A Deadly Sorority (Book #1 Sorority Horrors)

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Steve pulled me aside, retreating to the corner of the living room where the lighting was dim. He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

"How well do you know John?" Skepticism was etched across his face.

I shrugged. "Not long. I met him my first week here, so about seven months." My gaze shifted, peeking out the sliding glass door, as the odd couple, John and Sabrina, reclined out on the patio.

A growing sense of unease settled over me. John leaned back in the wicker chair, his legs stretched before him, while Sandra mirrored his posture in the opposite chair. Their muted conversation revealed nothing, leaving only the sight of their lips in motion.

I turned my head to find Steve lost in thought, a furrow forming between his brows.

"What's on your mind?" I asked, curiosity piqued. "Do you think he's the one?"

He looked at me, puzzled. "The one?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, "The Crimson Lake Killer."

Steve chuckled while shaking his head. "No, I don't think he's that sophisticated."

"Ah, so serial killers need to be sophisticated now?" I teased, narrowing my eyes playfully.

Steve composed himself, the amusement fading from his expression. "It's not about sophistication. The average serial killer has an IQ of 94.5. Not too shabby, right?"

I shrugged dismissively.

"The IQ of a serial killer doesn't impress me; to me, they're nothing more than depraved demons, and that's all I need to know."

"Ok, enough small talk," Steve informed, "Let's confront him."

I nodded, "Good idea."

Steve and I ventured out onto the patio. Sandra glanced up at me.

"So, you two gonna join us?" Sandra inquired with a smile.

"Well, we wanted to ask John a question." Steve turned his gaze toward John.

John's eyes widened in fear, "Yes?" he gulped.

"I have a question for you," Steve informed.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, grabbing hold of Steve's arm and pulling him back into the house with me. We retreated back inside. I glanced back at Sandra and John, concern etched across their faces.

"I need to speak with Steve alone," I explained, "Excuse us."

They exchanged a glance, their faces lacking any hint of emotion. I slid the glass door shut behind us.

Steve and I huddled in the center of the kitchen, our voices barely above a whisper. I leaned in close to Steve, voicing my concern.

"Maybe we should just report him to the authorities," I suggested.

Steve shook his head, "No, I have a better idea."

"What?" I asked, intrigued.

"Let's start our own investigation," Steve proposed with a smirk.

"But how?" I questioned. "We don't have the resources for that kind of thing."

"It's not about resources," Steve explained. "We can start by following John, tracking his every step, and gathering information until we have something substantial to present to the authorities."

A spark of excitement ignited within me. "That's an awesome plan, Steve!"

Steve rubbed his chin in concentration, "Let's find out if Sandra was and John are having a date night tonight. We'll go along with them, ask if we can double-date."

I was taken aback, "But Steve, you and I aren't a couple."

"For the sake of this investigation, we are now." He smiled.

***

Steve's plan was set into motion. We found ourselves invited out with Sandra and John for a night at the bar. However, as much as I wanted to join them, it was the night of my favorite podcast, and they were going to delve deep into the murders of the Crimson Lake Killer and I absolutely could not miss that episode for the world.

Before Steve headed to the bar, we hashed out our plan one final time.

"When John heads out, follow him home discreetly, but don't get too close." I explained firmly, "If he glances in his rearview mirror, make a quick move to the side as if you're pulling over to park."

Steve nodded in agreement. "Understood. I'll keep you posted on any developments."

With a nod, we said our goodbyes, and Steve walked out of the door.

I made a beeline for my bedroom, flopping stomach-first onto my cozy bed. With a quick swipe, I located the PodCastStream app on my phone and tapped it open.

Finding my way to the favorites menu, I selected the Crime Ladies Podcast logo.

"Welcome back to the Crime Ladies Podcast, where true crime knows no bounds!" the host began. "It's your girl Monique, and joining me as always is the one and only Lauren!"

I placed the phone beside my ear, sinking into the comfort of my bed as I listened intently.

"Today, we delve into the most infamous topic circulating around Irvine: The Crimson Lake Killer and his possible connection to the recent discovery of young college-aged women's bodies scattered throughout town," Monique informed.

"Hey there, podcast world! It's Lauren, and do I have some news to share with you today!" Lauren's voice crackled with intrigue.

"The Irvine Police Department might be keeping mum about the recent string of deaths, but we're not fooled. We know it's the work of the Crimson Lake Killer. And here's the kicker: what they're not telling you is that one of the bodies was found dumped into the lake. And guess who it was? None other than Sheila Gilmore, a student at Irvine College."

Just as I was fully immersed in the episode, my phone chimed, pulling me back to reality.

Lorena: Kayla, my car broke down on the side of Highway 12, and a strange man pulled over and parked right behind me.

My heart pounded against my ribs, and my mind raced with fear.

I typed my response, hands trembling over the phone.

Kayla: Stay locked inside your car. I'm coming right now!

With a surge of adrenaline, I hopped off the bed and hastily slipped on my shoes. Snatching up my car keys, I dashed out the door, hoping against hope that the stranger Lorena spoke of wasn't the Crimson Lake Killer himself.

Wandering through the parking lot, I heard someone call out to me.

"Kayla!" The voice sounded familiar.

I scanned the dark area. My heart began to pound until I spotted Sabrina, feeling relieved.

"Hi, Sabrina." I greeted with a forced smile.

"Hey, I'm meeting up with Patricia." She informed me, "We're going out for Thai. Do you want to join us?" 

I shook my head, "I can't." I frowned unconsciously.

"What's wrong? You don't look too good." She remarked, her brows furrowing in concern.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, "I gotta go. I'll explain later." 

Sabrina's face contorted into one of confusion, "OK,"

I sped-walked to my car, losing sight of Sabrina. I reached for the handle of my car door, and a chill ran down my spine. The handle felt sticky.

What the heck?

I brought my hand up to my face, and there it was, a red liquidy and sticky fluid smeared across my palm.

Raising my hand, I inched it closer to my nose and sniffed the crimson liquid.

It was blood.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at my blood-smeared hand, my heart pounding with dread. Whose blood was it, and why was it on my door handle?