The Podcast

Chapter 26

"—So if you're anything like me, and think there's still more to this story even though the case of the 1983 Starlet Slayer is technically closed, be sure to check out the links and resources in today's shows notes as well as call in any information you may have about this case to our WCK tipline. Phone number also located in the show notes and on our website, westcoastkillers.com.

See you next Wednesday—stay safe, stay sleuthing. And don't forget to keep up with the latest on my Instagram @sumnerwest and TikTok @sumnerwck."

Sumner feels a pressure in her chest like she's been holding in her breath for the past hour. That feeling when you're running and someone tries to talk, to carry a normal conversation when you're gasping for air, your lungs burning. The more you try to make it seem like you aren't struggling, the worse the sting in your ribs.

She slides the microphone a few inches away from her mouth and glances up at the red orb of the recording light. It's like she's underwater, about to crest to the surface. Just a few more seconds until—

It switches off. Replaced by a warm yellow light. Sumner exhales loudly before inhaling in another full breath. She can hear her heart pound between her ears.

Did she just detail another copycat blueprint? Would more blood be on her hands after this episode? Should she have quit already—should she have never started?

"Hey, you okay over there?" Ezra pulls off his headphones and wheels his chair out from behind his pane of glass, his mousy brown hair a bit wild like a kid who just rolled out of bed.

"What—why?"

"You seemed a little...off on the mic."

"Will you be able to edit it?" Sumner's voice snaps more than she intends. She's embarrassed. Only she should be privy to when she's off her game. Now she needs solutions, efficiency. He's the best audio engineer in the business, can't he just fix it?

"Yeah, totally. Not an issue, it's just..." His voice trails off, eyeing Sumner warily like she might unleash on him. "I'm sure it's been hard with the rumors."

"What rumors?"

"You don't know?" Ezra looks like he wants to crawl back inside his glass box, regretting having said anything at all.

"What rumors, Ezra?"

"I mean," he runs a hand over the top of his light brown curls, something like sympathy in his eyes. "It's all over the internet, Sumner."

"Shit." Sumner pulls her phone from the bottom of her purse. Every Monday evening she puts it on airplane mode until she's done recording the new episode Tuesday morning. It's one of her many exercises in focus, restraint, and control. But airplane mode or not, clearly her mind has been slipping—distracted by the letters, the copycat blood on her hands, the memories of Chloe, not to mention the entirely inappropriate thoughts about Lucas. So much so that Ezra could hear it in her voice, typically her most precious instrument of perfection.

Sumner stares down at her phone as it takes on a life of its own, nearly seizing with the number of pings and notifications flooding the screen. But there's one link that feels like the pressure of a hand wrapped around the front of her throat, slowly squeezing tighter, reducing her airflow.

It's a photo of Lucas' broad back, his LAPD SUV lower in the frame parked precariously on her steep driveway. He's standing with his hands on his hips, looking down at her. She's staring up at him, bewildered and caught off-guard. Not that anyone cares to understand what that look really means—that she'd wanted him. Been flustered by the closeness of his body, the sharp intense look in his dark brown eyes. But to anyone else looking, all they see is guilt. Like the cat that ate the canary. Or the girl that slashed the best friend who had been fucking her father behind her back. Sumner's fingers shake as she scrolls through a comment thread below:

Looks like what SO MANY OF US have been saying for years is finally going to be proven as true. Sumner West—maybe you shouldn't have made your whole career about a murder that you committed? Looks like the LAPD finally got their shit together.

Maybe she'll start a new podcast from prison? Like about stories told from the killers point of view. That could actually be fire. Like this comment if you'd listen lol.

I've never trusted this chick! That is all. Still love WCK tho, not gonna lie (oops).

Woah what is she literally getting arrested rn??!

NOOO! I really liked her, damn. Why'd she have to go so hard on Chloe like that, I'm crying!!!!

Anyone consider this might all be some giant PR stunt? I mean sure it's sick but we all know how influencers use controversy for the views. I'll believe it when she's charged.

Sumner stands up from the studio room table, nearly knocking over the mic and her headphone stand as her trembling hands reach for her purse. She needs to get out of this studio. This place that's always been a warm, protective cocoon. Now with its dark walls and lack of air, it feels more like a coffin.

She's done. Guilty in the eyes of Reddit is a life sentence in this world. RIP WCK. No way Podster isn't going to drop her ass.

I mean obvi she will be able to post bail because she has a bajillion dollars but like no one will be able to believe she's innocent after this.

"Sumner—are you okay?"

She ignores the concern in Ezra's voice as she opens the door of the studio, her head tilted down as tears start to flood down her cheeks. Who else knew that Lucas was coming over to her house yesterday? Had he been followed? Who had taken those photos? She'd chosen her new neighborhood for a reason—the twenty-four hour security. The promise of no random paparazzi hiding in the bushes.

She tries to pull up Akari's number. She should already be on top of this. That's Akari's job after all: to protect Sumner at all costs. Her hands are shaking so badly it takes her a few tries before she can get a text out to her agent, asking what the fuck is going on. Explaining that none of this is right—none of this is true.

I mean, she was guilty. She'd taken that note. And she knew why. But wanting to frame her father isn't the same as driving the knife into Chloe's flesh—into the sides of her abdomen, the backs of her legs, the base of her throat. Right?

Or was Lucas somehow in on it? Did he think she was guilty too? Had she been so easily distracted by his rugged exterior, the masculinity of his features, that she couldn't see clearly enough to recognize she is once again being framed by the police?

Sumner locks herself inside her car, her breaths noisy and shallow. She can't get enough air. Her slender body is in a Vise-grip and it's not letting up. And just like the moment she saw Chloe's dead and bloodied body, she felt the same fear crawling its way up from her stomach, ripping through her chest.

White knuckling the leather steering wheel of her Range Rover SV, salty tears falling into the sides of her mouth, she parts her lips and screams.