Blind Date

Most people think of death by poisoning as a clean way to go. I knew this was simply not true. It's not like people ingest a poison and simply pass out and die. Death by poisoning is violent. As the violated organs begin to shut down and to fight against the corruption, they struggle to hang onto life just as fiercely as someone drowning.

"If I was looking to poison someone - to kill them - I'd go with ricin."

Jacob's warm eyes met mine from across the table as he chewed on the end of a toothpick, ruminating on my words, perhaps a little turned on. He looked at me as though I was the most interesting woman in the world, and I wondered what it was about men that made them so intrigued with talk of murder. Most of the dates I'd been on lately eventually led to conversations about murder. I didn't know if it was all men who found homicide to be a topic they liked to converse on, or just the particular company I was keeping.

"Because it's non traceable in a standard toxicology tests, and therefore maybe something that you could get away with."

I shrugged my shoulders and took a sip of my martini.

"And being colorless and odorless, they wouldn't even know they'd had it."

"Obviously you have given this a lot of thought," he grinned. "Should I be worried?"

I winked and bit my lip casually.

"Oh, I have other plans for you, Jacob."

He was handsome, I had to give him that, and so it really was a terrible shame that he was a target. I’d invited him to Alberto's because it was a place I knew well, and the head chef, Armand, was an old friend of mine. I had noticed Jacob straight away from his Tinder profile and gave him a polite wave as I stood and walked towards him, leaning into his arms for a casual embrace. His cologne mixed with the faint scent of perspiration reminded me of my father, oddly, which was both comforting and disconcerting.

"So besides poisons and a repressed desire to commit homicide, what else do you enjoy?"

"Who said my homicidal tendencies were repressed?" I said as our meals arrived.

I had chosen the pan-seared Atlantic Salmon with sauteed asparagus and a delicate white wine roux that smelt divine. Jacob excused himself to attend the bathroom and I admired the placement of the steak and vegetables on his plate. I could so easily have poisoned him here and now had I wished to do so. A sprinkle of strychnine would have done him in. We'd be chatting away and the convulsions would start before dessert even arrived. But that was not the brief I was given so I refrained.

Jacob ate his steak rare and bloody. Like a surgeon extracting a tumor from healthy tissue, he sliced through sinew with a knife that he wielded like a scalpel. Mashed potatoes accented with garlic and salt soaked up mushroom gravy that drowned carrot rounds. He loaded his fork with meat and potato and onion, and as he thrusted it into his mouth, I prayed for him to choke. That would make things easier. Let him sharply inhale as a piece of delicately cooked porterhouse enters his throat. Let it become lodged like a plug in a bathtub, stopping air from coming into his lungs. Such a miracle, a random twist of fate, would not only put a stop to this charade and let me out of work early.

"How's yours?" I asked.

"It's very good actually. It is rare to get a steak done so perfectly."

"Excellent," I said. "You can't taste the ricin at all can you?"

He stopped chewing and looked at me seriously for a second before laughing.

"Of course, I would not be so blunt had I wanted to kill you."

As he finished, I brought up the topic for which I had brought him here.

“I had a reason for arranging this date,” I said bluntly, “a mutual acquaintance. A client of mine.” 

“I see” he said, “and who is your client?”

This was always my favorite part. The way their faces changed when they heard the name come spilling out of my mouth. The way their brows creased in anxious concern, and how they would always laugh slightly, expecting me to reveal that this was some sort of joke. 

“Melissa Wyatt.” 

His brow creased and he laughed nervously. 

“My ex! Your client? What is - ” he paused and stood up.

“I would sit back down if I were you, Mr Petrie. We have some … matters to discuss.”

He sat down and loosened his necktie. 

“Christ, Jacob,” I said, “You look nervous. Anybody would think I’d poisoned your steak or something.”

Pure desperation rippled across his face. Of course I hadn’t poisoned his steak. That wasn't my style. I dealt in something more significant than death. My currency was pain and the commodity I preferred to deal in was revenge. Today Melissa would get hers.

“Melissa told me about everything, Jacob. The abuse. You’re not ‘Mister Nice Guy’ after all.”

“Lies,” he shouted, “all fucking lies!”

“Now, now, Mr Petrie, I think we both know that you are who she says you are.”

I had it all. The medical reports. Photographic evidence of bruises and burns. The sworn affidavits of his gaslighting and financial abuse. I had x rays of broken bones and police reports. Now I had him in my sights. He began to cry. A deep sobbing that came in long, mournful notes broken by the staccato inhalation of snot. 

“Mr Petrie, Ms Wyatt contacted me about a month ago to hire my services.”

“And what -” he struggled to speak, "do you do exactly?”

“I’m something of a messenger. I talk to women who happen to fall in love with narcissistic pricks such as yourself, and I -” I cleared my throat for dramatic effect,

“I get revenge.” 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

“What do you take me for, Mr Petrie? Do I look like a killer?" 

I pulled a small canister from my handbag and held it up to the light, showing him the tiny white crystals inside.

"One of the most interesting things about this poison is that it gradually weakens the blood vessels in the eye, leading to the retinal failure and blindness."

I had his attention now.

"While you were in the bathroom I sprinkled about a teaspoon's worth on your steak. I'd say you've ingested enough to make you fully sightless in about -" I paused for dramatic effect, " - 45 minutes."

"You're insane, you'll never get away with this," he stood angrily.

"Sit back down, Mr Petrie, we have important matters to discuss."

He listened as I explained to him what was going to happen. I was going to call his ex-wife and he was going to admit to everything. He was going to confess his affairs and the abuse that he had forced her to endure. He was going to record it all so that it could be handed to the police as evidence against him. And in return I would give him the cure for the poison he'd ingested.

I pulled a nondescript black mobile phone from my handbag and placed it on the table before him. Sweat beading on his forehead had begun to drip into his eyes, which were now red with tears. I pressed a button and the screen came alive. Melissa's face appeared on the screen.

She sat on the edge of a bathtub, wrapped in a towel. The tap was turned off but the steady drip of water could be clearly heard as she turned to look towards the camera. She wiped a tear from her face.

“Hello Jacob. You’re probably wondering what is going on. You always liked to be in charge, so it is no doubt going to annoy you to no end that you are in no way in control of this situation.”

He looked to me for answers and I silently directed him back to the screen.

“For too long you have controlled my life. You have treated me like I was your property. You have hurt me. You have demeaned me. You have made me hate myself. You have cut me off from my family and my friends. You have driven me to this. It ends now."

Jacob, who had been slumped in his chair with his head in his hands, collapsed to the floor in a ball of emotional turmoil.

"Oh, get the fuck up!" I said, and he pathetically drew himself upright and sat in his chair.

"I confess to everything, Mel, I'm sorry for everything. The abuse. It was all me. I did it all. I hate myself for doing it and I am sorry."

He confessed to a long line of charges read by his ex, broken through the veil of snot and tears that had enveloped his face. He fell to the floor again and sobbed uncontrollably.

"You want this," I said as I held up a vial containing a clear liquid.

"Yes, yes, I do. I will never do anything to hurt her ever again."

I placed it on the table in front of him and began to walk out as he swallowed the elixir. It had no taste and no odor. It had no color and was not traceable on any toxicology tests. He drank it down with desperation. He might be lucky to get another 24 hours.

"Are you sure this will cure me?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr Petrie, I am sure it will," I assured him as I walked out of the restaurant, dropping a canister of harmless table salt into the bin as I left.