The Black Widow (10 page)

Now that he was stuck at home with Mandy, he'd been horrified when he'd realised that his initial discomfort at being around Mandy had changed into something very similar to resentment.

He couldn't even look at her in the eye anymore.

Mike cleared his throat. "I'm going. I'll see you later."

No reaction.

Mike turned and walked away, stopping briefly then carrying on after he heard Mandy mutter "happy hunting" bitterly.

He began to open the front door, when the picture resting on the side table beside it caught his eye.

He and Mandy on their wedding day.

For all the money they had paid for a professional photographer and all the pictures they had posed for, this was Mandy's favourite and had been taken by Mike's father.

The picture was a shot taken outside the church after they had all posed together for the professional shot. Mike and Mandy stood together, holding each other and laughing as everyone around them carried on conversations, fussed with their outfits or children's outfits.

Three children were laughing as they ran by Mike and Mandy, two little girls in their frilly white dresses and a boy no older than three in his smart little tux. A distressed looking woman was hurrying after the children, her arms outstretched as if she held the power of preventing a fall and dirty outfits in her hands.

In spite of the chaos surrounding them, Mike and Mandy only had eyes for each other, completely oblivious of the hub-bub around them.

Mike's throat constricted and he glanced towards the kitchen.
Take the suit off and take Mandy out for dinner, he told himself.
He looked at the picture again, but instead of seeing his own wedding, he saw the picture of Dave and Cheryl Turner. Mr Turner, handsome and proud with his stunning young bride by his side.

Knowing that he had to go to this funeral, he vowed he'd take Mandy out tomorrow.

You bastard
, the voice whispered.
Turner is dead. Your wife needs you now.

Ignoring it, Mike opened the door and left.

***

Mike pulled up outside his house and sighed. He had achieved absolutely nothing from attending the late Dave Turner's funeral.

Apart from a few stolen glances at Dave's ex-wife and secretary—glances that some would argue were not surprising given the facts— Cheryl Turner had played the grieving young widow very well.

Dave Turner was now dead and buried— and so was this case.

He approached his front door and hesitated. What was he going to say to Mandy. This morning whilst preparing for the funeral, he'd thought of nothing but the funeral and had shoved out all thoughts of Mandy. Whilst at the funeral, he hadn't been able to think of anything else but Mandy.

He wanted his marriage to work, but he didn't know where to start. Being able to look his wife in the eye would be a good start. With no plan in mind, Mike opened his front door—then sucked in his breath.

Two suitcases stood at the bottom of the stairs.

"I was hoping you'd be gone longer," Mandy said, striding down the hallway from the kitchen. "Then you might not have noticed that I'd gone since you don't talk to me anymore."

"Mandy..."

"What, Mike?" Mandy bent over and shoved some papers into a side-pocket of one of the suitcases.

"I don't want you to go."

Mandy straightened up and faced him. Mike lowered his eyes. "Do you want me stay, Mike?"

A numbness enveloped Mike as cold as the sudden blast of a cold shower when he realised he couldn't answer the question. Mandy continued to stare at him and from the corner of his eye, Mike saw her lower her head too.

"I need to work through this either on my own, or with you Mike. I can't do both."

"That doesn't make sense," Mike muttered.

"Yes it does," Mandy shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. "We either work through this as a couple, or I work through it alone. I can't stay here with you and work through it alone. My God, Mike. We used to talk about everything, and now you won't even look at me."

"That isn't true—"

"Look at me, Mike."

He reluctantly looked at her, then quickly looked away as the pain in her eyes struck him like a blade right through the heart.

"See?" Mandy said despondently. "You need help, Mike. You're handling this all wrong. You blame me, which I understand, but now you're projecting these feelings onto other people."

"What're you—"

"It's my fault, isn't it Mike? It's my fault that you can't be a daddy."

The sorrow and heartache in Mandy's voice was hard enough, but the word daddy unhinged him completely. Tears swamped his vision and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"You blame me, but you can't handle blaming me, so you project those feelings to other people, on a widow."

Mike opened his eyes. "Wait—"

"It's the unfairness that's got you, isn't it Mike? It isn't my fault as I've done nothing wrong, but it is my fault because it's my infertility. You want something, someone to blame. You blame this woman for killing her husband because you feel there should be a reason for what happened. You're blaming this woman because of me."

Mike stared at the floor, denials swirling around in his mind along with the horror that Mandy's words may actually be true. Had he seen guilt in this woman because he'd wanted to? But he'd known for sure she'd killed her husband because of the look she'd been giving him when he'd turned around and saw her, but then, he had asked some inappropriate questions since her husband's body hadn't even cooled down by then.

He wondered if he was going crazy.

Mandy began to sob and he squeezed his eyes shut again.

"I can't do this, Mike. I just can't. You go find yourself someone else who can give you kids. We'll end this by saying we had a good few years together, but now it's over. I need to get away on my own."

Mandy bent over, picked up each of her suitcases and walked out of the front door. Mike remained standing where he was, the thoughts and doubts swirling around in his mind.

He remained there long after he heard the screech of Mandy's car tires as she sped away, away from their marriage and away from him.

Chapter Ten

Cheryl slammed the guest bedroom door shut and leaned against it, shuddering with emotion.

Rage, shame and humiliation boiled within her and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Too much. Too much to take.

A couple of days ago, the pity aimed her way had been her biggest problem, but
today
, today she had been tested to just how much shame and humiliation she could take.

Not only had Dave's slut of a secretary attended his funeral, with her
fiancée
no less, but his ex-wife and son had attended too. She'd expected them to attend of course, but she hadn't expected Dave's parent's to sit beside the ex-wife and hold her hand without so much as one word to Cheryl. She'd known that Dave's parents had thought highly of his first wife, but she'd always gotten along well with them.

Did they suspect her? The looks of hatred and suspicion that Dave's mother had thrown her way several times throughout the gathering in the hall after the ceremony certainly suggested as much.

All day long Cheryl had felt watched, scrutinized. She'd sobbed into her tissue, leaning into her mother's chest for support and acted the way any grieving widow would have behaved, yet she felt the eyes of suspicion boring into her back the whole time.

Cheryl had ignored both the secretary and ex-wife all day, figuring that a young woman truly mourning her dead husband would behave the same way. She behaved like a young woman who's pain of betrayal could never outweigh the pain of her grief and heartache.

The blows to Cheryl's confidence, pride and dignity had been thick and fast recently, but today she'd had the biggest blow of all. Dave hadn't been involved with his ex-wife just for the past six months, he'd been involved with her throughout the whole of his relationship with Cheryl.

He had called his ex-wife from the payphone outside the church on their wedding day, the church where he had just vowed to love Cheryl and only Cheryl for the rest of his life.

He had not begun a sexual affair with her until six months ago, but he'd never lost contact with her or stopped telling her he loved her. Dave had told Cheryl that he left his ex-wife, but it wasn't true. She had kicked Dave out after learning of an affair with a woman from his office.

And who had Cheryl heard all this from? Who had pulled her aside at her husband's funeral to inform her that her marriage was basically a sham and that Dave had never loved her?

No-one other than her own father.

Oh, he told her out of concern, he said. He couldn't bear the thought of her finding out from someone else, he said. But Cheryl knew the truth. Inside he would be overjoyed that he was right about her, that she hadn't been able to keep her husband happy because she was useless and a waste of everyone's time.

She had failed again, and deep down her father would be very happy to be proven right.

Sobs racked her body as tears of devastation ran down her face. The urge to hurt herself; scratch, claw,
smash
her face against something was overwhelming and she rushed forward on shaky legs, falling to her knees in front of the dressing table. She yanked the top drawer open with too much force, the drawer coming away in her hands and spilling its contents all over the floor. Searching through the scattered items, Cheryl found what she was looking for.

Her nail scissors.

She quickly removed her black jacket and white blouse, violently throwing them to the other side of the room. Without hesitation, she opened the small scissors and scrapped the blade along her skin on the underside of her arm, just near the armpit.

The pain was immediate and Cheryl hissed, her teeth gritted to prevent her from crying out.

Aware that she couldn't do too much damage in case anyone saw it, she kept the scratch small but pressed harder and whimpered as the blades penetrated her skin.

Blood ran in small rivers down her arm and she whimpered, the physical pain completely overtaking her emotional pain.

No longer crying but weary, exhausted and dazed, Cheryl tugged a few tissues from the box on her dresser and pressed them to her cut. After blotting the wound, she checked it and winced when she saw how deep it was.

Concerned about infection, Cheryl went into the small en-suite shower room and turned on the spray. Wincing and baring her teeth at the sting of the hot water on her wound, Cheryl decided she would go out.

There was only one cure for her mood, she'd go crazy if she didn't do something.

After a quick shower, Cheryl pressed an old pair of her sweat pants against her wound to stop the bleeding. Then, she bandaged her arm and rushed around her room to get ready.

But you have to be careful
, a voice whispered as she dressed in jeans and a sensible top.

You buried your husband who you murdered today,
the voice warned as she did her hair and make-up then packed a bag containing a short, revealing black dress and spike heels with her favourite perfume.

You'll arouse suspicion if you get caught,
the voice continued as Cheryl packed her make-up bag and brush for touch-ups.

Ignoring the constant nagging of the persistent voice, Cheryl picked up her bag and car keys and hurried from the room.

***

Cheryl panted and squirmed as the man's hands sent ripples of pleasure through her.

No, not a man
, she thought fondly as he pressed her forcefully against the wall, passionately kissing her neck. She raised one leg and wrapped it around his waist, his groan of pleasure heightening her own.

He was too young and inexperienced to be considered a man. He was maybe eighteen years old; attractive but very shy. Cheryl had spotted him immediately, standing in the corner of the bar with a couple of friends, a sense of calm and quiet about them unusual for their age.

Like a lioness goes for the weakest zebra in the herd, Cheryl went for him.

She needed to feel beautiful and desired, to feel the lust driven hands of a man on her body. She knew how good she looked in her short, tight dress and heels. The lad never knew what hit him.

He'd been easy.

She tried to remember his name as she unzipped his jeans, his moan of pleasure at her touch causing her to whimper in lustful need. Ryan, she remembered. He'd gasped his name as she'd dragged him from the bar and into the closest private room she could find. The bulb in the storeroom wasn't very bright but Cheryl could see the door was open ever so slightly.

Anyone could walk in now and catch them.

The thought caused Cheryl's switch to tick completely over and she pushed the lad away from her. Turning to her right, she bent over a pile of boxes and pulled her skirt up.

She had already removed her underwear in her car and put them in her handbag before entering the bar.

“Inside me,” she gasped. “I want you inside me now.”

Ryan was definitely inexperienced and spent some time fumbling as he prodded at her several times, trying to find her entrance before sliding into her.

She arched her back and cried out in pleasure as he began to rock inside her. The noises he made the instant he was inside warned Cheryl that it wasn't going to last long. She pulled the front of her dress down to expose her breasts then grabbed his hands. She placed them over her breasts then pushed back to meet his thrusts.

He called out as he came and Cheryl smiled.

The incredible power she felt was far more powerful than any orgasm she'd ever had. At this moment, the lad was hers and hers alone.

Ryan fumbled with his jeans and favoured her with a look of desire and awe as he slid his zipper up.

“Wow,” he said.

“Wow, yourself.” Cheryl pulled her dress down, adjusted the top then pulled her underwear out of her handbag.

“That's never happened to me before,” Ryan told her as she slid her underwear up her legs.