Page 14 of Date Night

“Starla, come on, lighten up!” Liora giggles, pulling off the mask.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it’s impossible. I can still feel the jump scare pulsing in my chest. Braylon steps closer, concern etching his features.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

I shake my head, frustration boiling over. “This isn’t a joke, Braylon. We’re supposed to be focused on the documentary and what the people in this town are dealing with. They need to take what we're doing here seriously, not as a haunted house.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “I get it, but we need these guys to feel comfortable here. A little fun never hurt anyone, right?”

He’s right. I know that. But it doesn’t make the anger dissipate. I take a moment, letting the reality settle. Sighing, I turn to Liora, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I just... I didn’t expect it.”

She nods, her smile returning, and I can’t help but feel a little lighter. Maybe I need to let go just a bit. After all, this is supposed to be an opportunity of a lifetime. What's the point of going through all this if I can't have a little fun while I do it.

"So what's on the docket for today, Boss?" Max walks over to us, his clipboard already in his hand.

"Right, let's get to work." I call everyone over and go over what we're supposed to do today.

I finally got word from the father of the third victim. He's willing to be part of the documentary. It's a welcomed change. He's one of the only people in the town who actually agreed to be part of the documentary without me having to twist his arm.

Within minutes me, Braylon, Liora and Amber are all in the van and on the way to the victim's childhood home. The surrounding area is nothing but open lands and even some farms. It's picturesque. I'm sure to get some great images from here.

"We have to make sure to get some footage from over there." Braylon points out the window in the direction of the dump yard that surrounds the house we are about to get to.

"Yeah, that could be a great backdrop for some reenactments." It amazes me how much talent Braylon has. I'm sure I'd have picked the same area to take some images it just would've taken me a while longer.

Finally, we make it to the house and the father walks out. A bright smile on his face and even though I can see the grief playing in his eyes.

"Howdy, yall. I trust you made it out here okay?" Mr. Krillan says as he walks down his steps and meets us as we start to walk up.

Instantly my home training kicks in and I take his hand in a shake. "Yes, the directions you gave us were perfect. Thank you for having us. I know this is tough."

"Yeah, well, I hate the fact that no one is doing anything about what happened to my Gilly. She deserves the world to know about her." He smiles before he gestures to the house. "You guys want to come on inside. I don't have much it's just me living here now."

"That's fine. Thank you." I smile and we all follow him up to his place.

As we step inside Mr. Krillan's house, the air shifts, thick with memories and the scent of aged wood. I scan the room, taking in the eclectic mix of furniture, pieces that look like they’ve survived decades of stories, each with its own history. It’s cute, in a way, though overcrowded. The walls are adorned withmismatched frames, and an old grandfather clock ticks steadily in the corner, a heartbeat in this quiet space.

Mr. Krillan, despite his years, moves with surprising agility, navigating through the maze of furniture as if he knows every inch of his home. I follow closely, my crew fanning out behind me, capturing the details with their cameras.

“Make yourselves at home,” he says, gesturing to a worn couch that looks like it could tell tales of its own.

I nod, moving deeper into the living room. My gaze lands on an old photograph on the wall—a black-and-white image of a girl with bright eyes and a wide smile. My heart sinks as I recognize her: Gilly, the third victim. The reality of her absence washes over me, heavy and suffocating.

“Mr. Krillan,” I say, my voice steady but laced with sorrow. He turns to me, his expression shifting as he follows my gaze. “Is it okay if I use this picture in the documentary?”

He glances at the photo, his eyes softening. “That was Gilly… such a bright light,” he replies, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “She loved this place. If it helps tell her story, then yes, you can use it.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling within me. “Thank you,” I say, feeling a sense of responsibility wash over me. It’s not just a picture; it’s a piece of someone’s life, a moment frozen in time. I want to honor that, to share Gilly’s story with the world, to remind everyone that she was more than a victim.

As I continue to look around, I feel a mix of gratitude and sadness. Mr. Krillan’s home, filled with remnants of a life lived, stands as a testament to the love and loss that lingers in the air. I can’t help but wonder how many more stories are hidden in the nooks and crannies of this place.

"We should get started, no? Don't want to lose the light." Braylon pipes up and I nod my head. I take a seat but Mr. Krillan still looks as if he's a bit anxious about everything.

"You don't need something to drink. I've got some tea here." He gestures to the kitchen. It's clear in his motions that he truly isn't looking forward to this. His bravery is amazing to me. I don't know if I'd ever be able to tell the story of how my child died.

"Sure, some tea would be great." I smile at him and he's off like a bumblebee in the direction of the kitchen.

He walks off and gets us the drinks while my attention falls on the people with me. Everyone looks somber. Everyone except for Liora who looks absolutely awestruck. More and more her demeanor about working on this project is starting to worry me. I know all about people who idolize serial killers, I only hope she's not one of them.

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