Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
She cocks her head to the side, her pale blue eyesthe same as my ownsearch mine for the lie. “Austin and I are meeting with the realtor this weekend. We’re going to start looking at condos, maybe even put a couple of offers in. We want to be settled somewhere before the wedding. What are you going to do then?”
“I told you alreadyI’ll just move back in with Mom and Dad until I can find a roommate situation.”
“I went to lunch with Mom last week. She said she isn’t going to let you come back unless you get a job.”
I scoff. “She doesn’t mean that. She won’t just let me be fucking homeless.”
“I don’t know, Teag,” she says. “She sounded serious.”
“I can’t go to the interview tomorrow; I won’t be here. When I get back, I’ll start looking for something.”
It’s a lie, but I need her to get off my back.
“Okay,” she says, sighing. “So tell me about this story you’re looking into now.”
I turn my chair around, eyeing her skeptically. “You really want to know?”
“Yes, of course. I’m very curious. And you know what? I like your podcast, Teagan. It’s not that I don’t like it. I think you’d make a great journalist. I just think you should do the workgo to school, you know?”
I frown. “Do you want me to tell you or not?”
“No, I do. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” I say. “Have you heard of that band, Gods of Tomorrow?” I open my desk drawer and pull out a manilla folder, trying to contain my excitement. The truth is I’m dying to tell her all about it. I can’t remember the last time I was this excited about anything.
It was probably back when that serial killer was loose in Trabuco Canyon. I also probably shouldn’t say that out loud.
“Yeah, of course. They have that one song, ‘One Last Funeral,’ right?”
“That’s the second single from their second album,” I correct her, “but yeah, that’s them.”
“Okay, and?”
“I think they’re killing women.”
“What? What makes you think that?”
“A few things. First ” I pause, pulling a news article from the folder and handing it to her. “Bridget Lassiter. She was one of their groupies. Last summer, the band went out to celebrate after a concert in Vancouver. They were partying on a rooftop downtown, and Bridget just jumped off.”
“Okay, I kind of remember that story. I didn’t realize that band was Gods of Tomorrow, though.”
“Exactly. Because no one knew who they were last year. They came out of nowhere.”
“That’s not exactly true. Aren’t two of the members the sons of some billionaire or something? Money can make anything happen.”
“Yeah, like murder cover-ups.”
“There was video footage, wasn’t there?”
“There was. And everyone at the party was just watching; no one showed any alarm or expressed any concern whatsoever. They just waited for her to jump.”
“Maybe they were all high; they were probably in shock. You don’t know how you’d react in that kind of situation until it happens. Fight, flight, or freeze, right? Maybe they all froze.” She pauses, and I wait while she skims the article. “It says here that the band covered the funeral costs. That’s nice.”
“That’s not all,” I tell her.
I hand her another news article. “This is Heidi Collins. I bet you haven’t heard about this one ”
“Girl found barefoot and dirty in Idaho wilderness, refuses to speak,” Blakely reads from the page.
“That was in December,” I tell her. “They don’t know how long she was out there, but she lost toes to frostbite and think that adrenaline must have kept her alive. Heidi’s family said that the last time they saw her, she was leaving for a Gods of Tomorrow concert with her friends. That was nine months ago. She was invited backstage, and they weren’t, so they left her there and barely heard from her for the next few months until she stopped talking to them altogether. She was found in the woods a month after communication stopped.”
“Okay, that is a little weird,” Blakely says. “But again, this sounds like drugs.”
“The place where she was found is about twelve miles away from where the brothers, Luca and Declan, grew up and still spend a lot of their time. But people say things about them, too, Blakely. There’s an entire subreddit for superfans and people who have partied with them before and they all claim that they drink blood.”
“I’m sorry what?”
“They say they lace the food and drinks with blood. You actually have to sign a waiver acknowledging that you know some of the items contain bodily fluids when you get tickets to these things. There are videos of them cutting fans and the fans cutting themselves during concerts or backstage. I’ve found videos online of people cutting themselves or drinking another person’s blood for the band as a way to show their devotion. And they make people cut themselves to get into their parties. If you listen to the lyrics of almost any of their songsreally listenthey’re all about blood and death, disguised as love songs.”
“Sounds like some rich kids trying to make themselves look hard to me,” she says. “I’m not impressed. A lot of celebrities do that shit for attention.”
I frown again. “I think there’s more of a story here, Blake. There’s this other girl, Layla. Her mother posted a letter online begging her to come home or at least call them. They said they haven’t heard from her in over a year and a half now. They know she’s with the band because they’ve seen her in some of the pictures online. And it’s not just these girls, either. Other people on the sub say the same thingthat they have friends or relatives who have pretty much disappeared or come home completely changed. They’re obsessed with blood and death.”
“You mean like you?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her. “Not like me. I think they’re hurting people, Blakely.”
“Well, what’s your plan?” she asks. “How are you going to prove it?”
“They like to take pretty girls with them on tour, so I’m going to get on the tour. Or try to, at least. I got a backstage pass to the show in L.A. tomorrow. And from what I hear, this one ” I pause, bringing up a picture on my phone and zooming in on Luca De Rossi, the guitar player with the long blonde hair, “is the easy one. If I can get him to like me, then that’s itI’m in. Shouldn’t be that hard. I memorized all of their songs. I know everything there is to know about him. I’m his biggest fan.”
I smile.
“You really think it’s going to be that easy to get on a tour bus with rockstars?”
I shrug. “Heidi and Bridget did it. Why not me?”
“Let’s say this doesn’t work, and you come home tomorrow night after the concert. What then?”
“That’s a loser mentality. I’m not considering that.”
She looks at me like that’s the most deranged thing I’ve said all night. “What if you come home, and you wish you’d gone to the interview? Or you regret what happened with Hunter?”
“I never wanted to work for Austin. And Hunter was always going to leave. He never understood me.”
And that’s the truth. Hunter was just someone I swiped right on who kept coming aroundprobably because he was too busy with grad school to try to find anything better. It was always going to end just like this. I’m not surprised; I’m not hurt, either. I have never been in love, but I’ve read about it, and I’ve seen it. I have this idea of how it’s supposed to feel.
It never felt anything like that with Hunter. The sex was good, though.
Admittedly, maybe a lot of it is my fault. I’ve gotten used to being alone; I don’t mind it. But it’s been so long since I felt a real, genuine connection with another human being that I can barely remember what it’s like, and sometimes, that’s difficult to wrap my head around.
“Okay, Teagan.”
“You don’t believe me, either, do you?”
She shrugs and holds up a picture of the band. “He has kind eyes, too,” she says, pointing to Luca. “Doesn’t really look like a serial killer or a vampire.”
Great. She’s mocking me. She isn’t wrong, thoughthe younger brother and guitar player smiles in the photo; long, dirty blonde hair falls around his face as he plays the instrument with his shirt off like he always does. Tattoos cover the entirety of his tanned torso and arms, down to the fingertips. The man is an entire snack.
“Look at the older brother, Declan,” I say, pointing to the lead singer. “He’s the one in charge. He’s the only one who talks to the press; he’s the one who makes all the decisions. I think he’s the one killing women, but I think the others are aware of it.” The older brother has jet black hair and, with eyes just as dark, stares straight ahead in the photo, emotionless in black denim pants and a black v-neck t-shirt. His own muscular arms are bareno tattoos like his younger brother. “Do you think he has kind eyes, Blakely?”
“I ”
The front door opens and closes. “Blake?” Austin calls out. “Are you home? I picked up dinner.”
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.