He knows she is here, among many. He feels them. He feels the one. Her. He feels her, inside the many. Which of the bodies are hers and which are...her own body—divided—this is harder to discern. The half dead break apart and halves of the one come together in mutilated form.A voice beckons from where hung the spider:...Come to me…That voice...was it her? Was that really... her? No echo follows her voice. The power of that voice swallows itself.Tristan looks back. At the entrance a web. "Feel pretty good." You're startin' today," he said. "That Powers kid, the one with them funny glasses, he fell up the dugout steps and cracked open his chin, broke a tooth. They took him for x-rays and some stitches. Stupid kid." He's smarter than some," I said since the boy he was talking about had spent two years in the minors and built a good record through double-A. He knew how to pitch, not just throw. And he listened and worked hard. I had talked to him about the need to do something. More

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