The Black Dress

The little black dress was a lie.

It was tight in all the wrong places, made of cheap polyester that scratched my skin. It looked like the dress I wore to my mother’s funeral, but it wasn't. That dress was silk. That dress was packed away in a cedar chest at my dad’s house in Ohio. This dress was a costume.

Julian had laid it out on the bed. "For tonight," he'd said. "You look so elegant in black."

Elegant. Or pre-deceased.

I zipped it up. My hands were shaking so bad I caught my skin in the zipper. *Pinch.* A tiny, sharp pain that cut through the fog of terror.

"Ow," I whispered.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked like a ghost. Pale skin, dark eyes, black dress. I was already dressed for the casket.

I had ten minutes. Maybe less.

Dinner was at 7:30. It was 7:20 now.

I needed to find the key.

The basement key.

I knew he had it. He always kept the important keys on him. But not on his main ring. Not the one he tossed in the bowl by the door.

He kept the "special" keys in his pocket.

Or...

I looked at the nightstand.

His wallet. His watch.

And a small, silver key.

My heart leaped.

Could it be that easy?

I picked it up. It was old. Brass, tarnished silver. It looked like the key to a diary. Or a jewelry box.

Not a door.

I frowned.

What did this open?

I looked around the room. The dresser. The armoire.

The lockbox.

Under the bed.

He kept his gun there. A 9mm. "For protection," he said.

I dropped to my knees. I shoved the dust ruffle aside.

There it was. A small, black safe.

I tried the key.

It fit.

I turned it.

*Click.*

The lid sprang open.

Empty.

The gun was gone.

My blood ran cold.

He had taken it.

Why would he take the gun?

Unless...

Unless the gas wasn't the only plan.

Unless the gas was Plan A, and the gun was Plan B.

I sat back on my heels. The room felt suddenly smaller.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Deliberate.

"Elara?"

He was coming.

I slammed the box shut. I shoved it back under the bed. I stood up, smoothing the dress.

"In here," I called out. My voice was thin.

He appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a fresh shirt. White. Crisp. He had showered. He smelled of soap and... peppermint.

To hide the turpentine?

"You look beautiful," he said.

He walked over to me. He stood behind me, looking at our reflection in the mirror.

"Like a painting," he murmured.

He reached out and touched my neck. His fingers were cold.

"Are you ready?"

"For what?" I asked.

"Dinner," he said. "The celebration."

He smiled.

"And then... the rest of our lives."

He took my hand.

"Come."

We walked downstairs.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

We passed the kitchen. The smell of rosemary and gas was faint, but I knew it was there. Building.

We walked into the dining room.

The table was set. Candles. Crystal. The good china.

"Sit," he said.

I sat.

He poured the wine. The 2018 Pinot.

He sat across from me.

"To us," he said.

I raised my glass. "To us."

I didn't drink.

He watched me. "It's good wine, Elara. Drink."

"I'm waiting for the toast," I said.

He smiled. "Fair enough."

He stood up. He raised his glass.

"To my beautiful wife," he said. "To the woman who completes me. To the end of the old chapter... and the beginning of the new one."

He clinked his glass against mine.

"Cheers."

I brought the glass to my lips.

I tilted it.

I let the liquid touch my tongue.

And then...

*Beep.*

A sound from the kitchen.

A timer?

No.

The smart home hub.

It was rebooting.

Julian froze.

"What was that?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Did you touch the hub?"

"No."

He frowned. "I should check it."

He started to stand up.

And then...

The lights flickered.

Once. Twice.

And went out.

Pitch black.

"Damn it," Julian hissed.

I heard him moving. Fumbling for his phone.

This was my chance.

I stood up. I moved silently.

I knew this room. I knew where the furniture was.

I reached the sideboard.

I felt for the heavy silver candlestick.

My hand closed around it.

"Elara?" Julian's voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm here," I said. "I'm scared."

"Stay put. I'm getting a light."

A beam of light cut through the darkness. His phone flashlight.

It swept across the table. The empty chair.

"Elara?"

He swung the light around.

It hit me.

I was standing by the door. Holding the candlestick.

He stared at me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," I said.

He laughed. A short, disbelief laugh.

"Leaving? In the middle of dinner? In the dark?"

"I know what you did," I said.

He stopped laughing.

"What did I do, Elara?"

"The receipt," I said. "The regulator. The obituary."

Silence.

The light didn't waver.

"You went in my pockets," he said. His voice was cold. "You violated my privacy."

"You violated my life," I said. "You planned my death."

He sighed.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said. "It was supposed to be peaceful. You were supposed to be asleep."

He took a step toward me.

"Put the candlestick down, Elara. You're not going to hit me. You're not violent."

"Try me," I said.

He took another step.

"I have the gun," he said.

He reached into his waistband.

He pulled it out. The 9mm.

He pointed it at me.

"Put it down."

I stared at the gun.

It was black. Matte. Ugly.

"You won't shoot me," I said. "It's too loud. The neighbors will hear."

"The neighbors think you're crazy," he said. "I'll tell them you attacked me. Self-defense."

He cocked the hammer.

*Click.*

"Put it down."

I hesitated.

Then I threw it.

I threw the candlestick. Not at him.

At the window.

*Crash.*

Glass shattered. The wind howled in.

"Help!" I screamed. "Fire! Gun!"

"Shut up!"

He lunged at me.

He tackled me. We hit the floor.

The gun skittered away.

He was on top of me. heavy. Smelling of peppermint and sweat.

His hands were around my throat.

"Why couldn't you just die?" he screamed. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

I clawed at his face. I kicked.

But he was strong. So strong.

My vision started to spot. Black dots.

I couldn't breathe.

I reached out. My hand hit something cold. Hard.

The gun.

It was right there.

I grabbed it.

I didn't think. I didn't aim.

I just pulled the trigger.

*Bang.*

The sound was deafening in the small room.

Julian jerked.

He looked down.

There was a hole in his shoulder. Blood blossomed on the white shirt.

He looked at me. Shocked.

"You shot me," he whispered.

He fell off me.

I scrambled back. I held the gun with both hands. It was shaking.

"Stay back," I gasped.

He clutched his shoulder. Blood seeped between his fingers.

"You missed the heart," he said. "Bad aim."

He tried to stand up.

"Stay down!" I screamed.

"Elara," he said. "Look at me."

I looked.

He was smiling.

A bloody, grimacing smile.

"Do you smell that?" he asked.

I sniffed.

Gas.

Stronger now.

The pilot light must have gone out when the window broke.

And the valve was still open.

"The timer," he said. "It's not 8:03 AM anymore."

He reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a remote.

"It's now."

He pressed the button.

*Click.*

Nothing happened.

He frowned. He pressed it again.

*Click. Click.*

Nothing.

I laughed. A hysterical, bubbling sound.

"I cut the power," I said. "In the basement. When I rebooted the server. I pulled the main fuse."

He stared at me.

"You..."

"I'm not just a nose," I said. "I'm a scientist. I know how things work."

He roared. He lunged at me again.

I fired.

*Bang.*

The bullet hit his leg. He collapsed.

"Stop!" I screamed. "It's over!"

He lay on the floor, bleeding. Breathing hard.

"It's not over," he wheezed. "It's never over."

He looked at the window.

"Did you really think I was working alone?"

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"The receipt," he said. "The pickup. Did you check the name?"

I thought back. The receipt.

*Customer: A. V.*

Not Julian Vance.

A. V.

Aris Vance?

No. Aris wasn't a Vance.

Unless...

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out.

A text from Sloane.

*I'm here. I'm outside.*

I ran to the window.

I looked out.

A car was idling in the driveway.

Sloane's car.

She was waving.

"Come on!" she screamed.

I looked back at Julian.

"Goodbye," I said.

I ran.

I ran out the front door. Into the rain.

I jumped into the car.

"Drive!" I yelled.

Sloane floored it.

We peeled out of the driveway.

I looked back.

The house was dark. Silent.

But then...

A light.

In the upstairs window.

A flashlight beam.

Someone was walking through the house.

Not Julian. He was on the floor.

Someone else.

*A. V.*

I looked at Sloane.

"Who is A. V.?" I asked.

Sloane frowned. "What?"

"The receipt. It was under the name A. V."

Sloane's face went pale.

"Elara," she whispered.

"What?"

"Mom's maiden name," she said. "Before she married Dad."

I stared at her.

"Vance?"

"No," she said. "Vance is *Julian's* name."

"Then who?"

"Mom's name," she said. "Was Aris."

Dr. Aris.

Dr. Aris wasn't just my doctor.

He was my uncle.

My mother's brother.

The one who had been disowned. The one who was 'unstable'.

He wasn't writing a book.

He was settling a score.

I looked back at the house.

The flashlight beam moved to the window.

It shined on us.

And then...

The house exploded.

Not from gas.

From the basement.

Where the server was.

Where the evidence was.

He had blown it.

He had erased the story.

But we were still alive.

And we knew the ending.

"Keep driving," I told Sloane. "Don't stop."

She nodded.

We drove into the night.

The rain washed away the smoke.

But the smell...

The smell of turpentine and almond and betrayal