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PERLA

I was on my fifth mile when the podcast hosts paused their conversation on a rural murder-suicide and gave a brief teaser of their next episode.

“What happens when a birthday party goes horribly wrong? You won’t believe what happened to twelve-year-old Jenny Folcrum and her two best friends. We’ll be telling that story on next week’s episode of Murder Unplugged .”

I pressed the “Incline +” button four times, ignoring the cry of my muscles as the treadmill rose higher. I already knew what had happened to Jenny Folcrum and her two best friends. The events of that night were the main reason I had a long-term and unfulfilled love-fear relationship with Leewood Folcrum.

Not that Leewood knew I existed. If he ever escaped prison and passed me on the street—my designer sunglasses on, hair and makeup perfect—he wouldn’t look twice. Maybe he would if Sophie were with me.

It was a perfectly orchestrated murder spree that had ended poorly. Leewood had been an idiot, staying at the house long enough to get arrested. If he had just left, it could have gone down as one of the greatest events of our time. Instead, he was serving a life sentence for the crimes.

I eyed the treadmill’s distance display as a bead of sweat ran down my cheek: 5.72 miles.

The podcast hosts were back to their discussion of the rural crime scene and picking apart the evidence. In their opinion, the scene pointed to a third person, but they were wrong. Sometimes the scene is exactly what it initially appears to be. The husband shot the wife, then himself. End of story.

My hamstrings screamed for help as I shortened my strides, getting in more steps as I increased the incline two more clicks. It was a good sign, Murder Unplugged covering the Folcrum Party. It was about time they focused on something interesting, and I was curious to see their take on Leewood’s guilt.

I was an outlier in my stance that Leewood was innocent. It was one of the things that made our connection real. I knew he was telling the truth when he told the police, judge, and jury that he hadn’t killed those girls. While no one else believed in him, I did.

I spoke to an attorney a couple of years ago, right after I saw a special on the Folcrum Party, one that dissected the forensic evidence and blood splatter. I told him that I would pay the bill for an appeal. I thought that would give us a reason for our paths to cross, for a relationship to form ... but the attorney said Leewood refused to meet with him.

I have money, lots of it. I could get him out. Buy him a house and help him start a new life, and be a part of it. We could have a real relationship, as adults.

At six miles, I stabbed the “End Session” button, and the treadmill immediately slowed as it hummed its way down to the flat position.

The truth of the matter was, a future with Leewood was a fantasy that couldn’t happen—not with Grant and Sophie in the picture.

I stepped off the machine and grabbed my towel from the hook, my heart racing as I wiped down my face and neck.

Too bad I couldn’t get rid of them both. Clear the deck and start fresh with just two cards: Leewood Folcrum and me.

I set an alert on the app to remind me when the next podcast episode came out. In the back of my head, an idea sparked.