Page 15 of Date Night

Mr. Krillan sits across from me, his hands folded so tightly they’re shaking. His knuckles are white, his fingers twisted together like he’s trying to hold himself in place, to stop himself from unraveling right in front of me. His eyes are red-rimmed, hollow, but there’s something harder beneath the grief—something sharp and jagged, like glass just waiting to slice open the next person who tries to tell him it’s going to be okay.

I don’t tell him that. I know better.

Instead, I let him talk.

“Gilly was never easy,” he says, voice rough, like every word is being dragged out of him. “Not even from birth. She came into this world screaming, fists swinging. Wild as hell. We tried… we did everything we could to rein her in, but she wasn’t a fan of the word no.” He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Just pain. “She’d fight anyone. Anything. Didn’t matter if she was three years old or twenty-three. If she didn’t like what she heard, she made damn sure you knew it.”

I nod, staying quiet, letting him work through it.

“She was strong,” he continues. “Stronger than most men I’ve met. I made sure of it. Taught her how to fight. How to holdher own. How to put a man twice her size on the ground in under three seconds.” He sucks in a breath, hands curling into fists on the table. “I thought that would be enough. I thought—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, shaking his head. “I thought she was untouchable.”

I reach across the table, resting my hand over his. “Mr. Krillan, this isn’t your fault.”

His eyes snap to mine, dark and furious. “Then whose is it?” His voice is a growl, low and dangerous. “Because someone took my baby, and I couldn’t stop it. Someone—” He stops himself, sucking in a breath, forcing himself back under control.

I don’t know what to say. Nothing I tell him will fix this. Nothing will bring her back.

After a long moment, he exhales, his whole body sinking under the weight of something invisible, something heavy enough to crush a man.

“They found her in the back of the dump yard,” he says finally. His voice is quieter now, but no less brutal. “Laid out like a goddamn piece of art. Arms spread. Legs twisted wrong. Her face—” He stops again, blinking hard. “They took her eyes.”

A shiver crawls up my spine, but I don’t dare look away.

“Whoever did it… they wanted her to be seen. Wanted us to find her like that. Like she wasn’t a person anymore. Just a warning. A message.” His jaw tightens, his fists trembling. “There were cuts everywhere. Deep. Precise. Not just some animal tearing into her. Someone did it on purpose. Took their time.” His voice turns into a whisper, thick with something like horror. “She fought. She fought so goddamn hard.”

I squeeze his hand, trying to ground him, trying to ground myself, but his eyes are somewhere else now. Somewhere dark.

I can feel it too—that cold, creeping thing curling around us. The kind of evil that doesn’t just take life, but revels in the destruction of it.

“I should’ve been there,” he says.

“You couldn’t have known,” I tell him softly.

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “That’s the problem, Starla.” His gaze finds mine again, something deadly burning beneath the grief. “I should have.”

By the time the end of the interview is over I can feel the weight Mr. Krillan felt and even though I know it's not the same as what he feels but I can only imagine.

"Did you need anything else?" Mr. Krillan asks, clearing his throat.

"No, this is perfect. We have more than enough for this segment of the documentary. I'll make sure to send you a copy before we let anyone else look at it." I nod and stand from my seat. We say the formal goodbye's ready to go out back to take some footage of the dump yard out back. I don't even need to look for the precise location. I know what it looks like from all the police pictures.

The air is thick with the smell of rust and decay as we step into the dump yard behind Mr. Krillan's house. He gave us permission to explore, his casual wave and nod brushing off any unease we might have felt. But I can’t shake the weight of the past that lingers here, the ghost of a violent murder hanging like a fog.

Braylon immediately whips out his camera, the lens clicking and whirring as he positions it to capture every angle of the forgotten debris and twisted metal. I glance at him, a mix of admiration and irritation bubbling in me. He’s always been eager to document everything, but this? This feels different.

In the background, Liora’s voice pierces through the heavy silence. “You know, a place like this is just perfect for a serial killer. All this junk... It’s like a playground for someone with a dark imagination,” she gushes, her tone almost gleeful. I don’t respond; I can’t. My stomach twists as I listen to her, the way shepractically dances around the idea, her words weaving a tapestry of horror that makes my skin crawl.

I cast a glance at Liora, watching her as she twirls with exaggerated gestures, mimicking what she thinks the killer might have done. Her movements are playful, yet there’s a chill in her laughter that sends shivers down my spine. I can’t help but wonder: what goes through her mind when she entertains these thoughts? Is she just playing a part, or is there something darker lurking beneath her cheerful exterior?

A cold knot forms in my stomach. What if the cops never considered that the killer could be a woman? I swallow hard, my thoughts spiraling out of control. Liora’s enthusiasm feels too intense, too eager. I want to shake it off, to convince myself that it’s just a joke, but the way she leans into her performance makes me question everything.

“Starla, check this out!” Braylon calls, gesturing excitedly at a pile of rusted metal. I force myself to look away from Liora, shaking off the creeping paranoia. I step closer to Braylon, but I can still hear Liora in the background, her voice bubbling over with delight as she spins yet another gruesome scenario.

I grit my teeth. This isn’t just a dump yard; it’s a reminder of something that shouldn’t be ignored. As Braylon captures the scene, I can’t help but steal glances at Liora, half-expecting her to turn those playful antics into something sinister. The thought unsettles me, and I can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s a hidden darkness in her that mirrors the shadows of this place.

It doesn't feel like very long but by the time we finish getting the footage we need the sun is already setting.

"We should get out of here. I'm not really looking forward to trying to find my way out of a dump yard in the darkness." Braylon jokes but he's right. There's nothing more that we can get out here anyway.

---