Nice Dress

This dress is bad luck. I love this dress, it flatters my body, hugs my curves and makes me look thinner than I really am. I have good legs and its short enough to show them off without being too slutty. It’s hot, but now I hate it. I’ve only worn it twice before today. Once on a dinner date with a guy I thought I liked. He had an anxiety attack and left in the middle of dinner. It was the dress, but I didn’t know that at the time. The second time I wore it I was at an awards ceremony. A waiter tripped and fell right on the floor in front of me. Drinks and glass went flying all over but not a drop touched me or the dress. The waiter knocked his front tooth out and bled all over the while linen napkin he had draped over his forearm. Now, here I am locked in a motel with a psychopath. He might kill me and all I can think about is this jinxed dress.

I left my apartment around 10 am on my way to a meeting at the new gallery on 6th. I was rocking the dress with black leather boots and a fringed black jacket to set off the black and turquoise geometric pattern. It wasn’t far so I decided to walk and enjoy the spring weather. As I turned the corner onto Main St. a guy slid into the front seat of a sleek silver Escalade. I saw something fall onto the street and ran a little to try and flag him down. He stopped for a second and then sped off. I got to the spot where the thing had fallen. There beside some street rubbish, a disgusting plastic syringe holder and an empty cigarette pack was a little black notebook. I picked it up thinking, wow, its kind of nice. Soft faux suede cover, small enough to fit in a pocket and sturdy; not like the cheap spiral ones I use for writing ideas and grocery lists. No name inside. No way to contact the owner. The pages had names, addresses, random numbers like a code and a few sketches of women’s faces, symbols; weird. I stuck it in my purse and headed into the gallery.

“Nice dress” a guy on the street said as I had left the gallery an hour later. I laughed and thought to myself, “if you only knew”. I turned around to say thank you, but he was already gone and my attention was instantly drawn to a newspaper lying on the street. The front-page photo was a bunch of symbols that had been scratched into the flesh of the city’s most recent victim of the Pantano stalker. The cops were being cautious in giving this guy a name. They didn't want people freaking out over the possibility of a serial killer in our midst. Stalker sounded much sweeter than slasher or butcher, right? I fell for that, I was always careful anyway, so why be paranoid just because there were six missing women and two dead bodies, mutilated, marked and dumped in Pantano canal?

So, there I was standing right on Main St. in this dress from hell looking at the markings on Jane Doe number 2 and knowing beyond a doubt they matched the scribbles in the notebook in my purse. I hit 911 on my phone but before I could complete the call, a hand landed on my shoulder and I spun around to see the guy. I shoved my phone in the jacket pocket.

“Can’t you even say thank you when someone says ‘nice dress’?” were the last words he said as the sharp sting on my shoulder spread like a hot poker and the rest was darkness.

I woke up, thank God, but had no idea where I was. A motel room obviously, maybe one of those sleezy rent by the week deals on the South side. He thanked me for finding his notebook. I could see it on the nightstand next to my phone and purse.

“You’re welcome” I said “and thank you for complimenting my dress”. Where that response came from, I can only assume was whatever drug he had used to knock me out. My mind was racing with all the advice anyone has ever heard about what to do in this situation. Fight, don’t panic, don’t cry, don’t act afraid because he might like that, be human, talk like a friend to buy some time,….

“I’m Janet, and the dress is cursed.” I blurted. He laughed and agreed that yes it appeared I was right. It was obvious he thought I meant it was cursed because here I was, his next victim.

“No, you have it backwards, the dress is a curse on other people when I wear it.” I told him my date and waiter stories still hoping to buy time and maybe convince him he should let me live.

“You’re an idiot to believe that” was all he said. I shrugged. That was it, my only defense, my only hope that I might survive to burn this wretched dress was two lame stories that were probably just coincidence.

I refused to plead, refused to scream for fear that might trigger anger. He had not hurt me yet and I wanted to keep it that way as long as I could. I was both mad at myself and relieved for not watching the news or knowing the whole story of how the other women were killed. I didn’t know what to expect but I was terrified. My hands were bound behind my back with zip ties and my legs tied together with rope which also held me to the chair I was sitting in. My throat was dry and my heart beat as though it would explode. I wanted water, but didn’t want him near me even if I thought he would let me drink. I said nothing, just looked around the room trying to form some escape plan. I wished I had watched more of those crime drama shows, because I was honestly clueless. A hard knock at the door made me jump as much as possible given my restraints. I prayed someone was here to rescue me, but he just got up slowly, went to the door and picked up a plastic bag off the sidewalk.

“Really, you just ordered from Door Dash?” I could not contain my sarcastic disbelief that a serial killer would have the balls to get a burger and fries delivered as preparation for slicing up a human body. He reacted with an evil grin that sent chills up my spine and he stared at me with dark eyes as he slowly brought the burger to his face and took a huge bite. This was obviously meant as diabolical foreplay to what he had in store for me and I looked away in terror.

“What the f….?!” he literally choked on his last word and grabbed his throat. His face swelled and turned beet red as he thrashed around at my purse. He looked at me eyes bulging in desperation. Barely able to speak he whispered “where’s my pen?” and fell to the floor at my feet.

I was screaming now for help. Surely someone would hear me through these paper thin walls. I pulled and tugged at the ropes pulled at the zip ties and tried desperately to free myself. I saw my phone on the floor where it fell in his search for the pen. It was still on 911, all I had to do was hit the call button. I had to stay calm and hope the monster didn’t spring back to life. I carefully stood up, hunched over with the chair tied to me and took baby steps with my tied-up feet to reach the lifeline. I carefully touched the call button with the tip of my boot and burst into tears when the operator answered.

The minutes felt like a lifetime as the 911 operator tried to keep me calm until the police arrived. The Pantano murderer was dead. The hamburger, it turned out, was topped with a secret sauce made with peanut butter and the killer was deathly allergic. He must have also dropped his EpiPen which I now remember was on the street with the notebook. It was the dress; I had warned him.

“You are one lucky woman” the investigator approached. The paramedics were checking my vitals and treating me for shock, giving me water. “this could have ended very differently”.

“It’s my dress.”

I’m sure he thought I must be in shock by the look he gave me.

“It’s lucky!” I laughed out loud.

“Well, it must be.” He shook his head “There’s some substantial reward money for the capture of this lunatic and would say you definitely earned it.”

“No, I survived. The money should go to the families of the others. I hope the notebook has clues to help you find the ones who are still missing.”

“Let’s get you to the hospital and make sure you are alright. I’ll come by and you can decide what you want to do with the money.”

“I’m gonna buy a new dress!”