black sun rising || b. barnes ASSEMBLE ✔️

epilogue

washington
america

AFTER
natasha

IT WAS cold. It had just finished raining. There was a light fog, dancing between the green needles of the pine trees. It smelt like rain too, it smelt like Earth. It was a scent that I had forgotten, what with killer aliens and robots.

There were birds chirping in the distance, no doubt excited that the rain had passed. A squirrel jumped from branch to branch. I wondered if it was doing what I was doing; going home.

The sky was dark gray and even though the rain had passed, more was sure to come. I couldn't remember the last time I visited this state, or if I ever had in the past. It was so far away from everything. Hell, if I kept walking, I'd undoubtedly cross the Canadian border.

This was the first good lead I've had of her in years; since before everything. Since before Ultron, before Hydra, even before the damn attack on New York. This was something real.

The pathway was overrun. Grass was left untrimmed, branches hung low and I had to duck underneath them. I thought for only a moment that this was just a cold lead, a dead case. Like in Romania. But a bigger part of me knew it; and it knew that it was her.

Then the path broke out into a small yard. It was poorly fenced in, with chicken wire around it to keep animals out. Towards the left was a small plot of land were there were crops growing.

It looked tended to.

My eyes went to the log cabin next. It was small. There were no lights on. From my spot, it looked cold. It looked unwelcoming. But I knew better.

The step creaked under my weight and I knew that it just signaled my arrival. It was too late. Now or never.

The front door was slightly ajar and I couldn't tell if it had been open for a while or just recently. I grabbed my gun just in case.

It was silent as I pushed it open. The house was warmer. Someone was home.

Standing at the doorway, I took note of my surroundings. The room made up a living room and a kitchen, all rolled into one. Off to the side was a single door. It was shut.

That was it.

I was hesitant with my next step, looking into the living room. A blanket was thrown on the cold couch, and a book was on the floor underneath the wooden coffee table. It had fallen there.

A cup of tea was sitting on the end table. It was hot. I could see the steam.

I looked at the kitchen.

A pot was on the stove. Something was cooking. It smelt good; like pelmeni. It made my stomach rumble.

Water dripped from the faucet.

The kitchen table had wildflowers in them. They were freshly cut. Next to them was bread; homemade. It was half eaten. Next to that was a jar of jam.

I walked to where the food was cooking on the stove. Beside it there was a ladle. I opened the pot and used the ladle to stir the broth.

Then I heard movement from the room next door. My stomach was uneasy.

I put the lid back down and turned.

It started raining outside again. I could hear it on the rooftop.

Slowly, I walked towards the door. More movement could be heard. It sounded like furniture moving.

I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door back slowly, just enough to catch a glimpse.

My heart started beating erratically, childishly, and out on control. I felt sweet on my palm and I readjusted my grip on the gun.

One more push and I opened the door.

Then there she was. A dresser had been pushed back  and an escape door was opened. But she stood frozen by its entrance.

My gun was on her, preventing any movements. But nonetheless, I smiled breathlessly at the sight of her.

"Hello, little mouse."

🕷

THE BLACKEST OF WIDOWS
completed