Dark Places

Mom...

I love you, Libby.

I love you, ladybug.

Don't you ever forget that.

Libby, what you're about to tell us

is very, very important.

Did Ben kill your mom and your sisters?

You were in the house when it happened.

So tell us. It was Ben.

He killed them, right?

I have a meanness inside me.

Real as an organ.

It's the Day blood.

Something's f***in' wrong with it.

I was eight the night they were killed

and suddenly I was famous.

The little orphan girl

of the Kansas Prairie Massacre.

So, strangers send me money.

Just enough for me to do nothing.

Which was exactly what I did.

How much is left?

Do you read the reports I send you?

Sometimes.

Have you at least listened

to my messages?

How much?

There is $482 and 12 cents

left in your fund.

- Now as I have mentioned before...

- Jesus.

...had you been able to replenish it

with any kind of regular income,

we'd have been able to keep it afloat.

You're also two months behind

on your rent.

What about the book?

That should have made more money.

- I know.

- Any new donations?

Thirtieth anniversary is coming up...

You know, I could...

People have short

attention spans, Libby.

And there's always

a new murder, I'm afraid.

They want to help other little girls.

And the truth is,

you're not a little girl anymore.

I'm not ready for this.

But in a way,

it could turn out to be

a blessing in disguise.

And lead you into an exciting

new phase of your life.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Are you f***ing kidding me?

In the past Jim Jeffries used to hand me

bulging shoe boxes full of mail.

Most of them letters with checks inside.

In return, donors would receive a form

letter in my blocky handwriting that read...

"Thank you for your donation.

"It's people like you who let me

look forward to a brighter future.

"Yours truly, Libby Day."

Hello?

- Hello?

- Is this Lyle Wirth?

Yeah, who's asking?

It's Libby Day, you wrote me.

Oh, holy cow! Really?

Libby Day? Are you in town?

What do you mean, which town?

Well, you're in Kansas City,

that's where you live, right?

Hello?

Hello?

Yeah, I live in Kansas City.

Listen, your offer, is it serious?

Lyle Wirth looked like a serial killer.

Which probably meant he wasn't one.

Lyle?

Libby?

Yeah, what?

You were expecting someone else?

Libby Day.

- I'm so excited to finally meet you...

- Okay, just f***ing relax.

- There's no reason to be scared.

- I'm not scared of you.

I'm just trying to figure out what kind

of a person wants to meet in a laundromat

in the middle of the f***ing night.

Oh, no, it's not what you think.

I own this place.

I own two of them. I'm an entrepreneur.

- Can I offer you something?

- Like what?

- Detergent?

- I was thinking maybe a coffee...

- Just take a f***ing step back, man!

- Sorry.

- What is it with you and personal space?

- All right.

Tell me about this club.

You know how some guys

collect baseball cards?

Or women who read gossip magazines

and know everything about some celebrity.

Like their baby's name or the town

where they grew up?

You know, this is like that,

only it's about murders.

We call it the Kill Club.

- It's not as weird as it sounds.

- It sounds pretty f***ing weird.

It's like a bunch of people

who like true crimes and mysteries.

You know, everyone has a case

that they are passionate about.

You and your family are very special.

Huge with the club.

I mean, it's a real tragedy

what happened.

Your brother in jail, going on 28 years.

Look...

if you and your little club

want to convince me that Ben's innocent,

- you're wasting your time.

- Just come along, it's like a...

like a convention.

- How much?

- Five hundred dollars.

And there'll be a lot of collectors there,

so bring any souvenirs from your childhood

I want a thousand.

I can give you 700. And you let us pick

your brain about what happened that day.

Fine.

- Yeah?

- Yeah. Deal.

I betcha can't!

Come on, let's go!

Hey! What about breakfast?

It's a little warm out for that hat,

don't you think?

Settle down, girls. Settle down.

Hey, Ben.

- Hey, Libby.

- I like your salt mountain.

Oh, yeah?

Mom, Ben and Libby are making

a mess at the table.

Sweetie, it's fine. Michelle,

can you make sure everyone has juice.

Mom! Libby took my pancake off my plate.

Libby, Ben... eggs?

Mom, Ben's wearing a hat inside.

It's not even cold. Duh!

Michelle, you're right.

Ben, you need to take off your hat.

It's not polite to wear

a hat at the table.

Ben.

Mom, Ben looks like some ghoul

from one of his metal band posters.

Why?

It's just hair, Mom. Don't freak out.

I'll be back later.

It wasn't the first time I'd been offered

money for conferences or meetings.

I'd been offered all sorts

of twisted deals over the years.

Want some sweets, little girl?

Libby!

- Welcome to our club.

- What?

I said, "Welcome to our club!"

You want me to show you around?

I want my money.

Come on. I'll show you upstairs.

The Kill Club, or "KC," as we call it,

is basically for solvers

and fans of famous murders.

- Everyone from Fanny Adams to the killer...

- Who's Fanny Adams?

She's an eight-year-old who got chopped

to bits in England back in 1867.

That guy you passed

with the sweets downstairs,

he was playing the role

of her murderer, Frederick Baker.

Jesus Christ!

You guys need to get a life.

Yeah, we've been trying to push

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