The Social Media Murders Page 2

  Charlene responded, “I know, I know. I'll be back before nighttime. I promise.”

  “Good. After what happened to that poor girl... It's just not safe out there right now. I don't know what I'd do if the same thing happened to you. I don't–”

  “It's not going to happen to me,” Charlene interrupted, trying to stop her mother from spiraling into a tailspin of madness. “I knew Anna. She was a good girl, but she got into some trouble a few times. I guess she probably had enemies. You know, haters? I'm not like her. I'll be okay, mom.”

  Janice scratched her eyebrow and nodded, fighting the urge to cry. If she had it her way, she would have locked Charlene in her room until the killer was caught. She trusted her daughter, she respected her privacy, but she didn't feel comfortable in a world full of strangers. Anyone could be the killer.

  She waved and said, “Okay. Go on. I don't want you to be late for school.” As she turned towards the sink, she shouted, “I love you!”

  Charlene tossed her bag over her shoulder and yelled, “Love you, too!”

  The teenager walked out of the house, casually strolling across the porch and walkway. She took a left turn past the white picket fence.

  As she walked down the sidewalk, her father, Robert Sanchez, parked in front of the house. The rough man wore navy coveralls—his uniform. He had a head of disheveled hair and prickly stubble on his jaw. He nodded and waved at his daughter. He was arriving home after his night shift.

  Charlene returned the wave and nod, then she mouthed: “See you soon. Love you.”

  She continued walking down the suburban street. She couldn't help but smile as she glanced around the neighborhood. The houses and lawns were beautiful, maintained and organized. Children ran up-and-down the street while teenagers casually walked on the sidewalks or waited for their rides. The neighborhood was bathed in warm sunshine. Disregarding the murder looming over the city, the day was perfect.

  “Hey!” a soft, feminine voice said from over her shoulder.

  Charlene glanced back and smiled.

  Britney Cook approached her friend, a textbook clenched in her arms and a bag slung over her shoulder. Like Charlene, she didn't try to draw attention to herself. She wore a white top, tight black leggings, and brown boots. She could control her style, but she couldn't control her figure. She was naturally curvaceous, so she still caught unwanted attention from her male peers.

  In fact, even some of her female classmates were caught staring at her.

  As the pair walked beside each other, Charlene asked, “How's it going?”

  “I'm good,” Britney responded with a casual shrug. “My mom was practically fighting to keep me home today 'cause of what happened to Anna. She's just too... overbearing, you know?”

  “Yeah. My mom was acting the same way. I get it, though. Anna's gone. She's... She's dead. It's so sad. I can't imagine what her parents are going through. I mean, if the rumors are true, just imagine seeing someone you love killed like... like that. It's scary stuff.”

  Britney sighed and nodded, agreeing without uttering a word. She had heard the rumors and she was disheartened by her classmate's unfortunate death. Charlene frowned as she glanced up at the clear blue sky. She wondered if Anna was watching them from the heavens above.

  Breaking the ruminative mood, Britney asked, “Anyway, how are you and Adam doing? Is he still acting like a little asshole or what?”

  Charlene chuckled and shook her head. Yes—the answer was obvious, but she couldn't quite blurt it out. Adam Allen, her high school sweetheart, had grown distant over the past year. She didn't want to add fuel to the fire by insulting him behind his back.

  She responded, “It's hard, you know? I love him with all of my heart, I really do, but things have changed. He... He's just not the same. I think it's because we didn't have any classes together this year, so he just started growing distant. He doesn't call me every night, he doesn't even answer his texts... It's going to get worse, too. Did I tell you? We're probably going to different colleges.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that, hun. I don't know, though. Maybe it's for the better. If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be. I hope you can fix your issues, though, 'cause you guys make a cute couple.”

  The pair shared a giggle. Britney was trying to break the tension, Charlene was trying to keep a semblance of control.

  As she glanced at each passing house, Britney said, “About college... How are you feeling?”

  “Aside from my little problem with Adam? I'm feeling okay, I guess.”

  “Well, I'm not. I got accepted to a few, but... I'm afraid it'll just be more of the same. I'm a cheerleader, right? I'm good-looking, right?”

  Charlene furrowed her brow as she laughed. She joked, “You're conceited, right?”

  “I'm serious, Charles. I feel like no one takes me seriously because they're too busy staring at my damn tits or my ass. It pisses me off. I work my ass off—not literally, obviously—and I still get treated like some bimbo. It's annoying and I don't want it to be like that in college, too.”

  “Well, I know you're smart—smart and beautiful. Forget about everyone else. Fuck 'em,” Charlene said with a big grin on her face.

  Britney returned the smile, elated by her friend's supportive response. She asked, “Have you heard about Michael and Dominique?”

  “What about them?”

  “They're having some 'relationship' issues, too. I heard Dominique has been cheating and Michael has been getting suspicious. He's asking friends and he's practically stalking her on Facebook like some sort of psycho.”

  Charlene sighed and shook her head, amused by her friend's interest in gossip. She asked, “And, why are you telling me this?”

  Britney shrugged and said, “I don't know. It's convenient, I guess. I just wanted to make you feel like you weren't the only one with relationship issues.”

  A blaring horn echoed through the street, causing the couple to hop and gasp. They glanced back at the street and chuckled in relief. A black sedan pulled into the side of the road beside them.

  Michael Miller sat in the driver's seat, sunglasses veiling his eyes. His hair was slicked back, a lock of hair dangling over his forehead. A varsity baseball player, he wore a letterman jacket with his school's colors. He was effortlessly cool.

  Dominique Martinez sat in the passenger seat. The young woman wore her cheerleader uniform with pride. Unlike her friends, she actively sought attention from anyone who was willing to look her way. She was a tease—and a suspected cheater.

  The couple beckoned to Charlene and Britney. The girls glanced at each other and giggled.

  Britney whispered, “Speak of the devil.”

  “Hurry up!” Dominique shouted from the car. “Get in here if you want a ride! We don't have all day!”

  As the pair ran to the car, Charlene yelled, “We're coming, we're coming!”

  Charlene stopped as she reached the side of the car. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a peculiar person. She felt compelled to look. She slowly turned and glanced over at the parallel sidewalk, curious.

  A person stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change. Due to his clothing, he stood out like a sore thumb. He wore a black raincoat, black jeans, and black boots—black from head-to-toe. The hood of his coat covered his face. It wasn't raining, though. Compared to the teens and children standing at the stop with him, he appeared malicious.

  The first thought in Charlene's mind: a school shooter? She grimaced and shook her head, disgusted with her preconceived idea. He's just a normal kid, she thought, don't make assumptions like that, Charles.

  From the driver's seat, Michael asked, “Are you getting in or not?”

  Snapping out of her contemplation, Charlene said, “I'm coming, I'm coming.”

  She glanced back at the corner—the light already changed and the group already crossed the street. She shrugged it off. She climbed into the backseat and sat beside Britney. They said their hellos
, then they sped off to school.

  ***

  The wheels howled as the car skidded to a stop in the senior parking lot. The friends hopped out of the car and walked towards the three-story indoor school, casually chatting and bickering. The morning was normal—except for the news van parked in front of the school. A crowd of nosy students surrounded the van and the news crew, recording the commotion with their phones.

  Katie Williams, a local news anchor in a beautiful crimson dress, stood near the school's sign. She swiped her fingers across her red-brown hair and adjusted her earpiece as she prepared to record a segment for the local news. She sneered in disgust and waved at the surrounding students, gesturing her demands—shoo, shoo.

  Of course, the obnoxious students didn't listen to her.

  Charlene asked, “What's going on over there?”

  Michael responded, “I have no idea.” He nodded at the front of the school. He said, “Check it out: the cops are here, too.”

  As they approached the front of the school, Charlene leaned towards her right and gazed at the news van. Two black-and-white police cruisers were parked behind the van. A police officer sat in one of the cars while the other cruiser was vacant. The other officers were nowhere in sight.

  Curious, Charlene asked, “Do you think they caught Anna's killer?”

  Dominique smirked and said, “Well, let's ask this stoner over here.” As they approached the van, Dominique shouted, “Stephen! My plug! What's going on?”

  Stephen Walker glanced over at Dominique and smiled upon spotting the group. Dominique didn't make him smile, though. My plug—if their teachers heard her, he would have been searched by campus security and they would have found his stash of marijuana. He only smiled because he saw Charlene. He liked her.

  Stephen was younger than the group of friends. He was a junior at the high school, but he found himself with a large group of friends thanks to his drugs. His beach blonde hair was long and tousled. His clothing was clean, but none of it matched. He wore a green short-sleeve shirt over a white long-sleeve shirt, khaki pants, and white sneakers. He didn't care very much about his appearance.

  Stephen asked, “What's up? You guys heard about all of this or what?”

  Charlene said, “No. We just got here. What happened?”

  “Did they catch the killer?” Britney asked.

  Stephen chuckled, then he said, “No. I mean, hell no. Someone else was killed last night.”

  “You're kidding?”

  “Nope. Someone died last night, man. I guess it's connected to Anna's death, too. I heard the police are going to be on campus all fucking day. Investigating and interrogating, you know? They're going to have counseling and all of that shit, too. I guess we're not smoking here today...”

  The group was startled by the revelation, lost in thoughts of violence and death. One murder in a month was already abnormal in the peaceful city. Two brutal murders in less than a week was a horrifying fact to swallow. A serial killer was clearly on the loose.

  Breaking the silence, Michael joked, “Maybe it would be best if we all left town until they catch this psycho. Right? Let's go to Vegas or something. Hell, it's only a few hours away. I could even get us some fake IDs.”

  “I wouldn't do that, man. If a killer doesn't get you here, some gangsters will probably take your kidney over there,” Stephen explained, referencing an old urban legend.

  “Well, I'd rather lose my kidney than my life. Besides, if you go with us, you might finally lose your virginity. Hell, we can sell our kidneys to pay for a high-class hooker for you.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Michael laughed at his own joke, amused by his crass sense of humor. The rest of the group remained quiet. Someone just died, so it wasn't the best time to make jokes about sex. Michael sighed and nodded—sorry.

  Stephen said, “You know, I heard she was killed like Anna. Her jaw and her tongue were ripped off her head. It's... It's crazy, man.”

  “She?” Charlene repeated, baffled. “How do you know he killed a girl? Did they already say who died?”

  “No, not yet. But, if we're talking about a serial killer, he's more than likely killing women and children. That's what serial killers do. That's how the world works. It has something to do with the... the psychology of a serial killer. That's why you probably won't see any guys die this time around.”

  Charlene stared down at her feet, dismayed by the response. She didn't bother to argue with Stephen. She figured he spent too much time watching crime documentaries on YouTube while smoking weed. Still, it seemed like a reasonable assumption. A serial killer targeting high school students, she thought, who could be next?

  Charlene coughed to clear her throat, then she asked, “Have you seen Adam, Stephen?”

  “Nope. I just smoked with him on Friday, though. He owes me, too, so–”

  “I'm not paying you,” Charlene interrupted. She flicked her finger across her phone and said, “He hasn't been answering my calls or texts all weekend. Have any of you seen him?”

  No, nope, and no—those were the responses she received from her friends. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then she shoved her phone into her bag. She marched away from the van and headed towards the building.

  As his friends walked away, Stephen shouted, “Wait up! Don't you guys want to watch the news! It's live! Like, really live!”

  Without looking back, Charlene shook her head and shouted, “No! She doesn't know shit!”

  Michael, Dominique, and Britney rushed to catch up to their friend. They all slowed to a stroll in front of the school's entrance as they spotted their principal, Andrew Lopez. The man adjusted his tie as he scowled at the news van. He was friendly around his students, some would call him a pushover, but he despised the media's exploitative use of tragedy—especially when it involved his students.

  Charlene stopped near the principal and asked, “What's happening, Mr. Lopez? Is it true? Did someone else die?”

  Lopez's scowl turned into a frown upon hearing the question. He could hear the sincere fear in Charlene's voice. He was responsible for their safety. The coffins of Anna and Tiffany sat on his shoulders, burdening him with guilt.

  He said, “We're having an assembly after first period. We'll have an open conversation about everything then. Okay?” A bell rang before any of the students could respond. The principal said, “Go to class. I'm going to get rid of these leeches.”

  The students watched as the man marched towards the news van, pushing his sleeves up and loosening his tie on the way. They smiled as they watched their principal throwing a fit in front of the camera and ruining Katie's shot.

  Charlene sighed, then she said, “I guess we'll have to wait to find out what happened. Let's just go to class.”

  “Yeah, come on,” Britney said.

  The students strolled down the hallway and headed to their classrooms before the tardy bell could ring.

  Chapter Three

  First Period

  Charlene blankly stared at the whiteboard from the back of the classroom. Numbers and letters were scrawled on the board in black marker, but the equations were blurred in her eyes. The numbers drifted closer to each other, overlapping to create an image of muddled nonsense. Due to her overwhelming stress, mathematics was nothing but a foreign language to the young woman.

  With listless eyes, she stared at her teacher—Mr. Collin Wilson.

  Wilson was young, charismatic, and handsome. His feathery brown hair was tousled, his prickly stubble was trimmed. The sleeves on his button-up shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his firm, vascular forearms. He was clearly strong. His style was plain—a button-up shirt, brown trousers, and matching dress shoes—but he was still attractive.

  Yet, amidst the murder and mayhem, Wilson couldn't capture the attention of his class. His attractive features could not woo the young women, his suave personality could not attract the susceptible young men.

  Charlene glanced over at a group of s
enior girls to her left. She could hear their whispers as they childishly gossiped. Smiles were plastered on their faces and laughter escaped their mouths as they discussed the rumored murder from the previous night.

  A blonde-haired teenager smirked and whispered, “I heard Melanie isn't here because she saw it. She saw her die and she's all 'traumatized' and shit. She's such a little bitch. She acts like no one has ever died before. I mean, people die in movies all the time, right?”

  In a soft tone, just above a whisper, her friend responded, “That's what I'm saying. She's such a drama queen. She's always been like that.”

  Charlene furrowed her brow as she eavesdropped on the conversation. She didn't care about their stupidity—people dying in movies wasn't the same as people dying in real life. She was only concerned about her classmate. She leaned forward in her seat and stared at a vacant desk towards the front of the class—Melanie's seat.

  She found a piece of the puzzle, flooding her mind with hundreds of theories. Melanie witnessed the murder, she thought, she'll know something about it. She turned back in her seat and stared at Britney, who sat directly behind her. Britney returned the stare. The pair shared the same thought: we have to find out more.

  Gossip and rumors were unreliable, harmful, and toxic—but the couple absolutely needed to know more.

  Charlene leaned closer to the blonde and asked, “Are you guys talking about Anna or the... the 'new' one?”

  “We're talking about Tiff. You know, Tiffany Anderson? She's that slutty girl who sits in the front of the class. I heard she got, you know, whacked last night or whatever they say. They even said it was uploaded online. Maybe even on Facebook. I'm not going to look it up, though.”

  “Tiffany...” Charlene repeated in disbelief.

  She stared down at her lap as she brooded over the news. The rumored tragedy broke her heart. They weren't the closest friends, but she knew Tiffany since middle school. Her eyes darted left-and-right as she glanced around the room. She stared at another empty desk near the front of the class—Tiffany's seat. It's true, she thought, it's all true.