A Deadly Sorority (Book #1 Sorority Horrors)

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My heart plummeted to the very depths of my stomach as I kept the phone pressed to my ear. The sounds of the television blared in the background, but I tuned them out like a deer avoiding a lion's cave while I tried to digest the news.

"What do you mean she's gone?" I asked in disbelief, struggling to come to terms with the words that had just sunk into my ears.

"We can't find her!" Brianna reiterated. "Her parents have been trying to call her, but she hasn't responded or texted them back. She was supposed to meet them for lunch today. They called me, concerned, and I went back to the sorority house, but she's gone."

"Well, did the police ever show up?" I inquired, "I called them, notifying them of a possible attack on Kennedy."

"Yes, the police showed up at the sorority house. That's when we all discovered she was missing and notified her parents." Brianna explained, "However, the police can't open an official investigation until it's been determined that she's been missing for more than 48 hours," Patricia explained in a deep, worrisome breath.

"You've got to be kidding me?!" I sighed heavily. Then I thought about Detective Jones and how he's been our go-to savior at that moment in time. He was determined to protect us and keep us safe from the Crimson Lake Killer. He'd know what to do.

I quickly ended the call with Brianna and dialed the detective immediately.

Tugging the phone to my ear, I waited as it rang, each ring a countdown echoing in the quiet room.

"Hello, Detective Jones," he answered, his voice stern.

"Hi, Detective, this is Kayla," I breathed into the phone, my voice trembling like leaves dangling from a tree in a windy storm.

"Hi, Kayla. What's up?" He asked, clearing his throat. "You sound worried."

I continued, "Did you hear about Patricia?" I inquired. "She's missing."

"Patricia, your sorority sister?" he questioned, his tone sharpening with concern.

"Yes," I confirmed, my impatience growing.

"I haven't heard anything about it," he replied. "Mind sharing the details of what's going on?"

I took a deep breath, then launched into the story: the evening phone call I had with Patricia, the mysterious rumble I heard, and the chilling scream that escaped her lips.

"Are you at the sorority house now?" Detective Jones asked, his voice urgent and edged with worry.

"No, not yet."

"Get over there now." He instructed in a stern tone, "I'll have two of my best cops on the scene. We'll be there in fifteen minutes," He instructed, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline that I wanted to grip and hold onto.

Heart pounding, I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, a sense of dread creeping over me like rain in a thunderous storm.

Rushing to my car, I fumbled with my keyring, my fingers trembling as I sent the unlock signal. The locks clicked open with a reassuring sound. I jumped inside, revved the engine, and set off toward the sorority house.

The roads were nearly deserted, as most residents in Irvine were too afraid to venture out with a serial killer on the loose. Although he seemed to be targeting college-aged women, everyone felt at risk. Whether a 70-year-old grandparent or a 40-year-old mom, it made sense to stay indoors with the doors locked, where safety felt more certain.

As I pulled into the horseshoe driveway of the big castle-like sorority house. I spotted two police vehicles, and my heart dropped like a stone sinking in a pond.