Page 10 of Aftermath
“I just think the victims should have some sort of memorial,” I said.
Selfishly, it would give me an excuse to share the project I’d been working on the past few years, a way to avoid hiding from Francis’ control over everything, to continue the research without the added stress of concealing it all.
“Besides, they never caught the damn bastard. If he’s still out there, we don’t need that attention turned to us,” Barren said with a nervous laugh.
It wasn’t fair. The Coastal Killer disappeared a little over three years ago. Without a trace, he just vanished into thin air. The FBI gave up, local police gave up, and eventually, our little coastal town went back to the peace it had known before the killings started.
Every time I thought about it, my blood boiled. The killer deserved to rot in prison, and instead, he was enjoying life comfortably elsewhere.
Everyone had giving up hope.
This shouldn’t be the normal. There was still so much evidence left to look at, but no one cared.
“Imagine the podcasters and true crime junkies,” Barren pointed out, seeing the disappointment on my face. “They’d flock here if they heard we had the inside scoop on one of the most notorious killers in a decade.”
I gave him a weak smile.All I wanted was justice for the victims, and if no one could provide that, then the least I could do was preserve their memory.
One of my first weeks on the job, I had stumbled across all of the old newspaper clippings while processing records, and the idea started to form there. It became my passion project.
There was so much good we could do with our position.
“At least it’d give tourists someone other than Milo L.,” I teased, forcing myself to stop harping on the topic.
“You meanMicahL.?” Barren asked, raising a brow.
“Yeah, that guy,” I said, waving him off.
“That guy has been in like every movie known to man,” he said, the starstruck effect glazing over his eyes.
“Not you too,” I groaned.
“Francis forces us to know everything about that exhibit. How have you gotten away with not even knowing his name?”
I placed the very last box on top of the stack and shrugged. I didn’t interact with the tourists or exhibits as much as everyone else. I remained behind the scenes, finding new exhibits and documenting old town records. It was the way I preferred it, out of the spotlight of the busy attraction.
“That’s what happens when you’re the favorite, I suppose. A promotion, more leeway,” he huffed. “I’ve been here thirteen years, and it’s always the same for me.”
The old man scowled, adding his last box to the pile.
Probably because of that attitude.
I worked hard to prove I could handle the responsibility of assistant curator when our prior one retired. They were one of Francis’ closest friends, so I had huge shoes to fill. If I had to put in the extra time and effort, I would do everything I could to keep working my way up.
“I thought I heard you two chattering,” Francis said, and I turned to find her hands on her hips, lips pursed.
“The boxes are all here,” Barren said quickly.
“Perfect,” Francis said, her face lighting with delight. “Now, there are a few exhibits that look a bit drab. I need you to go work on those before we open for the day.”
“But-” Barren started, his shift technically not starting for an hour. He shut his mouth and thought better of the comment.
“I’ll start on organizing the new filing system,” I offered before she had a chance to assign me to a new task.
“Always on top of everything,” she chirped.
I just knew exactly how to remain on her good side. It wasn’t rocket science, but it did require a bit of trial and error.
I turned and got to work, burying myself in the work of sorting through all the old records, arranging them in a more organized fashion in the large metal cabinets.
