His Victim

“Are you afraid of me?” he had asked huskily against my nape as his long dark hair brushed against my shoulder. “I don’t bite.” 

I was pretty sure hiding in a closet with the night’s presumed “murderer” wasn’t part of the planned repertoire for the game tonight but here I was entrapped in his grasp. 

I had met him at tonight’s murder mystery soiree. He was dressed like a dashing urban vampire returning from the office in a pair of red brick coloured trousers and striped dress shirt with a moss green turtleneck underneath. He had been seated across from me and I had stolen more than a few glances at him in between the gold ornate candelabra on the table. 

We had been introduced briefly and I had overheard him talking about a salt mine in Transylvania worth visiting to his dinner neighbor. Unsurprisingly the conversation turned to Romanian villains, Dracula and Vlad the Impaler. I know because I was listening to him a lot more than engaging with my own side of the table. 

Our hosts had set up an elaborate traditional manor style murder mystery party with clues to find scattered throughout their house during post-dinner drinks. I was peeping in the storage room downstairs when he accosted me for being the detective. 

I said I have nothing to hide. He said, neither have I. And then we heard footsteps and he had pulled me into the broom closet. 

“You’ve been spying on me all evening, pretty girl”, he murmured into my hair. “And I don’t even know your name. Have you been ordered to dispatch or execute?” 

“Neither” I answered brusquely. “What makes you think I don’t suspect you?”

“Because I am asking this little investigator why she is watching me rather than delivering a final blow.”  

And then he asked me if I was afraid of him. Whispering into my ear, he said “I am the murderer for this round and I don’t like tattletales.”

Pulling on his burgundy tie, I whispered “I won’t kiss and tell.” 

I saw his eyes glint as he leaned in. “I dare say you won’t.”