Columbine Basement Tapes Novels & Stories

The irony wasn't lost on either of us. Trust seemed to be getting people killed lately. One of the forensic analysts approached moments later carrying an evidence bag. Inside was a small flash drive. "We found this hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the bedroom," she explained. Morris immediately looked interested. "Contents?" "We haven't finished reviewing everything yet." She hesitated. "But there was one file." My attention sharpened. "What file?" The analyst looked directly at me. "A video." Something cold settled in my stomach. "Show me."

But I didn't have much of a choice. I had to go. Besides, I wanted to see what kind of trap they'd set. After hanging up, I went back to the hotel, packed my things, and clipped a hidden camera to my collar. Then I took a cab to the Boyd estate. When I pushed open the front door, the living room was bright. Still felt cold. Luther sat on the couch, his face dark. Around him were my father, my stepmother, and a bunch of relatives from my side.

Kieran sat beside her, silent, immovable. The room was small. Gray. One-way mirror. Recorder blinking red. Hale placed a tablet on the table and slid it toward her. “We received an anonymous package a few weeks ago and also two days ago,” he said quietly. “Over two hundred tapes. Converted from VHS. All featuring Dr. Aiden Reeve assaulting young girls, ages seven to sixteen under sedation in his exam room at St. Brielle Memorial.” Genesis’s breath caught. Hale tapped the screen.

“Stay with me. We need to check that cabinet before anyone else gets here.” My hands were shaking as I crossed to the filing cabinet, yanking open the second drawer. Empty, save for old, yellowed folders that crumbled slightly at the touch. I felt along the back panel the way Richard had said, and it gave way with a soft click, revealing a hidden compartment behind it. Inside was a single reel of audio tape, an old cassette recorder beside it, and a stack of photographs bound with a decaying rubber band. Reyes crouched beside me, already reaching for the recorder. “Let’s hear it,” she said quietly.

he asked dryly. Veronica swallowed. “Can you… prove it?” The anger within me rose, but I clamped it down and nodded, opening another folder on my laptop. “The underground rooms don't have surveillance. The only cameras are in the hallways. This is all I can show you.” I played a compilation of a few short recordings I'd found. The first one showed a girl, no older than fourteen years old. She seemed terrified as a bulky guard dragged her toward a room at the end of the corridor. She resisted, shaking her head, begging him. I had seen it a few times before, but even now, my throat clenched, and the rage heated my blood. Finally, the guard grabbed her by her hair and threw her into the room, s

That's when the police and forensics arrived to collect the evidence. Local reporters began to televise what was there, something that was supposed to be the city that was calm and peaceful, the last place where there is no history of violence. All this in which 12 girls were found in the basement of their schools on Monday morning when they were close to the murders that were the result of rape. In Golden Valley. Cloud received the news that his father had a stroke, so he dropped everything to go visit his mother, his father would be in the hospital in that city.

And delete the footage. I was imagining different situations in my head: someone entering and strangling me, then disposing of my corpse, and I'd never have to speak out. The lights blinking with shaky bulbs, breaking of picture frames in . I shook my head several times to wave away the thoughts and focused. Other things can follow. I looked up at Tillard's picture frame, and I felt like breaking it. I had determined to leave no traces. First I was saw contract documents, BER Corp unfinished contracts, and old dated files. Then I saw it, squeezed in between like it was meant to be disposed of. It was wrapped with a tiny rope.

I heard noises from the basement and followed down there to see George sitting on the sofa watching the tapes on the projector screen. Those were the tapes I had recorded, I gulped nervously and then quickly pulled out the tape. “We need to bury this evidence,” I told him and then taking a clean cloth, I handed it to him. “You need to clean the fingerprints from the gun,” I told him meaningfully and he nodded his head in response. Good Boy. We went out, it must be around 3 now, I started collecting the things, cleaning the traces of Eloise’s blood while Geroge sat near the pit still cleaning the gun with the cloth.

They had a good feel for the room but needed something to give them a geographical location. They went from video to video, pausing each scene, looking for the slightest detail that would give them a location. Colby told them to stop as they were going through the videos for the second time, looking for anything they may have missed. He noticed a piece of paper on the floor that looked like a piece of mail. It wasn't surprising they missed it the first time because it was during a gruesome part of the video where Jon was cutting off one of the woman's limbs.

Inside it was proof to clear my name — and the first blade I could thrust into Nancy and Ansel. I took out my laptop and plugged the drive in. It didn’t contain only the Sky Lounge footage. There was video from the manor’s wine cellar too: them pressing me against the wall until I blacked out; Nancy’s venomous smile as she talked about draining my blood to fabricate her noble lineage. The tape recorded every ugly truth. Lilith roared so angrily inside my head she sounded ready to tear the two of them apart on the spot. I watched the whole thing without expression, then pulled the drive and slipped it into my pocket.