Page 90 of A Wild Darkness

“Can I finish?” Silas snaps back.

Pete leans back in his chair, one arm extended over the back of the empty one to his side. “Be my guest.”

Silas’s expression hardens, angered by Pete’s aggressiveness. “We will watch a documentary about three well-known serial killers of the 1970s. Since we’re the Pacific Northwest chapter of the Black Veil Society. We’ll keep the focus on this area.” Silas pulls a small remote from his pocket and turns on the projector. “You will need to learn what they did to not get caught, the mistakes they made which ultimately led to their capture, and anything you can glean from these killers who hunted in the same conditions as us.”

“They’re studying past serial killers?” I mutter.

Sebastian’s eyes dart around the room. “Could you be any louder?”

I cock my head to the side, glaring at him. “I’m not that loud.”

“You kinda are.”

I huff. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Sebastian shrugs, then dips his head close to mine. “Seems like it to me.”

“Weird, right?” I keep my voice low.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

Drawing my head back to meet his eyes, I’m stunned by his response. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re learning from their predecessors. Think of it as a risk assessment workshop.”

Holding back laughter, because that’s the only way I know how to react in a bizarre situation like this, I simply rub my lips together and return my attention to Silas.

“The documentary will comprise the Seattle Strangler, the infamous Tom Bryan, and Rick Yancy, the prostitute killer who lured his victims from truck stops all along the highway.”

Unfortunately, I’m familiar with these types of predators. I wasn’t alive in the 1970s, but my dad spoke often about older cases. Being around law enforcement, we picked up conversations all the time, and even though I studied microbiology and mortuary science in college, there was never a shortage of discussions like this during those years.

“Of course, they’re all men,” Wendy blurts out from behind me.

She’s right. Men tend to be serial killers more often than women. Is it a power thing? Or the lack thereof? Either way, I’m sitting here and apparently so is she.

“We’re here,” I say, feeling bold. I don’t like her, and I think she’s a fucked-up individual, but I also don’t like the feeling of not being good enough or able to do something.

Wendy shoots me a glance. “I guess. But there aren’t many of us.”

“Yes, this is a male-dominated hobby, if you can’t tell.” Silas flicks off the light as if to put our discourse to rest. Then the video begins.

Wendy snickers mockingly under her breath as I settle in to watch this documentary and pretend I’m learning something—or interested for that matter.

We spend what feels like hours watching the narrator analyze every part of the serial killer’s process, from strategies to eventually what led to them getting apprehended.

Under any other circumstances, I’d be fascinated with the details to learn about how the mind of a psychopath works, but sitting in a room watching a video about serial killers with serial killers is definitely frightening and not what I ever expected to be experiencing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

STEVIE

Sebastian and I, along with the rest of the murderers, spend what felt like an eternity in that cold conference room watching documentaries. I’m convinced it takes longer than it should since Silas kept pausing the video every ten to fifteen minutes so we could have an open discourse about each segment. Hearing different takes on how to capture the victims or what to do with the bodies, combined with humor, all while offering their unsolicited advice to one another, was unnerving and made me feel uncomfortable most of the time. It’s not something most people sit around doing.

As soon as we left later this evening, Sebastian and I wasted no time getting back to our room for a moment to debrief, and so Sebastian could grab something. I didn’t ask him because my thoughts were still reeling from the afternoon of mind-numbing discussions.

Now we’re on the top story of the chateau for what Silas calls a “social gathering with tempting entertainment.”

A show of three topless women dancing on a small stage, wearing animal costume masks, while Pete sits in a high-back chair on stage with them. They grind their bodies against his legs while burying his face in their breasts. The women move their bodies seductively to deep, haunting instrumental music, which leaves an unsettling aura around the room. Every so often one of them lets Pete lick at her nipple, creating excitement among the group, each waiting for their turn on stage.