A Deadly Sorority (Book #1 Sorority Horrors)

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The feeling of disgust intensified as I held my hands up in front of me, inspecting them. The crimson liquid smeared against my palm and between my fingers repulsed me to the point where I seriously considered drenching myself in bleach. But I soon came to my senses and deliberated between using regular hand soap or the much more potent Dawn dish soap. I opted for the latter. I needed something potent; after all, the substance on my skin was blood.

I scrubbed my hands with the blue-colored dish soap until they were squeaky clean. I made sure there wasn't a single speck of blood left. To be extra cautious, I pumped a hefty amount of antibacterial hand sanitizer into my palm and vigorously rubbed my hands together.

That should do the trick!

The initial shock of discovering blood on my car door handle lingered, leaving me utterly stunned. I mean, seriously? It felt like a scene straight out of a horror movie.

Was the Crimson Lake Killer really targeting me now?

The mere thought sent shivers down my spine, leaving me thoroughly freaked out. My heart raced and a wave of unease washed over me.

Fear coursed through my veins, refusing to let up as if I were bracing myself for something dreadful to happen at any moment.

I knew what I needed to do next. I needed to call the cops.

Dialing 9-1-1, my fingers trembled, and I was immediately connected to the local authorities.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" A New York-accented woman greeted me.

"Hi, my name is Kayla Collins. I'm a student at Cal State Irvine. I live in the Blossom Field Hall apartment building on campus." I explained hastily, "I found blood on the door handle of my car door. The driver's side."

"Do you mind explaining to me how you discovered the blood on your car door handle?"

"I was walking to my car, and when I reached for the door handle, I felt a slimy residue. I held my hand up to my face and noticed it was smeared blood," I explained, my voice shaky with unease.

"Whose blood?" the operator inquired.

"I... I don't know," I stammered, uncertainty growing within.

"Were you alone?"

I nodded, my voice tight with worry. "Yes, I was planning to meet my roommate, Lorena. Her car broke down off Highway 12."

"And you have no idea whose blood is on your car door?" The operator pressed.

"No," I reiterated.

"I'll dispatch a patrol officer in your area to check it out," the operator assured before ending the call.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, Steve called me, updating me on our investigation into John.

"Hello?" I answered, tension heavy in my voice.

Steve's breath was audible on the other end, his tone hushed. "Hey, Kayla."

"Why are you whispering?"

"I trailed John back to his apartment, but he's off to the countryside now," Steve informed.

"Where's the countryside?"

"It's about a thirty-minute drive from his place. It leads to a rundown shack in the middle of nowhere."

"Is it still in Irvine, though?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah, on the outskirts. Where the farmers have land with crops and that sort of stuff," Steve whispered.

"Well, where's John now?" I inquired, my nerves tingled with anticipation.

"He's holed up in that rundown shack I mentioned. Can't get a good look inside, though. Curtains are drawn tight. But the lights are on, and I see three figures pacing around," Steve reported.

"Jot down the address. We'll need to investigate this further."

"I'm sticking around until John comes back out. I need to know where he heads next," Steve insisted.

"It's getting late, Steve—almost midnight. Just head home," I urged.

"I can't bail. I need to uncover if John's tied to that girl's murder you guys stumbled upon," Steve insisted. "It's just too eerie. The day that body was found in the dumpster, John waltzes into your apartment, leaving behind blood-stained footprints. There's something seriously fishy happening here, and I intend to get to the bottom of it."

***

An officer from the Irvine Police Department visited my apartment just as the 9-1-1 dispatcher promised.

"Hey there, I'm Officer Gonzales," he introduced himself, his hands holding onto his waist as he stood outside my apartment door. "I was sent to check on a report of a blood-smeared car door."

"Yeah, that was me," I confirmed. "The blood's on my car door."

"Can you show me where?" he asked.

I nodded and stepped outside, making sure to lock the door behind me. I led him down the path to the parking lot. As we walked through the dimly lit hallway corridor outside of my apartment building and out into the parking lot, my anxiety only intensified.

"Do you go to Cal State Irvine?" Officer Gonzales inquired, making small talk as we awkwardly ventured through the dark lot.

"Yeah," I replied with a sudden shift of the conversation. "I'm worried the blood might be from the Crimson Lake Killer."

The officer chuckled, puzzling me.

"I highly doubt it." He replied firmly, "We've never seen anything like this before. The Crimson Lake Killer doesn't play games. When he's out to kill, he's out to kill."

I couldn't understand what was so amusing about my fears, and Officer Gonzales's laughter only made me feel more uneasy.

As we approached my car, a metallic stench hung heavy in the air, causing both of us to recoil.

Officer Gonzales reached into his holster, pulling out a hefty flashlight that illuminated the scene. Its beam ricocheted off the driver's side door, casting a bright light against it and revealing a blood-splattered surface. My eyes widened, and my heart somersaulted in my chest as I realized the blood wasn't just on my door handle anymore—it was now splattered all over my car.

Instinctively, I pinched my nose, attempting to block out the overwhelming odor. "Officer, originally, it was only on my car door. All that blood wasn't there before!" I anxiously explained as I gestured to the roof of my car, where the blood was leaking from it and down onto the pavement, where it created a red puddle.

"It was only on my door handle at first. I can't believe this!" I exclaimed. "Someone must have poured a bucket of it onto my car."

Gonzales's expression mirrored my shock as he stood there, examining the door. Then he confirmed my worst fears.

 "I hate to say this, but this looks like it might be the work of the Crimson Lake Killer."

I gulped as I digested the news.

"This can't be real!" I protested, "Why would the Crimson Lake Killer be after me?"

"Don't worry too much." Officer Gonzales assured, "I'm not one-hundred percent sure, but we're definitely gonna find out."

Just then, his walkie-talkie crackled to life, alerting him to an incoming message.

"Officer Gonzales, come in." A woman's voice echoed through the black box.

Clutching the walkie-talkie tightly, Officer Gonzales responded, "This is Officer Gonzales, over."

"Two residents near Highway 12 reported hearing the screams of a young woman. One witness saw a girl, roughly age nineteen or twenty, being forcibly pulled from her car and dragged away. We have a license plate number that is ready for transmission."

My face flushed, and my heart pounded against my ribcage to a dreadful beat.

"Lorena!"