A/N: While ready this first part in cursive, imagine the song 'Man eater' by Nelly Furtado, I literally heard it on repeat while writing this and imagined it as Caroline the black widow's theme song. Well, that and 'Stronger' by Britney J Just like I heard 'Fight them off' by Seven nation army, when I wrote the previous section about Klaus. Yeah, I use music a lot, when I write, it inspires me J
Now, happy reading and remember to review!
Chapter Seven
Age: 52. Recently divorced. No children. CEO of a successful car-manufacturing firm, Ferrari or something like that. Owns three estates: one in the country, one at the beach of Hawaii and one in snowy, Swiss mountains, not to forget the luxurious penthouse apartment in downtown Rome.
She put down the notes with a smirk and took a sip of her bloody Mary. In other words, just her kind of man.
It went as usual. Pretending to meet the man for the first time, in a run-down bar or a fancy hotel, after stalking them for days, learning everything about them. Put on her best, innocent smile, pretend to care, give them some sweet kisses and loving and they were caught in her black spider web, not realizing before it was too late. Killing them in the bed, the shower, the kitchen, living room. Stabbing, ripping, cracking, pushing, straggling, poisoning; she didn't really had any preference at how or where she did it, as long as they had left her something of value.
"Caroline!"
"Caitlin, what are you..." His eyes widen in surprise and confusion, as her hands tightened around his fragile neck. She felt the pulse beneath her fingers, felt it becoming slower along with the heartbeat. He graphed her arms, trying to peel her off him, but she was stronger than he was, surprisingly.
"Sorry, nothing personal," she said coldly, "you're just collateral damage."
The man she had played house with for the last couple of months, gagged as the oxygen slowly left his lungs, leaving him gasping for air.
"Thanks for the fortune." She said before breaking his neck, finally putting him out of his misery. Some people, she'd learned, just refused to give up. Those tended to annoy her the most.
"Caroline!"
"I'm home," he called from the hall, "oh, something smells good sweetie! What are we...?" He stopped mid-sentence as he found his young wife leaning against the kitchen counter. She caressed one of the meat knives lovingly and looked up at him when he entered the room. She looked different, something about her eyes. It was as if they were red and bloodshot. She smiled at him sweetly and revealed a pair of pointy fangs.
"Cami?" He asked unsure and slightly frightened, he had never seen her like this. Not in the three years, they had known each other. Cami smirked, another trade completely unfamiliar about her, and walked towards him slowly.
"Welcome home honey. How was work?" She asked sweetly and flashed her eyelashes. He looked nervously from the knife in her hands to her changed face.
"What is wrong with your eyes?" He reached out and touched her chin careful and hesitantly. Cami leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.
"Nothing," she answered, "This is their natural state."
"Caroline!"
"I'm sorry," she then said, opening her eyes again, looking straight at him.
"Why are you sorry?" he wondered giving her a small smile.
"Because of this!" Without a warning Cami plunged the meat knife into his stomach, pushing it further, when the tissue around the knife broke. He gasped in surprise, but before the next sound could escape his throat, Cami put a hand against his mouth, so only a muffled scream could be heard in the quiet kitchen. He looked at his wife, eyes wide in confusion and with the question of why.
"Sorry," she said again, "I really did like you, but I'm just not that kind of girl…"
She withdrew the knife and he fell to the floor like a lifeless doll.
"CAROLINE!"
"Sir? Mrs. Carina Quintin is here."
Detective Poire looked up from his desk and nodded to his secretary.
"Send her in," he said and began putting away the case files he'd been looking through. This case, or should he say, these cases, was killing him. He had been working on them, 24/7 the last couple of months, with no progress and now it had claimed another victim. As the door opened, Poire looked up and rose slowly to greet the most recent widow. Mrs Quintin looked very young, no more than late twenties. She had short blond hair, pale skin and blue eyes. She wore a black dress, reaching her knees and a black hat with veil as a sign of mourning her late husband. Poire told her sit and sat down in front of her, as she did so.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Quintin," he condoled. Mrs. Quintin smiled sadly and nodded, before taking out a handkerchief, and dried her teary eyes.
"Why, why am I here?" Mrs. Quintin asked in between snuffles, "Detective am I a suspect?"
Poire shook his head.
"No sweetie," he reassured, "Everyone knows how much you loved Mr. Quintin, no one would ever suspect you, but I need to ask you some routine questions, like did you know if anyone would want to hurt Mr. Quintin? Did he act strange in the days prior to his death?"
Mrs. Quintin shook her head and blew her nose, before answering.
"No, nothing. Everybody loved Dion, I can't think of anyone who would want to hurt such a kind man. What kind of monster could do that?!" Mrs. Quintin asked desperately, tears falling freely from her blue eyes by now. Detective Poire leaned forward, over his desk and took her hands in his, trying to give the young widow a little comfort.
"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Quintin. I will do everything in my power to catch however did this to your husband."
Mrs. Quintin nodded and gave him a grateful smile.
"Do, do you have any suspects?"
Poire sighed, let go of her hands and leaned back in his chair.
"That's just the thing, there isn't." He said regrettably, "even though there's similar cases of middle-aged, rich and recently remarried men being murdered; there's no pattern in the kill and the cases expand over a period of 2-3 centuries all over Europe. The media has named the phantom killer or killers, the ghost of the black widow," he laughed and shook his head, "The media these days… Sorry to put all this on you, but no, you're not a suspect Mrs. Quintin, not unless you're a centuries old bloodthirsty killer and you don't particular strike me as such."
Mrs. Quintin gave him a small smile.
"Thank you, detective Poire, for everything." She said and rose to leave.
"CAROLINE!"
Caroline woke with a start; someone had shook and called her awake, someone familiar. She led a hand to her head, trying to ease the pounding head. Opening her eyes, it took a few seconds to be able to focus on anything with a wave of dizziness washing over her. A pale, feminine face, surrounded by brown hair, stared at her with worried brown eyes. Caroline blinked, not believing her own eyes. It wasn't possible.
"Now I know, I'm delusional," she mumbled, trying to sit up straighter. The female made a face at the comment.
"Now, that's just offending," she said miffed and crossed her arms, "I came all this way, to save your sorry ass and that's the thanks I get?" Caroline looked at the woman again as her sight became clear.
"Sasha? Is that really you?" she asked, somehow scared that it was only another dream and she would wake up in the next second. The miffed female broke out in a broad smile.
"Of cause it's me!" she said and helped Caroline up, "Who else, Santa?"
"But why and how did you find me?" Caroline still felt very confused. She was still slightly dizzy and the pain grew for every muscle she moved, but she was somehow still alive and she wondered how. After Tyler's visit, she had been sure it was over, as she faded into an oblivion of old memories and yet, here she was. Even more puzzling was the presence of her old friend from Europe, Sasha, who merely smiled at her secretly.
"I have my ways, my connections." She said and untied Caroline, before raising from the cold stone floor. She held out a hand for Caroline.
"I can't," Caroline complained, ready to just give in to the pain and let go, "Just leave me here, it's too late anyway…"
"Are you freaking kidding me?" Sasha shouted disbelieving, with no regard for that anyone could hear her, in the basement, "I didn't travel thousands of miles across the world, to hear this shit!" She looked down at Caroline. Hands resting on her hips and tapping her foot, "You're the black widow, who've slayed hundreds of men, you spend five years on the battlefield, saving hundreds of lives, you survived months of torture in dark and dirty cells, 500 years in a cruel world. You're Caroline freaking Forbes, you're a fighter, a survivor – now act like it and move your ass this instant!" Caroline looked up at Sasha surprised by her friend's sudden outburst, but also slightly embarrassed by the compliments. She was right, Sasha was right. This wasn't her at all, it may have been the old Caroline, but not this one. It took more than a bite to end this Caroline. She laughed and rose slowly. Getting on her feet, Caroline stumbled, her legs too weak to hold her up. Sasha caught her and took her arm around Caroline's waist, helping her to stand straight and walk.
"You okay there?" Sasha asked the groaning blond. Caroline huffed and rose an eyebrow at her friend.
"Oh, I'm just peachy," She answered sarcastic, "There's nothing better than dying from a hybrid bite…" Sasha rolled her eyes.
"No Miss Drama queen, I meant this," she said and dried a lone tear away from Caroline's eye with her thumb, "you've been crying…"
Caroline touched her chin gently and felt the stickiness from tears. Then she remembered the last dream, or memory she had revisited and she felt the tears threatening to return.
"I dreamt about the first time I met Julien," Caroline explained.
"Who? Julien Poire, the French detective?" Sasha tried to clarify, "The one you visited back then?"
Caroline nodded.
Julien had known her by the name of Carina Quintin. She had first met him after Dion's death; he was the detective in charge of the case. Caroline had talked and somewhat build a relationship with countless homicide detectives over the years, but none had been like Julien. He had quickly become a father figure to her and she had loved him as such. Years after the Dion Quintin murder, Caroline had moved on, but when she heard about Julien being gravely ill and dying, she'd paid him a visit. Knowing the risk of exposure, when Julien realized she hadn't aged a day. Julien Poire was the only detective to ever figure out the identity of 'the ghost of the black widow', and he took that knowledge with him to the grave.
Sasha managed to get herself and Caroline out of the cell, to the dark hall, only lit by a few torches. They stumbled through the halls, as Sasha tried to remember the way she had come from in the underground labyrinth. She stopped suddenly and gasped.
"Holy shit!"
The warm blood overflowed his mouth and ran down his sore throat, dulling it. The warmth spread throughout his entire body, removing any trace of pain along it's way. The warlock fought him and tried desperately to break free from the grasp, but Klaus became stronger with every drop of blood.
Minutes later, Klaus dropped the drained and lifeless warlock at his feet and let out a satisfied sigh. The magic from the spell caster soared through his body, cleansing it from the dark magic that held him. Within seconds, his body started healing itself and he quickly regained full strength. Klaus licked and wiped his mouth, making sure no blood was going to waste. He had been so indulged in feeding, that he hadn't noticed the two people stumbling closer to in the hall.
"Holy shit!"
It was only with the sudden outburst, from an unfamiliar voice, that Klaus realized he was no longer alone in the hall.
A/N: You got a little bit of Caroline's story, the men she met and what happened, what do you think? Of the Black Widow?
I'm becoming more and more fond of Sasha, love writing her and I'm sorry about her choice of words, but she's like that, different from Caroline. So, they're finally almost free and Klaus is back, fit for fight. What do you think is gonna happen next? Let me know!