Page 7 of Hide From Me

The card and paper sat on the table, taunting me while I pulled at the tail of the ribbon holding the box closed. It screamed expensive.

The black silky bow fell aside as I yanked the thing away. Forcing myself to breathe, I pulled off the lid.

Why was I so nervous? Why had a little artsy invitation with some barbed wire unnerved me? I didn’t know, but I had hope.

Holding the lid between my hands, I leaned over and put it down as I reached for what I knew was a dress.

Black, or rather, iridescent black, to an indigo blue. I stopped pulling it out as I saw the mask that had slid down. I hadn’t seen it until now.

I pulled out the matching mask and placed it aside and pulled out the dress. It was beautiful and far nicer than anything I’d ever worn. Why would I need such a ridiculous thing?

Holding the bodice against my torso, I giggled.

Who was I to tell a bunch of pompous rich people that I wouldn’t wear their art-approved dress?

Something caught my eye out my window, and I froze. I put the dress down and leaned over the table, but the strange glint didn’t repeat and there didn’t seem to be anything where I swear I’d seen it come from.

“Great. I’m losing it.”

I grabbed my cell out of my back pocket and dialed one of the few friends I’d made. I’d never had real friends, but I was trying. The phone rang at the tap of the call button.

“How’s my favorite creepy-ass photographer? Tell me you got this guy’s brain splattered everywhere.”

I snorted.

“Uh, yeah. You’re like the only creepy fan I have.”

I heard her chuckle as something clattered in the background.

“What can I say? You’re my outlet to the real world. I only get them once the crime scene has been cleaned.”

When she said “them”, she meant the bodies. I glanced back at the spot across the street. Still nothing.

“You do have a real life, Cali. You just choose to hang out in the morgue every chance you can.”

There was silence on the phone for a heartbeat.

“Yeah. I know. Less scary. It’s why you’re, like, my only friend, because you will come here and hang out with me.”

I looked at the dress.

“Speaking of hanging out, or, well, lack thereof. I got a strange invitation to photograph the show at that art gallery, Enigma. You know the one that?—”

I pulled the phone away from her squeals.

“You did not,” she yelled at a high pitch.

“I did. As the photographer.”

She was quiet then.

“They never allow photography. That’s crazy. Hold on.”

I heard her clicking away at a keyboard.

“There’s a big show from that masked artist, Arcane Alchemist. No one actually knows who he is, but there are rumors he’s tied to one of the gangs around the city.”

I looked at the dress and the mask.