I knew about the murders in the area. They’d been the talk of the town. The men in the club had been more protective over their wives than normal. Elden had told me not to walk anywhere alone late at night. Though I fucking hated it, that little survival tactic had been drilled into me long before these killings started.
Don’t walk home alone late at night.
Don’t run with earbuds in.
Never take the same route.
Don’t leave your drink alone.
Be careful how you say no to a man.
Be careful how you break up with a man.
The list of how we avoided getting raped and murdered was endless.
When in reality there should be one item on one list for men.
Don’t rape and murder women.
Apparently, that was much too difficult, and men couldn’t be expected to follow that singular rule, so women had to change everything about their behavior and routines.
“Now, considering that there is an outlaw club operating in the area, the crime rate around here is actually pretty low,” Sariah continued. “Apart from the big massacre that apparently happened a few Christmases ago,” her lips curled downward. “That wasdark.” She held out her coffee mug to the passing waitress, thanking her.
I gratefully accepted a refill too, thinking fondly of the coffee that had gone flying with the nightstand that made diner coffee seem like the dirty water it really was.
“Anyway, the women in question aren’t actually from your town,” Sariah continued. “They were all found outside town limits. Naked. Posed. And stabbed at least fifty times.” “Thank you,” she addressed the waitress who had gone a little pale at Sariah’s mention of dead bodies.
“Anyway,” she focused back on me. “They were all sex workers. Which unfortunately are commonly victims of serial killers, and the police don’t treat their lives with the reverence they deserve.” She shook her head in anger.
I agreed with her on that one.
“We should start a podcast about it,” Sariah suggested thrumming her hands together.
It did not surprise me that Sariah knew all the details of these murders. She was a child of this generation, and we were all obsessed with serial killers. Well, notwebecause I did not share that same fascination. I had nightmares every time she made me watch those true crime shows with her.
It did surprise me, however, that she was proposing this at all, especially right now, considering everything going on.
“We are not starting a podcast,” I told her.
She pouted at me. “Why not?”
“Because everyone and their dog has a podcast these days,” I pointed out the obvious. There were a lot of other reasons too, like us being in college, me being pregnant and having just split my family in two.
“No, every toxic white guy has a podcast,” she argued. “They’ve ruined the medium for everyone.”
She wasn’t entirely wrong, although I still loved podcasts when I had the time to listen to them.
“No one, not even the cops, have caught on yet,” Sariah whined. “Partly because they’re still a part of a patriarchal institution that looks down on sex workers and also because all of the cops around here seem to be idiots. Except for the new sheriff in Garnett who is actually quite well regarded, but it seems like he’s more focused on the Sons of Templar.”
I stared at her. “He’s focused on the Sons of Templar,” I repeated, suddenly worried.
She nodded, sipping her coffee. “I wouldn’t worry,” she waved her freehand at me dismissively. “They don’t have anything that isn’t like a decade old.”
My stomach twisted. “How do you know what they do and don’t have?” I asked her carefully.
She looked sheepish.
“Sariah…”