MidReal Story
Twisted Truths: A Journalist's Encounter with Evil
Scenario: Kaitlan Collins is driving to her next destination when she pulls up to a deserted highway unknown to her fate would put her face to face with David Parker Ray
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Marcus Flynn
detective working with Kaitlan, colleague of Kaitlan, rugged with a stern demeanor, intelligent and skeptical
Kaitlan Collins
journalist, no direct relationships, petite with sharp eyes, determined and curious
David Parker Ray
serial killer, antagonist to Kaitlan, tall with a menacing smile, charismatic and manipulative
I was in the middle of a cold case investigation when I got the tip.
It was an anonymous email, sent from a burner account.
The subject line read: "David Parker Ray."
My heart skipped a beat.
I’d been researching the Toy Box Killer for weeks, but I hadn’t found anything new or noteworthy.
Most of what I’d discovered had already been reported on by the media or documented in court records.
But this email promised to reveal something that no one else knew.
I clicked on it and read:
"Meet me at the old gas station on Highway 285 at midnight. Come alone."
My first instinct was to ignore it.
I’d received plenty of tips like this before—most were hoaxes or pranks.
But there was something about this one that made my skin crawl.
David Parker Ray was a monster—a sadistic serial killer who’d kidnapped, tortured, and killed countless women in his homemade torture chamber, which he called the Toy Box.
He’d died in prison years ago, but his crimes still haunted me.
Chapter 1
I didn’t know what to make of it, but I was determined to find out.
I had to—because this could be the break I’d been looking for.
And if I didn’t go, I’d never know for sure.
I read the email again, the words sending a chill down my spine.
Whoever had sent it claimed to have information about David Parker Ray that no one else knew.
They wanted to tell me everything they knew—all of the sordid details that had never been made public.
The Toy Box Killer case had always fascinated me.
Not because of the gruesome details of his crimes, but because there were still so many unanswered questions.
Despite the extensive media coverage and countless documentaries, there were still large gaps in his story.
There were so many things we didn’t know—things that only Ray himself could have known.
And now, it seemed, someone else did too.
I had to meet them.
I read the email a third time, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Who are you?" I whispered to myself.
I scrolled to the bottom, looking for a clue.
They hadn’t signed their name, but they’d mentioned a "personal connection" to Ray’s crimes.
What did that mean?
It was impossible to say.
For all I knew, they could be one of his surviving victims or a relative of one of his victims.
Or maybe they were someone who’d known him personally, someone who’d been close to him in some way.
I had no idea, but I was desperate to find out.
My mind raced with questions, but none of them had answers.
Whoever had sent this email knew something about David Parker Ray—something important—and I needed to know what it was.
I looked at the time on my computer screen: 10:33 p.m.
I still had an hour and a half before midnight—the time and place specified in the email—but I knew I had to go.
I couldn’t wait.
I had to know what this person knew, and I had to know now.
There was no way I could sleep tonight, knowing that there was someone out there who had information about David Parker Ray—information that could finally put an end to this case once and for all.
"Fuck it," I said out loud, shutting my laptop with a bang.
I grabbed my keys and my purse and headed for the door.
As I climbed into my car, I glanced at the email one last time, committing the details to memory.
The old gas station on Highway 285—the one near the town of Arroyo Hondo—was about an hour away, so I needed to get going.
I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, my mind racing with possibilities.
This could be a hoax, or it could be a trap.
Or it could be the real deal—a genuine lead that would finally shed some light on one of the darkest corners of David Parker Ray’s depravity.
For years, I’d been investigating cold cases in the hopes of bringing closure to the families and victims who had been left behind.
The Toy Box Killer case was one of the most famous—and one of the most brutal—cases in history, but it was also one of the most baffling.
Despite the fact that Ray’s crimes had been thoroughly documented and reported on by the media, there were still large gaps in his story.
There were so many things that we didn’t know—things that only Ray himself could have known.
And now, it seemed, someone else did too.
I had no idea what to expect, but I was determined to find out.
I had to—because this could be the break I’d been looking for.
The sun was setting as I drove down the deserted highway, the sky painted with streaks of pink and orange.
It was a beautiful night, but my mind was preoccupied with other things.
I had been a journalist for most of my adult life, and I’d spent the last few years working as a freelance reporter, investigating cold cases and unsolved murders.
It was a thankless job, but it was also incredibly rewarding.
There was nothing quite like the feeling of finally bringing closure to a family who had spent years wondering what had happened to their loved one.
It was a feeling that I’d come to crave—and one that I would do anything to experience again.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I was determined to find out.
The sun was setting as I drove down the deserted highway, the sky painted with streaks of pink and orange.
I had been a journalist for most of my adult life, and I’d spent the last few years working as a freelance reporter, investigating cold cases and unsolved murders.
It was a thankless job, but it was also incredibly rewarding.
There was nothing quite like the feeling of finally bringing closure to a family who had spent years wondering what had happened to their loved one.
It was a feeling that I’d come to crave—and one that I would do anything to experience again.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I was determined to find out.
Chapter 2
It was a feeling that I’d come to crave—and one that I would do anything to experience again.
I had been a journalist for most of my adult life, and I’d spent the last few years working as a freelance reporter, investigating cold cases and unsolved murders.
It was a thankless job, but it was also incredibly rewarding.
There was nothing quite like the feeling of finally bringing closure to a family who had spent years wondering what had happened to their loved one.
It was a feeling that I’d come to crave—and one that I would do anything to experience again.
I had been a journalist for most of my adult life, and I’d spent the last few years working as a freelance reporter, investigating cold cases and unsolved murders.
It was a thankless job, but it was also incredibly rewarding.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I was determined to find out.
The sun was setting as I drove down the deserted highway, the sky painted with streaks of pink and orange.
The email had come out of the blue, and as soon as I’d read it, I knew that this might be my last chance to find out what really happened all those years ago—if the person who’d emailed me could be trusted.
The sender hadn’t included their name or any other identifying information, but they’d hinted at having a personal connection to David Parker Ray’s crimes, which was something that no one else could claim.
I just hoped that they would be willing to share what they knew with me—and that they weren’t leading me into a trap.
"Got any new tips on cold cases?" my colleague Marcus Flynn asked as he stepped into my office.
He raked a hand through his shaggy blond hair and fixed me with a curious look.
I hesitated before replying, not sure if I should tell him about the email or keep it to myself.