Black Widow

She twisted the ring around her finger anxiously, absent mindedly wondering if she should just take it off. Who wears a wedding ring on a first date, anyhow? It had been so long since she had been on a first date, and she felt so on-edge and uneasy; the weight of the ring brought her some comfort. She was, after all, wearing the ring when she first met him at the grocery store. He had been so caught up in flirting with her, he didn’t even seem to notice until they made it to the checkout line. She had quickly assuaged his fears by explaining that she was a widow. He had been so kind, so thoughtful and sensitive; so, when he had asked her for her number, how could she say no?

The restaurant that he picked was quaint, yet beautiful. The walls were painted a deep shade of maroon, the tables were lined with cream-colored tablecloths, and each table was adorned with a flickering candle that painted shadows on the walls and smelled of vanilla. She had gotten there early on purpose; she needed time to calm her rising anxiety before he arrived. Time to get used to the idea of sitting across the table from another man, a different man, making small talk and flirting with someone else.

As she sat there, twisting her ring around her finger, her mind began to wander back to him. This is the sort of restaurant that he would’ve chosen for them. He was so charming in that way. Always finding hidden gems around the city, whisking her away to pleasant little bistros or cafes, creating beautiful memories. That’s all she had now, their memories. And as precious as they were to her, that’s all that they would ever be now. It was time for an awakening; she felt as though she had been in hibernation for years, and now it was time to come out and feel alive again. Like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon and flapping its newly crafted wings in the crisp air, taking flight for the first time.

It was almost six o’clock. He would be here soon, and the thought filled her with an unexpected dread and panic. What would it be like to start over again? What would it be like to let someone else in? To let herself be close to another person in that way once more. Would it be a rush, would it be exhilarating? Or would it feel like watching your favorite movie another time, warm and safe but ultimately, you know how it ends. Could she let herself go through that once more? Would it be worth it?

Before her mind could take her down that rabbit hole, she caught a glimpse of him ducking into the doorway. It was snowing outside, and there were little droplets in his sandy blonde hair, but he didn’t seem to mind. Their eyes locked from across the room, and he grinned at her through the scruff that surrounded his mouth. She could see his piercing blue eyes from where she sat, and suddenly, she had butterflies. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so scary to start over. Suddenly, she felt her wings began to flap.

He made his way across the crowded room, never once breaking eye contact with her. The closer he got, the harder her heart began to beat until he was there, putting a hand on her shoulder, apologizing for being late. It wasn’t even six yet, apparently, he had wanted to get there early too. He took a seat across from her and smiled, telling her how beautiful she looked tonight. The conversation flowed naturally, there were no awkward pauses, no struggling to find her words. He made her feel comfortable, yet something was still tugging at her stomach. Something was still making her twist that ring around her finger every so often. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

He must’ve noticed, because his demeanor changed ever so slightly and he asked, “how long were you married, if you don’t mind me asking.”

The question caught her off guard, yet her answer was automatic, “we were only married for six months before my husband passed.”

He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers; his hands were ice cold against her skin, “I’m sorry. That must have been devastating to you. How did he pass?”

Her smile was forced, it felt hollow, “they think that he had a heart attack. It was very sudden.”

“A heart attack? Really?” his eyebrows were raised but the surprise didn’t quite reach those baby blue eyes, “he must’ve been so young though, I assume. Given that you’re so young.”

She leaned back in her chair, nodding solemnly, “he was young. They say that it happens, though. I suppose we were just unlucky in that way.”

“I suppose,” he said, but his tone told her that he was holding something back. He took a long sip of his wine and she mirrored this and took a sip of her own. The tugging in her stomach was more intense, almost as if an alarm was going off throughout her entire body. But she was intrigued, there was a spark that lit up inside her. He cleared his throat before he continued, “were you ever married before that?”

Her smile touched her lips but didn’t reach her eyes, “typically you would ask next how long it’s been.”

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but his eyes were sharp, “I’m sorry?”

“My late husband,” she continued, taking another sip of her wine and leaning back in her chair, “typically, you would ask how long it’s been since his passing.”

“Of course,” he didn’t miss a beat, “I’m sorry, I just…”

“And typically,” she continued, leaning forward and lowering her voice, “you wouldn’t ask if I had been married before. I am, after all, so young, as you pointed out. What would make you think that I have been?”

He paused. He wasn’t expecting her to be so forward, so upfront. At the grocery store, she had made herself mouse-like. Small and insignificant, quiet, shy. A lonely widow, someone who needed to be taken care of. Everything that someone with his demeanor would be looking for; he was confident, charming, strong-willed. She had thought he would respond well to a woman that would compliment those attributes, a woman who would make him her whole world. Her husband had been that way when they had met, manly, almost brutish yet so sexy and suave. She had known just what type of woman that would attract him, and she made herself into that. She had made him see her as the mouse, easy to trick and trap. When in reality, she was always the cat.

“Detective, isn’t it?” She raised an eyebrow, “I must say, this is truly a new tactic. It is much more comfortable talking here, rather than an interrogation room.”

He was impressed, she could tell. He chuckled under his breath. Would he deny it? Play it off as if she was crazy? Certainly, she had been called worse than that. On more than one occasion. There’s always something about a man calling a woman crazy that got under her skin. Her first husband had said that a lot to her, usually after she’d catch him with another woman or in a lie. He would just hurl the word at her, as if he thought that it would hurt her somehow. Yet all it did was make him look weak and pathetic in her eyes. Clinging to the one word that has been ingrained into woman’s brains to make them feel unhinged. To make them question themselves to their core. To destroy their self-esteem and gaslight them.

No, he wouldn’t call her crazy. She knew it before he even opened his mouth.

“You’re a very smart woman,” he said with a smirk. He sat up straight in his seat and reached into his jacket pocket, flashing her a glimpse of his shiny gold badge, “I thought this was much cozier than an interrogation room, but if you’d like, I have some associates outside who are more than happy to transport you to the station.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she crossed her arms, “and before you make threats, if you could arrest me, you already would have.” She smiled cruelly, the spark inside of her flashing brightly, “so why don’t you just ask me what you want to know.”

“I already know everything I need to,” so confident, so brazen. His affect never faltered, he was still full of charm, “you’ve been married and widowed six times in the past decade. Each of your husbands have died under mysterious circumstances, anything from drownings, suicides, car accidents, and now a suspected heart attack in an otherwise healthy young man. What happened there, did you just get lazy?”

“My husband’s passing was unexpected and tragic,” her voice was matter of fact, “all of my husband’s passings were unexpected and tragic. I’ve been through a great deal, as I said, I suppose I am just unlucky.”

“We’ve been watching you for some time now,” he continued, glazing over her words, “we’ve been studying you. We know your patterns. We knew it would be time soon, for you to start hunting again.”

She let out a brisk laugh, “hunting? You approached me.”

He ignored her, clearly infatuated with the sound of his own voice, “all I want to know is why. We’ve investigated all of your marriages; we’ve seen no evidence that you were being hurt or abused. Your marriages were far from perfect, of course. Infidelity was pretty common for your husbands. Is that why you did it? Out of vengeance?”

She took a long sip of her wine, swirling it around in her mouth.

He lowered his voice, “Why would a woman marry a man, multiple men, just to kill them?”

“I suppose there are many reasons,” she shrugged her shoulders, “why a woman would marry a man, why she would then kill him.”

“Go on,” he said, leaning in.

“If I had to speculate,” she twists the ring on her finger, “I would say that maybe she was tired. Tired of being treated like she was nothing of value. Tired of being looked through and talked over, ignored and forgotten. Maybe she really did love a man once, and maybe he broke her heart. Maybe it was an accident, maybe she didn’t mean to kill him. But once she did, maybe she just needed to do it again.” She loved this part, her voice was steady as she continued, “maybe it gave her a rush. That look in a man’s eyes when a woman does the unexpected, the one thing they never thought that she would do. That look when that man realized how powerful she really was, how powerful she always was. That moment when she becomes his worst nightmare. And maybe that’s evil and twisted, maybe she’s evil and twisted, or maybe, in her own way, she was protecting herself. Maybe it was for her own survival. Or maybe…” Her voice trailed off.

“Maybe, what?” He asked, his piercing eyes watching her every move, every breath. Completely entranced by every word she said, hanging onto it.

She smiled, “maybe she was just bored.”

“Are you saying that you’re bored again now? Is that why you’re dating again?”

“I’m not bored, detective,” her voice is absolute, “I was sleeping, like a bear in hibernation. I’m awake now.” She stands up from the table and moves around it to so that she can lean in close to his ear, “as for your case, I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help. It is, after all, just speculation. I do hope you find what you’re looking for though.” She kissed him on the cheek lightly before turning briskly and exiting the restaurant.

Outside under the fresh snowfall, she breathed in the evening air. The snow lined the ground, like a soft blanket had been rolled out over the whole city. She puts her hands deep inside her pockets in the cold night. She ignored the unmarked van parked along the sidewalk, although her impulses almost told her to wave, but she controlled it. Instead, she just smiled to herself, walking down the busy sidewalk. The detective hadn’t even gotten to the best part. The part from before she ever said, “I do”, the string of lovers and boyfriends who had disappeared, or dropped dead. She couldn’t fault him though, some of those were in other countries, other places and other times. He had done his homework but there was so much more to do; he would find her again when he was caught up. She would be waiting.

Suddenly someone bumps into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance. He’s tall, even taller than the detective was. He has dark hair, clean shaven, big brown startled eyes. He looks at her, then takes a second glance. His words get caught for a moment; he’s shy. Innocent almost, like nothing dark has ever touched him. She slips the wedding ring off of her finger and lets it rest in her coat pocket; he’s young, too young and naïve; he’s not looking for a mouse, he needs a woman with confidence.

“I’m sorry,” his voice shakes, “I didn’t see you there.”

She smiled boldly, “well you see me now.”

He was unsure but still, he smiled. She had drawn him in. She wondered if the detectives were still watching her, listening to her. The thought that maybe they were brought an unexpected thrill. She extended her hand and introduced herself.

And just like that, the butterfly inside broke free from its cocoon and took flight once more.