Note to readers: This article contains content created by LLM ChatGPT. The story portion is the product of my prompt and ChatGPT’s response. The rest of the article is my unadulterated creation, thunk up out of my own brain. Please, contact me with questions related to this article or the series of articles.

Week seven. No notes.  

I’ll tell you a story, scene seven.

Shadows in the Smoke

The days after meeting Edward were like walking a tightrope, each step pregnant with uncertainty. Harland buried himself in his investigation with renewed vigor, scanning through stacks of files, fingers tapping at the keyboard late into the night. He was determined to track down The Widow before she could strike again. Harland worked the phones hard, calling in every favor and reaching out to every contact in his rolodex. Still, The Widow eluded him—a wraith as indefinable as a cloud, always a step ahead, only the faintest traces of her presence washing away like sandy footsteps on the beach at tide change.

Eleanor remained strong, but Harland detected fear beneath her resolute facade. In the way her eyes darted from face to face in a crowd, her closeness as they walked together on the street, the tightness in her conversation over dinner. The Widow was out there, watching, waiting, haunting both of them.

Then, one night, tensions boiled over in a dramatic climax.

Harland returned home from a long day of dead ends and disappointments. He found the front door slightly ajar and his hand instinctively grabbed the revolver tucked into his coat. 

His heart raced as he stepped inside. A strange, oppressive silence hung in the air. 

“Eleanor?” he called out. The echo of his voice sounded louder in the empty hallway.

No answer.

He took slow, light steps, every nerve electrified, his mind racing with dreadful possibilities. From the living room doorway he glimpsed a figure sitting in the armchair by the window, relaxed. Briefly, he thought it was Eleanor, but the shape was wrong. He slid into the room quietly, lifting his gun, taking aim, back close to one wall. 

The figure turned and flicked on the table lamp next to her, revealing a face of cold, calculating beauty. Now he knew her.  A woman he’d run across a dozen times in his search but never placed her. The Widow. 

She smiled, a predator’s smile, perched calmly in his living room, a whiskey glass in her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Harland.” She held the drink up. “You have good taste.”

Harland’s blood turned cold. “Where’s Eleanor?” 

The Widow’s smile widened. She nodded toward the corner. Harland followed her gaze. His wildly beating heart nearly stopped. Eleanor sat stiffly, tied to a chair, gagged, her eyes a mixture of outrage and fear.

“She’s quite lovely, your wife,” The Widow said in a playful tone. “I can see why you’ve gone to such lengths to protect her.”

Harland’s hand tightened around his revolver, sweat impairing his grip, his body tight with rage. “Let her go. Now. Or I put a bullet in you.”

The Widow sighed, swirling the whiskey in her glass and watching the color shift. “Oh, Mr. Harland, you should know by now that I don’t take orders. But I’m not unreasonable. We can come to an understanding, I’m sure.”

“Why would I negotiate with you?” Harland asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He wondered which shadows hid her lackeys, but kept his eyes on the prize.

The Widow set her glass on the table, leaning slightly forward. “Because you’re smart. You know I wouldn’t come alone. Hurt me and your wife dies.”

Harland strained his eyes in the dim light, attempting to gauge her sincerity. She was a master manipulator, a liar and con artist. But if Eleanor’s life truly was at risk… he couldn’t chance it.

“Walk away, John. Leave this city, leave this case, take your lovely wife with you. Disappear. Agree to that, I’ll let her go. You’ll never see me again.”

“As if you’re trustworthy,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The Widow’s smile faded. “Then I’ll kill her. Right here, right now. You’ll spend the rest of your life knowing that you could have saved her.”

The air in the room grew thick with fear as Harland weighed his options. He felt Eleanor’s gaze, pleading, but dare not take his off The Widow to look at her. He was alone in this one.

“Why?” Harland asked, his voice raw with emotion. “Why do all of this? You could have had anyone, anything. Why come after me?”

The Widow tilted her head slightly. “Silly question, Mr. Harland. You made it personal. Your investigation threatened my livelihood. I’ve spent years building a network, infiltrating the lives of powerful men and refining my control over them. It doesn’t play well to have you throwing rocks through my windows.”

Harland searched every crevice of his mind for a way out, a way to save Eleanor without giving The Widow his life. Odds were against him—she made criminal activity her life while he simply intruded on criminals occasionally. And he had mere seconds to solve this impasse.

The idea struck him like a bolt—a risky, desperate idea, but it might work.

He lowered his revolver half way, presumably to consider her offer. “So I agree to leave town, to forget you, and you let her go. No tricks.”

The Widow studied him for a moment, suspicion glinting in her eyes. But arrogance prevailed. She had the upper hand and knew it. “That’s right, Mr. Harland. You go and take your theories with you. Eleanor goes with you.”

She stood, moving across the room to untie Eleanor. 

Harland let her get halfway before he dropped to a knee and fired a quick shot that shattered the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. In that split second of black, he launched himself at The Widow, colliding into her. They sprawled on the floor, his body pressing into her soft, feminine flesh. She shimmied quick as a cat, her movements anything but soft. But Harland had played the scene in his mind, anticipated her struggle. He wrapped an arm around her neck in a tight chokehold before she could establish footing. With the gun against the back of her neck, he yelled, “I’ve got your boss! A bullet goes into her brain if you move against us!”

The beam of a flashlight landed on them to reveal this truth. His hold prevented  The Widow from speaking a word and he could hear her squeaking attempts to breathe. 

“Turn on some lights and get where I can see you,” he commanded. “Do it quick! She only has seconds before all of her air is gone.”

The overhead illuminated the room. Two men stepped out and put their guns on the ground.

“Is that all?” he asked Eleanor.

She gave a nod.

Harland released pressure enough for The Widow to suck air.

“Before I let her go, one of you untie my wife.”

The lanky one rushed over and complied. Eleanor shook herself to get blood flowing and moved behind her husband.

The Widow coughed a pitiful laugh. “You think you’ve won? This isn’t over, Harland—”

Harland squeezed her neck until she began to go limp again. “Eleanor, go! Get out of here!”

Eleanor hesitated. “John, I—”

“Go!” Harland said, his voice desperate. “Get out of here and call the cops.”

Eleanor obeyed, stumbling out the door.

Harland turned back to The Widow’s goons, his grip around her loosening enough to allow some air, but not enough to talk. “You’re done, boys,” he said in a quiet voice. “You followed the wrong star. Now lay down on your faces, fingers locked behind your head, and be still until the cops get here.”

The men complied. The Widow squeaked. They stayed together like that for several long minutes. The Widow’s expensive perfume had a nauseating effect on Harland. It would be a brand Eleanor would never be able to wear. 

When the police arrived and took The Widow into custody, she spit at him. 

“You should know, Mr. Harland, my arm is long. It reaches to the sky. This is temporary. You’ll see me again. People who thrive on the darkness always win. And they’re always watching.”

Harland’s resolve hardened. “Save it for the papers.” 

They led the notorious Widow away in handcuffs, her words echoing in his head. She was right. He and Eleanor had escaped an impossible situation. One he wasn’t prepared to handle.With her contacts, The Widow would find a way to wiggle free. She’d continue lurking in the shadows, waiting to take advantage of the generosity of foolish people.

Eleanor ran to him as he stepped into the night. She trembled and he squeezed her tightly to calm the nerves. “It’s over,” he whispered. “She’s gone.”

Eleanor clung to him, sobbing. “I was so scared, John. I thought… I thought I’d lost you.”

Harland’s own tears threatened to spill over. “I know, Eleanor. I know.”

They embraced on their porch for a long time, policemen and crime techs brushing past them while the night slowly gave way to dawn. Harland watched a detective pull up, anticipating the questions. The scars The Widow left would eventually heal. Harland knew the two of them had grown stronger from the ordeal. Now they could rebuild, stronger than ever. But as the cruisers pulled away with the Widow and her minions inside, he wondered if they would be strong enough.