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BLACK WIDOW

Miami, evening

The dark car stopped, waiting for the green light. Inside, a man watched the numerous human beings walking on the sidewalks.

Dexter had been driving for more than half an hour now.

There's nothing like driving around town to cool down after a long day at work. Or not...Focus, Dexter.

Dexter was focused, though. As focused on a mission as a human could possibly be. But the words he had heard that day and especially their implied meaning still made him thoughtful.

I've wondered about this more than once, actually. I'm not some unconscious bastard. As I grew up, sometimes I wondered how it must be to feel something. These thoughts aren't enough to deprive me of sleep. They just come to me at times.

Harry and his code don't anticipate every twist and turn and they certainly don't explain everything. It's a useful set of guidelines, though.

I can't afford having any friends, which suits me just right. I lack the social awareness to find them or the skill to keep them, and I have no desire of them. The dictionary's definition of friendship is in a scope unreachable for me. Neither Angel nor Masuka knows me really.

Friends are supposedly the people with whom you share things; people you trust and care about. I have a vague sense of obligation, a sense of what's expected of me, and I pretendto care, to share, to trust.

But aren't most humans this way? I mean, aren't we all to some extend lost in our little worlds of perfection, all unreachable, all untouchable? But I'm different. I know, because I'm conscious of my lack of feeling. It isn't as much feeling or lack of it that separates me from the average human. Some humans are cruel, far crueler than me. However, I know I have no feelings, and that makes me different.

Everyone wants to cling to the notion that they feel. I refuse to do so.

Dexter sighed and scanned the street unfolding before him.

Still early.

I wonder if this musing ever crosses my prey's mind. If it doesn't, maybe this makes me slightly better than them and, in a way, far more human.

He drove on speed limit, just slightly above the minimum velocity.

Tonight, the hunter will become the prey once again.

He didn't feel excited. He didn't feel the thrill of the kill. It was something he had to do. It gave him neither pleasure nor pain, just a vague awareness of inevitability. It was as inevitable as the fact that in the morning he would have more blood spatters to analyse.

It was true that human beings in general were violent, only contained by their moral standards. But even those standards were often forgotten in the heat of the moment.

And though some made up excuses, such as crimes of passion, or territorial fights, he, Dexter Morgan, had no need for such devices. He knew himself and his urges.

He had been driving down those same streets, alleys, parking lots almost every night for the last four weeks. He had been running other errands in the meantime. He often multitasked, keeping an eye on various... items.

It's like shopping on eBay, really. You place your bets in numerous items, waiting to purchase allof them. Still, it's luck and change that decide which one will end up being purchased first. And through it all, you have to keep an eye on all the items in your shopping
list.

One had to be prepared, to study every possibility, right till failure was impossible.

Only then did he feel ready: once all the evidence had been collected and every step had been studied thoroughly. Only then did he make his move.

Though he had been driving in a seeming aimless manner, he had a purpose. This route had a perfectly established destination.

Tonight's the night.

He had crossed the particular parking lot twice already. For it was important to be in control, to cover all exists; to tie any loose end.

While Dexter drove, he couldn't help but appreciate like the outsider he was the people walking or the cars pulling by the sidewalks. It was human interaction at its best.

After one last round around the block, he stopped inside the parking lot, choosing the darkest and emptiest part of it.

This has happened before, and it will keep on happening again and again. It has to happen.

He wouldn't be intercepted. But even if he were, he could say he was simply waiting for someone outside the gym.

Finally, there she is.

Laura Bounty: the black widow.

Dexter had examined her file repeatedly. He had learned to cover all hypotheses, so that, when the moment came, he didn't feel compelled to hesitate - even blink. To be honest, his lack of feeling helped him not to doubt.

Still, the last thing he wanted was innocent blood on his hands. That wasn't what the code preached.

For the past month he had went through it all, using the department resources to track her down and learn all the details from her past. He still couldn't truly understand, or rather, he couldn't believe it. Nevertheless, the evidence was there, quite clear.

Laura Bounty had made a living out of killing men. Widowers. Everything went well and she probably wouldn't have caught Dexter's attention if she just kept doing it as usual. Yes, she was a murderer. And yet what was so wrong about killing a couple of greedy men who were reportedly criminals themselves?

Hell, I would probably have come to think of her as some sort of partner, or simply be unaware of her existence.

But no, Laura Bounty had found a way to make the headlines. And though it was the headlines that piqued his curiosity, it was the court session that he had felt compelled to attend to and her criminal file that had made him realise one important thing.

Childless widowers with shady pasts weren't enough.

That was something Dexter couldn't overlook.

Look at her. No worries in the world.

Murder doesn't weigh so heavily if the murderer doesn't have a conscience to begin with.

--

Upon arriving in Miami after her fifth marriage-slash-widowing, Laura had hooked up with a wealthy man. He was a widower himself, and an honest father of a seven-year-old boy, Thomas. Thomas' mother had died of cancer just two years ago and his father, Anthony, though not overly eager to find a replacement for his late wife, felt that little Thomas was lacking some female guidance. And so, when he met Laura at a social benefit party, she seemed the perfect catch. She had lovely blue eyes, blonde hair; she was kind, smart, someone with whom he could have a deep intellectual talk. Moreover, she a widower herself, which meant she understood what he was going through. But most importantly, she loved children and his boy had loved her back.

All had gone smooth as silk and in three months they were married and living happily together.

It was just after the wedding that Anthony Meyers reportedly changed his will, leaving thirty percent of his wealth to his wife upon his death and appointing her sole guardian of his son. Soon after, Anthony started showing signs of what his doctor considered an advanced stage of a coronary disease. No one questioned the fact that he hadn't shown any sign of ill-health before or that his last check-up five months ago had shown him was excellent.

A small stroke followed, whereas Thomas started acting strangely, despising his new "mother"; and soon afterwards, a funeral. All covered by the media.

It was only after the funeral that the parents of the late Mrs. Meyers sought custody of their only grandchild. When Laura Meyers decided to take the matter into court, the grandparents had made an investigation on her.

And the woman that had been so kind and good for their son-in-law and grandson finally showed her claws.

Despite Anthony Meyers' wealth, the case had been low-profile and it all ended with the inevitable result. Though the grandparents' lawyer accused Laura Bounty of poisoning not only her late husband but as all her previous husbands as well, the jury deemed there wasn't enough proof. A clever defence lawyer had convinced the jury that the grandparents' claim of foul play in the previous deaths was mere prejudice against Laura Meyers. Even several house-keepers testified to Laura's kindness and her regard for the safety and welfare of little Thomas. Therefore, all proof concerning the five late husbands had been inadmissible in court.

In the end, the grandparents had lost the battle, and Laura was established as the sole guardian - captor - of little Thomas.

--

Apparently, Laura Bounty went to the gym every other Wednesday, practised for two hours and then left the building with two friends. They chatted in front of the gym for a while and then Laura walked to her car. And after following her around for more than a month, Dexter had noticed that she parked in the exact same place every time. She took a liking into grabbing a smoke just before driving back home.

That made it her last mistake.

Don't you know smoking is bad for your health?

Dexter left his car and stood by the driver's door. He watched as three women left the building at the same time and stopped by the exit, chatting.

He had chosen his spot wisely. He could watch and not be seen, whereas her car was parked a little further away, under one of the lamps.

Women: they crave being bathed in light. Light which is opposed to dark, where evil dwells.

Though in this case I think light serves another purpose: to emphasize evil by placing it under the spotlight.

Once the talk was over, Laura walked to the car and opened the door, throwing her bag inside. When she closed the door again, she lit a smoke and leaned against the window. She closed her eyes as she breathed in...life.

Uff. Women are troublesome beings, no doubt about that.

His eyes narrowed.

But I do hear saying they're worth the effort. Will you be worth the effort, Laura?

He moved swiftly, soundlessly, the syringe in his hand.

As Laura Bounty first put the cigar in her mouth, revelling in the intoxicating feeling with her eyes closed; just as she breathed out, deeply releasing the fumes from her lungs... she felt a tiny sting of pain to her neck. And just as the cigar left her numb hand and hit the ground, strong arms encased her in a tight embrace and dragged her away as she lost consciousness.

--

The short distance between the two cars had been easily covered. And much to Dexter's satisfaction, no one had entered the parking lot in the meantime. Everything was quiet and he was sure not even the gym's guard had seen him.

Dexter stopped the car by the empty warehouse he had already chosen. Laura was dead weight - albeit a light one - while he carried her inside.

I know. Poison or drugs would have been more poetic, more fitting in this particular case. But she doesn't deserve that peace of mind, the sort of release and unawareness provided by such means. She will know why she is going to die; she'll definitely know that there's no escape. She'll know that she simply doesn't deserve living.

Dexter had given her the usual dose, but as she was slender and small he could count on her being unconscious for at least another fifteen minutes.

This unbearable heat.

Dexter wiped his forehead with his shirt's sleeve. Dragging her inside hadn't been difficult; nevertheless, he was already sweating profusely. Carrying her body inside, setting all the
tools, placing her over the improvised table, undressing her and wrapping her in plastic film
had taken quite some time. He liked being meticulous while setting everything in place. He wasn't expected anywhere so he could take his time, but still...

Dexter gave the final touch to the death room by setting up the five pictures of Laura's late husband, and then he dropped a sixth portrait on the cabinet by his tools.

And now the wait.

I don't expect her to learn any valuable lesson before the end, it never works that way: crime and punishment, atonement, redemption. They pretend to realise their sins, but if left alone they'd keep on walking on exactly the same track, one of destruction. To take an innocent's life is against all rules. To kill meaninglessly and disregard human lives is unforgivable, even for me. I have a set of standards, a code. Harry's code.

She started regaining conscience, and she moaned painfully, still unaware of her surroundings. Dexter leaned forward till his head rested over his hands, now placed on the right side of her head. In his right hand he held a scalpel.

"Hello, Laura. How're you doing?" Dexter sighed at the next moment. "Hot, isn't it?"

The woman tried to turn her head to look at whoever was talking. But, to her horror, she realised she simply couldn't move. Her arms, her legs, her head, all were immobilised by some sort of plastic and, though it was a hot night, the goosebumps on her skin told her she was naked. And she was pinned down on a wooden table.

"Don't try to move, that might prove a painful experience."

Dexter rose to his full height. Laura moved her eyes trying to catch a glimpse of her attacker.

"What's going on?"

"It's polite of you to ask."

"You want money? I have plenty."

"Oh, Laura, Laura, I wouldn't want you to keep any false hope," Dexter said. "I'm going to kill you."

Laura felt faint and frightened as she had never felt in her life.

"Wh-why?"

Dexter cut her right cheek, performing once more the well-practised ritual that had now become almost a second nature to him. As blood started spilling from the wound, he collected a few drops with a pipette. Dexterously he held the blood slides. Applying some pressure on the plastic pipette he made a single drop of blood fall to the blood slides. Adjusting the glass that covered the blood he savoured the image before him and its meaning: the liquid trapped between the blood slides signified a person, the person before him. Carefully placing both the pipette and the blood slides back on the cabinet Dexter turned to face Laura Bounty. He held the electric knife on his right hand.

"Now, Laura, I'd like you to take some seconds to look at those portraits, they are one of the reasons you're here tonight."

Laura looked ahead where the man was pointing and saw the pictures of her five late husbands. She didn't show any emotion.

"Why would I deserve being killed in cold blood?"

Dexter's eyes narrowed but his voice remained calm and cold.

"Naivety doesn't suit you at all. You've murdered slowly and in cold blood five men already; claiming innocence is meaningless in what concerns me. I know you did it, and I know you did it for the money. So please, don't make up lame excuses."

Dexter started the knife.

"You can't be serious?!"

Now Laura did show emotions, she used all her strength to try and release herself.

"Please, please. I admit, I admit I did it, but it won't happen again! I'll stop, I promise."

Dexter stopped the knife and inquired raising an eyebrow:

"Why?"

Laura sobbed.

"I...I...really loved Anthony...I didn't mean to kill him, but I was being threatened..."

Dexter rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You are a fine actress, I'll give you that; but let's be clear. I'm not impressed. The only thing you love is money."

"What about the boy? You must know, my stepson...he'll be all alone in this world!"

"This boy?"

Dexter showed Laura the boy's picture as it had been published in the newspaper.

"Actually I was meaning to talk to you about him. He's, after all, the second and most important reason for you being here."

Dexter's eyes became darker as he started the knife again.

"You killed four times, and four times you were smart enough to kill an unattached man. A man that was corrupted and scheming and wouldn't be missed. But the fifth time you killed, you not only killed a completely innocent loveable man, but left an orphan behind."

"It was a mistake, but I love the boy, and I promise to raise him as his father wished!"

"Laura, please... If you loved the boy, then you wouldn't have fought his grandparents for his custody. Is it simply a coincidence that he's a very rich boy and you're his appointed guardian? You don't love him, you can't...you're solely driven by greed."

"I won't deny I love money, I'm in no position to deny it! But I'll take care of him till he's a grown man!"

"There's an underlined danger to those words 'taking care'; I've seen how you took care of your husbands. You're his sole guardian till he becomes of age. That's eleven years from now and a lot of accidents might happen in the meanwhile, like say... a teenager might overdose or something. Laura, Laura, you've trapped that boy, you are his captor. It's time someone sets him free."

The knife approached her neck dangerously.

"Wait, please, wait! I'll leave, I promise! I'll leave and take nothing with me. I'll leave the fortune behind, the boy. I promise, if you let me live you will never hear from me again.

Please, believe me!"

"Oh, Laura, I do believe you. I do believe you would leave and take nothing with you. You would forget about this fortune and start over. I would never hear from you again, and Thomas would live to become a loveable man like his father. But... how many other Thomas would you create?"

And with that, the knife severed the woman's neck, killing her instantly.

The End