.

She stood just outside the glow of the bulb, her face shadowed, arms crossed over her chest. There was no crime scene kit. No clipboard. No evidence bags.

Only her.

“Well,” Aaron said, voice raspy. “Either you’re here to help me… or I’m in real trouble.”

Jessie didn’t speak right away. She stepped closer instead, her boots echoing on the concrete, eyes fixed on his.

“You’ve been busy,” she said quietly. “The bodies. The messages. The stitches.”

Aaron tilted his head, trying to smirk, though it came out half-heartedly. “You tracked me down? I should be flattered.”

She crouched beside him, watching his expression carefully. “Why ‘guilty’? Why that word?”

Aaron chuckled. “You’re asking questions you already know the answer to.”

Jessie’s voice hardened. “Try me.”

He met her gaze. “Because guilt is the root of all rot. Everyone I chose… they deserved it. They carried guilt like an infection. I just cut it out.”

Jessie’s breath didn’t hitch, didn’t betray anything—but her pulse pounded in her ears.

“You sound like someone with a code,” she said slowly. “But how do you pick them? What makes them worthy of death?”

Aaron leaned his head back against the pillar behind him. “They show signs. You know that, Jessie. You’ve seen enough scenes to know the ones who hide their darkness best are the ones with the most to hide. I study them. Their behavior. Their tells.”

“So you think you’re doing the world a favor?”

He smiled lazily. “I know I am.”

Jessie leaned closer now, until their faces were inches apart. “What about Levi? What did he do to earn your attention?”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “He was snooping. Getting too close.”

“You tortured him.”

“He had information I needed,” Aaron replied coolly. “And if he didn’t… well. He was expendable.”

Jessie’s jaw tightened. “You were going to kill him.”

Aaron didn’t flinch. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same.”

She blinked. Just once. Then stood.

“You think we’re the same?” she asked.

Aaron laughed quietly. “Come on, Jessie. You work crime scenes, surrounded by blood, secrets, pain… You think I haven’t seen the way you look at them? Like you understand it. Like you approve.”

Jessie moved behind him now, slowly pacing like a predator. “You’re projecting.”

“I’m recognizing,” he countered. “You’re different. I could tell from the moment I met you.”

She stopped just behind his left ear. “If you’re so perceptive… then who do you think I am?”

There was a pause. Aaron’s brow furrowed.

“I think you’re someone who doesn’t like playing by other people’s rules.”

Jessie pulled something from her back pocket and let it clatter on the floor next to him.

A scalpel.

Aaron’s body went still.

She stepped in front of him again, crouching until they were eye level. “This is how you do it, right? Clean. Precise. Silent.”

Aaron’s eyes locked on hers, wary now.

“You know,” she continued, almost conversationally, “most copycats get sloppy. But you… You studied. You replicated every detail. You even left the same stitched word behind.”

Aaron flinched slightly. “Copycat?”

Jessie’s smile was cold. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

He blinked, truly confused now. “I started it.”

“No,” Jessie whispered, leaning so close their foreheads almost touched. “You didn’t.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then she pulled back and stood, her expression unreadable.

Aaron stared at her, searching her face. “You’re lying.”

Jessie said nothing.

“Wait…” Aaron’s brow furrowed deeper, his mind turning over the implications. “You’re saying—no. You’re not…”

But Jessie’s silence was a scalpel of its own. Sharp. Deliberate.

“Impossible,” he muttered.

Jessie turned away, retrieving the scalpel from the floor and placing it back in her pouch without fanfare. “You’re not here to convince me of anything,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re here because I want to know how many you've killed, how you chose them, and where the bodies are that we haven’t found yet.”

“You expect me to just give that up?”

She turned back slowly. “I don’t need you to give it up. I just need time. And you’re not going anywhere.”

Aaron glared at her. “What are you going to do to me?”

Jessie stepped close again, her voice almost gentle. “Nothing. Not unless I have to. You’ll be fed. You’ll be kept alive.”

“For how long?”

She smiled faintly. “As long as it takes.”

Aaron looked at her—looked—and for the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes. He didn’t know. He still didn’t know who she was.

But a crack had formed in his confidence.

Jessie saw it.

And she would exploit it.