When I first meet someone I like to look in their eyes. I try to engage them in a conversation with the express purpose to make them laugh. A laugh speaks volumes as to how free their heart is. First time I met Stan his eyes were pleasant his laugh was easy and quick.

Stan emitted confidence and strength. His male pitch was deep and sexy. My female receptors were zeroed in on the target. Within a week we had set up a date and time to meet for dinner. I was not ready to tell him where I live.
I came just on time dressed in a white cotton easy flowing sundress. Strappy sandals and a small sling purse. He looked elegant in his beige cotton twill slacks, short sleeve cream knit shirt. My eye focused on his belt buckle. I quickly diverted my eyes, looking directly at him and smiled. His eyes told me he noticed my interest. His grin told me he had the same thoughts.
We were seated at our table. We both ordered the salmon special. While we waited we sipped on wine and talked about our day. The conversation slowly became personal. Who we dated before. Who did the breaking up? Stan leaned in and whispered in my ear “Would you consider having desert across the street” I nodded and smiled. As our entrees were placed before us I looked through the window across the street at the Sheridan. I had never been there before and always wondered if it is as swanky as people had said.
We ate slowly sharing bits and pieces of our past. Slowly it started to dawn on me I was the one giving information. Stan, on the other hand, was being very cautious and generic. A chill ran up my spine. My attraction to him turned cold. He must have noticed. He reached across the table and took my hand. He asked if something was the matter. I lied and told him my stomach was upset and I needed to go to the ladies room. I walked unsteadily towards the front of the restaurant to the ladies room. When I reached the door of the ladies room I glanced over my shoulder Stan was looking in a different direction. I quickly left the restaurant. Ran to my car and went straight home.
As I told all this to the police officer he took notes nodding once in awhile. After I had finished my dissertation he flipped his notepad closed with a quick snap. He said “You were smart not to go with him. I would suggest since he does not know where you live, stay home a few days from work until we catch him.”
I would never have believed Stan would be capable of such brutality. He ended up with our waitress after I left. She had felt sorry for him. They ended up at the Sheridan. The cleaning crew found her body, in the shower cut up in pieces, like someone does to a chicken.
I am glad I listened to my gut when things went south.

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