My friend’s stepdad is a serial killer

Today’s my 25th birthday and I feel old. I’m not where I want to be in my life at all and even though I know I should be more proud of myself, I can’t help but compare. I’m supposed to be in college right now but instead, I had to drop out to support my mom and my niece. That’s still an ongoing issue - with my niece’s school threatening to call CPS on me for neglect because I can’t drop everything to be with her when she’s sick - but what I want to talk about is the biggest reason I had to drop out of school in the first place. A little over a year ago, I was in the police station sitting across from a very sweet but very confused officer as I explained to him that my best friend, my childhood best friend, had been murdered by her stepfather. I didn’t know where to start with it all. I was overwhelmed, confused, and sad. But I knew I had to do it. Name, age, occupation. All of those things didn’t matter and weren’t the real reason I was there. I gave them all of the necessary information and answered the questions they had for me before they finally sat me down and asked me what I was doing there. “I have something important to tell you,” I said. “Of course. Go ahead.” He smiled. “just start wherever you feel is easiest. We’ll stop you if we need any clarification.” I tried to take a deep breath before I started. I had practiced this a lot but I was still nervous. “My friend, Olivia, is being held hostage by her stepdad. He’s a serial killer and she needs help.” He blinked back at me, confused before scribbling something down on his notepad and putting it away. “Ma’am, can I just-” “She was supposed to meet me on campus at 8:30 yesterday and she never did. She’s not replying to my calls or texts and I know it’s because he has her. We’ve been documenting her stepdad for years. He’s been treating her like a hostage for the past year but now I know he’s going to kill her.” I held out my journal, the one Olivia and I had been documenting her stepfather in for years. He looked surprised at that and took the journal. “Thank you. I’m going to step away for a minute and read through this and then I’m going to call some people. Why don’t you go to the courthouse and wait for me?” I nodded and stood up. “what should I tell them?” “Just have them wait for me. They’ll understand what’s going on.” He gave me that same smile as before before turning and walking away. He didn’t come back for three hours. He walked into the office I was waiting in with another man in a police uniform, my journal held in a plastic bag. “Ma’m. Why don’t you come back and talk to us for a minute?” he said before getting up and walking back to the room I first talked to him in. I followed him and sat in the same chair I had been in hours before. He sat down and put my journal on the table. “Listen, first of all, thank you for coming in to talk to us. I know this couldn’t have been easy for you.” He slid a piece of paper across the table to me. “but I think we need to start here.” It was a news article. I could already tell from the picture. ‘1 Dead, 2 Missing After House Fire.’ I felt a lump form in my throat and I tried to will it away. I knew I was going to cry. “But…why? Why didn’t you ever come forward with any of this?” He asked me as I read. I didn’t know how to answer him. This was Olivia’s story to tell and I knew that I would be betraying her in some way if I told them before she got back. I finally looked up and forced out a smile. “She was scared. She didn’t want to do it without me.” He gave me that same smile as before but this time I could tell it was fake. “Tell me more about Olivia.” He said. I finally lost it. I started to cry. “She’s smart and funny. She’s kind. She’s beautiful. She loves me more than I could ever deserve,” I said with a chuckle, remembering Olivia’s record of 158 times she told me ‘I love you’ in one day. “She’s really special.” “Then why-” “I know she’s dead.” I said, cutting him off. “I just know it. Why didn’t you ever look for her? She was just gone and you didn’t do anything to find her.” He sighed and put his elbows on the table. “I can’t know what happened between you and your friend, but this article you’re holding says it all. There was an investigation, it’s what the police do with accidents like that. They found the remains of one child and assumed that the other two were taken by the father. There was an all points bulletin put out and all kinds of things like that. If her stepdad killed her, then we’re sorry that we couldn’t do more to help. If she was scared of you, that might be why she didn’t report anything.” “I-” I tried to argue but the cop cut me off. “Listen, I understand you’re upset, but that’s no reason to lie to the police. We’re here to help you.” “I’m not lying.” I said, my voice trembling. “If you were really reporting your friend missing days after she went missing and you had this much information then where’s your police report?” “I never had to make a report. I probably didn’t have the right person to talk to,” I said. “But you’ve been documenting this for years, right? So have you ever thought of coming forward with it?” “Yes. But when I did, the police didn’t believe me.” I said. “It can’t be that hard to believe someone when they’re telling you the truth,” he said. “It’s not.” I said. “but it is when the person you’re telling isn’t alive.” Then it clicked. The officer looked at the officer next to him and they both looked immediately back at me. They were taking me seriously now. “How long have you known this woman?” He asked. This was a harder question to answer so I just laughed. “Forever, I guess. She was my first friend when I was a kid. We grew up together. We probably met around 2004 I think. Maybe 2005.” “Okay.” He wrote something down. “And when did you get your license?” “I got my permit in 2015 and my license in 2016.” “When did the house fire happen?” “It was a few days after Christmas in 2018,” I said. He looked at the paper on his desk that he had written all of his notes in and scratched his head. “So you were given a driver’s license and you were still 5?” “Yes. Some people just develop faster than others. There’s nothing I can do about it.” I said. “So you’ve let us believe that you’re a 25-year-old woman but that’s not true. You’re 5 years old, right? You probably have an overactive imagination. Maybe you just get confused as to what’s real and what’s not. If you think really hard then you’ll remember.” “No.” I stood up and got up in his face. “I told you, she’s probably been dead since 2013. If you don’t listen to me and you don’t help me then he’ll probably kill me too.” He raised his voice to match mine. “Ma’am. I understand that you’re upset but you’re lying to us. This is nothing to joke about.” “I am not joking. I know who I am. I know what’s going on. I’ve been documenting this man for years and I can prove it. Just look at the fucking journal.” I yelled. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little weird, but this is too much. I think we’re done here,” He said. “what’s too much?” I asked. “Being a child and saying you’re a grown woman.” He said. “I am a fucking grown woman.” I said before I got up and immediately got held back by the other officer. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said. “Let me go.” I screamed but he held on tighter. “Fine. You’re under arrest for disorderly conduct If you want to let yourself go then that’s fine, but you’re going to do it in jail.” He said. Name, age, occupation. All of those things didn’t matter and weren’t the real reason I was there. I was put in one of those jail cells and then let go less than 24 hours later. I knew who I was and I knew what was going on. But I also knew I wasn’t sane enough for the police to listen to me. My best friend, my childhood best friend, had been murdered by her stepfather. I had to prove it. *** When I got out of jail, Olivia’s case hadn’t been reopened yet. They were still trying to decide whether I was insane and lying or sane and telling the truth. I was given two case workers, one forensic psychologist, and a lawyer. I was worked with for months but it was never enough. There was always something missing, something that proved that I wasn’t telling the truth. I knew I was telling the

My friend’s stepdad is a serial killer

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