Twisted: Flash Fiction

Lucky Number Seven

"Hi," the woman says, handing over my baseball cap. "I think this belongs to you."

"Oh, thanks, I didn't realize I dropped it," I reply, feigning surprise.

"Well, I don't think it's meant to be jammed into your back pocket," she smiles, chuckling lightly.

"No, I suppose not," I agree with a grin.

I'd noticed her checking me out a while ago. She's tallish, got brown hair, and looks to be in her mid-to-late twenties. I'd dropped the hat on purpose, and it had worked like a charm.

"Hey, do you want to go grab a coffee or something? Iced maybe?" I suggest.

She gives me a chilly once over. I can tell she's deciding whether getting into a handsome stranger's car to go get coffee is a good idea. Before she has time to work it out, I bring my hands up in surrender.

"Hey, I'm not a serial killer if that's what you're thinking." I lift my brows and tilt my head. "Honest. My name's Dan, by the way."

"Jessica," says the woman, warming back up.

It's my eyes--deep-brown framed by dark lashes. My laugh lines don't hurt either. They make me look more easy-going and approachable. With those two things alone going for me, winning them over isn't very difficult.

"My car is just over there," I jerk my thumb backwards and over my shoulder.

Plus, I'm just tall enough not to seem imposing, which has worked to my advantage six times before. Or is it seven? No, it's six. This will be lucky number seven.

"Sure, okay," she says, and as we approach my car, she asks "Do you mind stopping my by house first? It's just up the street... I have to let my dog out."

"No problem," I reply, shutting her door. As I walk around to the driver's side, I pull the small syringe from the special pocket I've sewn into the inside of my jacket.

***

She kicks at the top of the trunk when she comes to. They're never happy being trapped inside the trunk of my Mitsubishi Galant. Being tied up probably doesn't help.

I smile as I replay the act in my mind. How, in one fluid motion, I sank the needle into her thigh while getting into the driver's seat. The movement comes natural to me by now, so it was over even before she could finish buckling her seat belt. Do it while they're distracted, that's the key.

I continue replaying the scene in my mind. After she was out, I drove the few miles to my house, pulled into my garage, and stuffed her into the trunk. Now we're here, my favorite spot in the world, a deserted dirt road two hours outside of town.

"Don't bother screaming, no one can hear you out here," I inform her as I drag her over the bumper and onto the ground.

"Please let me go," pleads Jessica.

"Sorry, no can do," I say, shaking my head.

"I promise I won't run."

"I've heard that before." I laugh.

"I like you."

"What?" I hadn't expected that.

"I know you saw me looking at you. Why do you think I got in your car? It's because I like you."

"You're lying," I say, getting angry. Been there, done that. She'll say anything for me to let her go. They always do. Thing is, they usually don't find the right button to push. I image it's on account of the fact they can't think straight at this point. I have to give Jessica credit; she's definitely a quick thinker.

"Look, we can work this out. I'm not going to tell anyone, I swear. We can pretend this never happened, go get that coffee and you can continue to do whatever it is you do," she cocks her head toward the trees.

I think about it for a minute, weighing my options carefully. She looks harmless, can't be more than 120 pounds soaking wet. Besides, what good-looking, successful man doesn't at least have a girlfriend? I think maybe some sort of arrangement might work. Perhaps it's time to add a "captive" portion to the game.

"Okay, but I'm warning you, make a run for it and you're dead. Got it?"

Jessica nods and turns around to be untied. As I loosen the rope, I get a funny feeling. I don't have time to explore this new development because a blinding pain explodes across my face. Doubling over, I grab at my mouth, spitting out a tooth so I don't choke on it. Before it hits the ground, I feel another burst of pain. This time, it's at the base of my skull.

***

"I prefer to hog-tie mine," Jessica says when I come to. She's sitting cross-legged on the ground next to me. "Not a serial killer? Ha! Good one, Dan. If that's even your real name. Just so we're clear, I pegged you for a sick bastard from a mile away. Actually, about five hundred feet, if you want to get technical," she laughs, reaching inside her bra and pulling out a switchblade. She crawls over to me, flicking the knife open. "If you'd have just gone to my house where my big knives are, you could have avoided yourself a whole lot of embarrassment."

"Imagine that," she continues, tracing the tip of her blade down the broken line of my slackened jaw. She must have kicked me while I was out. "The woman you take into the woods to murder turns out to be a better killer than you. That's a real bummer, now isn't it, Dan?

My garbled moaning bounces off the trees before falling limp and useless down onto the deserted dirt road. I was right. I shouldn't even bother screaming... no one will hear a thing.