4. Starla
Chapter 4
Starla
M y dreams did nothing to soothe my mind.
All last night I tossed and turned trying to find a way to get comfortable in the foreign house. Nothing I did was enough to slow the steam engine that was constantly blowing all the doubts around in my head. Finally, about four this morning in pure exhaustion I passed out.
By eight am, I was up again and making my way to the library.
To my surprise I'm not the first one there. In fact, I'm the last one.
As I step into the library, the familiar scent of old paper and polished wood envelops me like a warm embrace. "Good morning, everyone!" I call out, my voice echoing softly in the quiet space. The volunteers look up from their workstations, smiles spreading across their faces, and I feel a swell of gratitude. Despite the chaos of last night’s demonstration, they seem undeterred, their enthusiasm for the project shining through.
I make my way to the back room, where the microfilm machine awaits, a bridge to the past that always brings me a sense of calm. The weight of the world feels lighter here, surrounded by the whispers of forgotten stories and the aged spines of countless books. Each step brings me deeper into a sanctuary of knowledge, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of unraveling the mysteries hidden within these dusty pages.
As I settle into my spot by the microfilm machine, I glance back at the volunteers. Their laughter and chatter fill the air with a warmth that reassures me I made the right choice in continuing this documentary. If they can face the hostility from the townsfolk, so can I. I take a deep breath, letting the serenity of the library wash over me.
Just then, a cool breeze brushes against my skin, a refreshing contrast to the stillness around me. I shiver slightly, the sensation pulling my focus. I turn toward the source and notice one of the back windows is broken, the jagged edges glinting ominously in the soft light. My heart sinks as I realize the implications.
The librarian hasn’t mentioned it, and I can’t bring myself to say anything. The last thing I want is to risk being banned from the only place willing to let us work in peace. This library is our refuge, a safe haven amidst the storm brewing outside. I walk closer to the window, peering through the shards of glass that have been left behind, my mind racing with thoughts of what could happen if word got out.
I let out a shaky breath, reminding myself to focus. I’m here to uncover the truth, to shed light on the darkness that has cast a shadow over this town. I can’t let a broken window distract me. I’ll deal with it later, after we’ve made progress on the documentary. For now, I turn my attention back to the microfilm machine, determined to dive into the past, where answers await just beyond the flickering light.
Within minutes I'm lost again in the world of the date night killer. I make note of some of the newspaper clipping I want to site in the documentary.
"Hey, you good back here?" Braylon sticks his head around the corner, his bright smile dragging me out of my intense focus.
"Yeah. I picked out a few more articles we can use." I gesture to the screen but he doesn't come any closer.
"Cool, I was thinking we could get use some field work. You know get our hands a little dirty?"
The idea of going out and walking in the same footsteps as the date night killer filled me with an excitement I didn't really want to think about. "Yeah, for sure. Let's go!" I hop out of my chair and follow him toward the front of the library.
Pete and Liora are waiting for us there. Liora a bit more excited than the rest of us. I really hope that's not going to be a problem later on.
"Hey, everyone alright?" I ask thinking about the mess that we were in yesterday. The documentary has barely gotten started and the last thing I want is for any of the volunteers to think working with me isn't safe. I need every last one of them if I'm going to make this work.
"Alright? I'm more than alright. Did you see what happened yesterday, this is going to be epic." Liora jumps in place and claps her hands. At little of the ordinary for the usually dark and grumpy teenager.
I can't help but chuckle at her outburst. She sure is a strange cookie.
I quickly go over the plan for the day and we make our way to the transportation that is going to take us over to Lover's Bluff. The extra large van we were able to rent is big enough to hold all of us and our equipment comfortably.
Liora and Pete talk animatedly in the back while I sit in the front with Braylon who is driving toward the location. He's unusually quiet and it just dawned on me that I haven't asked him if he's doing okay with all of this. Digging into the life of a killer is heavy work for anyone.
"Braylon, you're doing okay right?"
"Hmm?" It's obvious he was in his own world. He glances over at me the smile I'm so used to on his face once again.
"Yeah, I'm straight. I was just looking around. It's amazing how some place so small and tight knit could have something like this happen and no one know who the culprit is." He shrugs and I nod my head.
Through out the years the Date Night killer was active, the town was in a complete panic and it makes sense. It's not like this is a bustling city like New York or Los Angeles. This town is a place where everyone knows everyone's name. I guess that made it all the more intriguing to the killer.
It's a perfect day to take some outside shots. It's not too hot and there's hardly any overcast. It'll make for some great pictures.
As we approach Lover's Bluff, the once vibrant spot teeming with laughter and youthful exuberance now feels hauntingly desolate. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows that stretch across the cracked pavement, reminders of a time when this place buzzed with life. I can almost hear echoes of laughter, the thrill of teenage romances unfolding under the stars. Now, it’s eerily quiet, the overgrown grass reclaiming the edges of the old parking lot.
I adjust my camera, the weight of it heavy in my hands as we step closer to the edge of the bluff. The view is breathtaking, but today, it feels overshadowed by the tragedy that has unfolded here. I’m here to capture the scene of another crime, one that has left a community reeling. But as we round the corner, I freeze.
There she is, the mother of one of the victims. Her face is a storm of emotions, anger and grief etched into every line. I hadn’t expected to see her here, and my heart races as I grapple with how to approach her. What can I possibly say?
Braylon steps forward, ever the charmer, and I watch as he navigates the situation with a calm confidence that I admire. “Ma’am,” he says, his voice steady and warm, “I understand this is incredibly difficult. We’re here to honor your daughter’s memory.”
She glares at him, eyes blazing. “Honor? You think taking pictures of this place is honoring her? You’re just exploiting her death.”
I can feel the tension in the air, thick, palpable. Braylon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he takes a step closer, his gaze softening. “I know it might feel that way, but this is about justice. If we don’t keep her story alive, if we don’t highlight what happened here, the killer could slip away into the shadows. Your daughter deserves more than to be forgotten.”
For a moment, I hold my breath, watching the play of emotions across her face. The anger is still there, but I see the flicker of understanding, the painful realization that he might be right. “You think this will help?” she asks, her voice trembling.
Braylon nods, his charm never wavering. “I believe it can. People need to see the truth of what happened. We want to make sure her story is told, that it matters. And that starts with you.”
The mother’s shoulders sag slightly, the fight draining from her as she absorbs his words. I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Braylon has a way of connecting with people, of finding the right words when it matters most. It’s a gift, and I’m grateful to have him on our team.
“Fine,” she says finally, her voice quieter now, a hint of resignation. “But if you’re going to do this, you better make it count.”
Braylon smiles, the warmth of it genuine. “We will. I promise.”
As I raise my camera, capturing the scene and the raw emotions unfolding before me, I can’t help but feel the weight of what we’re doing. Lover's Bluff, once a place of joy, now a backdrop to heartbreak and justice. The small bluffs that used to cradle laughter now bear witness to sorrow, and as I take the shot, I know that this story won’t be forgotten. Not now, not ever.
"Let's get this started shall we?" I give the camera to Braylon to set up on the tripod and I pull out my pad so I can take my notes.
As I stand across from Brynn’s mother, I can see the love and pride etched into her features, even amidst the sorrow. The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows across her face, but there’s a warmth in her voice that draws me in. I’ve set my camera aside, knowing that this moment is about more than just capturing images; it’s about honoring her daughter’s memory.
“Brynn was always so full of life,” she begins, her voice steady yet laced with emotion. “She was involved in everything—drama club, cheerleading, you name it. She lit up a room.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she presses on, clearly proud of the girl who was once her whole world.
I lean in, wanting to soak up every detail. “What was she like growing up?” I ask, my voice gentle.
Her mother smiles, a bittersweet expression. “She was adventurous. Always pushing boundaries, wanting to explore. I remember her first bike ride without training wheels. She just took off, wind in her hair, yelling at the top of her lungs. I thought I’d never catch up!”
A pang of nostalgia hits me, and I can’t help but think of my own rebellious spirit, the nights I spent sneaking out against my mother’s wishes. I swallow hard, pushing the memory to the back of my mind. This isn’t about me.
“She sounds amazing,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “What happened after she started hanging out with the wrong crowd?”
The shift in her mother’s expression is palpable. “It was gradual at first. Just little changes, her friends shifted from the good kids to ones I didn’t know. I tried to intervene, but she wouldn’t listen. You know how teenagers can be.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice, a vulnerability that cuts through me.
I nod, feeling the weight of her words. “How did you cope when she went missing?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I can see the pain wash over her, the memories flooding back. “It was a nightmare. Days turned into weeks, and the uncertainty was unbearable. Every time the phone rang, my heart would stop. I never thought I’d lose my little girl.”
Her voice breaks, and I feel that familiar ache in my chest. I remember the times I pushed my own mother away, the moments I thought I knew best. I can’t help but feel a sharp pang of regret for those days, for the reckless decisions I made that might have hurt her.
“What do you want people to remember about Brynn?” I ask, shifting the focus back to her daughter, desperate to honor her memory.
She takes a deep breath, collecting herself. “I want them to remember her laughter, her spirit. She was so much more than what happened to her. She deserves to be remembered for who she was, not just for this tragedy.”
As she speaks, I can see the strength within her, a determination to keep Brynn’s memory alive. I admire that resilience, but it also amplifies my own feelings of loss. I miss my mother more than I care to admit, the weight of her absence pressing down on me like a heavy blanket.
“I promise we’ll make sure Brynn’s story is told,” I say softly, my voice thick with emotion. The connection between us, forged in shared pain and love, lingers in the air.
In this moment, surrounded by the shadows of Lover's Bluff, I realize that while the past can haunt us, it can also remind us of the love we carry forward. And Brynn’s mother? She’s a beacon of that love, determined to keep her daughter’s spirit alive amidst the darkness.
The interview is short but I manage to get a lot of good material.
While the victim's mother is telling her story it's not lost on me that everyone is rapt. Their attention solely on the woman. I knew this was a good idea but I'll admit I was concerened about how this would come across to the public. It was true what Braylon said earlier. This is about telling the victims story just as much as it is telling the story of the Date night killer. I can only hope that somehow this will give those left behind some peace.