Serial Killer Support Group Summary, Characters and Themes
Serial Killer Support Group by Saratoga Schaefer is a psychological thriller that explores the perilous transformation of a grieving sister into a cold-blooded infiltrator of a support group for serial killers. The novel centers on Cyra Griffin, a woman shattered by the unsolved murder of her sister, Mira.
Fueled by loss and unable to find solace in traditional mourning, Cyra embarks on a mission of deception and revenge, plunging into a shadowy world where predators disguise themselves as companions. As she constructs a murderous persona to gain entry into this covert group, the line between justice and monstrosity begins to blur—raising unsettling questions about identity, morality, and what it truly means to survive grief.
Summary
Cyra Griffin’s world is thrown into chaos when her younger sister, Mira, is murdered. The police suggest the work of a serial killer, but Cyra finds no comfort in their theories or their restraint.
She is emotionally adrift, her sorrow warped into fury. A friend named Eli, who works in police records, tells her about a rumor: a hidden, encrypted forum that operates as a support group for serial killers.
This becomes Cyra’s sole focus—her gateway to the truth and potentially Mira’s killer.
To infiltrate the group, Cyra fakes her identity. She stages a grisly photo of a dead woman using a nursing home resident’s body and rewrites her past, using the accidental death of Mira’s abusive ex-boyfriend as evidence of her own murderous credentials.
As her real life disintegrates, she adopts the name “Mistletoe” and enters a world where killers commune in code, hiding their darkness behind parasite-themed nicknames and twisted rituals of fellowship. Ernie “Whipworm” Martinez, the group’s founder, is a retired killer driven by sexual repression and a yearning for community.
His former prison associate Python serves as the group’s gatekeeper, enforcing strict rules to avoid detection.
Cyra’s initiation requires she dispose of a duffel bag soaked in blood. She complies, her emotional detachment proving to be both a shield and a liability.
Once inside the group, she meets Lamprey, a charming and composed man who immediately unsettles her. Others like Sand Fly, a misogynist brute; Cuckoo, a chaotic and childish figure; Pea Crab, an unstable addict; Mockingbird, a silent menace; and Whipworm—all seem capable of the crimes she investigates.
The group’s internal dynamics are shaped by dominance, suspicion, and their mockery of societal rejection, bonding over their identities as parasites.
Cyra is constantly tested. Her cover is nearly blown by Lamprey, who admits he’s hacked her background and knows she’s not a killer.
Rather than expose her, he recruits her to help find a snitch in the group. In exchange, he promises information about Mira’s murderer.
Cyra agrees, playing along with his manipulations while quietly panicking at how easily she inhabits her “Mistletoe” identity. Her relationship with Bea, her closest friend, collapses.
Her inner world grows colder.
A major turning point occurs when Cyra finds a photo of Pea Crab, his throat slit. The murder suggests one of the group broke their unspoken code.
Lamprey denies responsibility but is unsurprised, implying that weakness must be removed. He continues to draw Cyra into his schemes, mocking the supposed morals of other members, including Python and Whipworm.
Lamprey suggests Mira’s killer is still out there, not among the group’s leadership, and steers Cyra toward other suspects.
Haunted by guilt, Cyra compiles lists: possible snitches and possible killers. She becomes increasingly fixated on maintaining the persona that makes her feel in control.
A confrontation with a harasser nearly pushes her into actual violence, alarming her with the thrill it brings. Mistletoe is no longer just a role—it’s a refuge.
Eli later sends Cyra a file of old murder cases, detailing victims with a specific pattern: crossed ankles. She narrows her suspect list to Mockingbird, Sand Fly, and Lamprey.
But a new twist emerges: Cuckoo, whose real name is Charlie Guardia, is an undercover cop who murdered a sex worker to gain entry into the group. Cyra exposes him to Lamprey, exchanging truth for leverage.
Cyra then returns to the church where the group meets and accuses Lamprey of multiple murders within the circle, including Pea Crab, Cuckoo, and Sand Fly. While Python is skeptical, he accepts her story to protect Whipworm.
Cyra retreats with Mockingbird, who cryptically assures her she’s not his type—neither an ally nor an enemy. When Lamprey arrives, bloodied and unrepentant, it’s clear he has orchestrated chaos downstairs, using Cyra’s stolen knife to frame her.
In a moment of strategic desperation, Cyra proposes they target Eli, still assuming he might be Mira’s killer. Lamprey, intrigued, agrees.
Together they orchestrate Eli’s murder—Cyra lures him, then bludgeons him to death in a park while Lamprey assists with cleanup. But a video call with Izzie, Mira’s best friend and Eli’s girlfriend, plants doubt in Cyra’s mind.
Izzie’s strange slip—mentioning “emails” when Cyra only referenced “messages”—suggests deeper knowledge of the plot.
Back home, Lamprey is waiting. He attacks Cyra, revealing he never intended to let her live.
In a brutal fight, Cyra uses her training and a concealed blade to kill him. The victory is hollow, but necessary.
Suspicious of Izzie, she visits her and confirms the truth: Izzie killed Mira in a jealous rage over the affair with Eli and staged it to resemble a serial killing. Cyra kills Izzie and arranges the body in the same symbolic pose the killer had used—ankles crossed.
With vengeance fulfilled, Cyra packs to disappear. She gathers keepsakes from those she has outlived or outwitted—PJ’s ring, a cufflink from another victim, a photo from Mira—and acknowledges the finality of her transformation.
She reads a long-lost email from Mira, realizing her sister loved her even through the distance and pain. But Cyra is not the same person anymore.
She’s no longer a grieving sister or even an avenger. She has become what she hunted: a shadow figure living beyond the reach of society, a survivor shaped by violence.
Her identity now belongs to Mistletoe, and the road ahead is one only she can walk—unforgiving, unknown, and entirely her own.
Characters
Cyra Griffin / Mistletoe
Cyra Griffin is the emotionally fractured protagonist of Serial Killer Support Group, whose psychological journey is shaped by the trauma of her sister Mira’s brutal murder. Initially introduced as a grieving sibling seeking justice, Cyra’s arc rapidly descends into moral ambiguity as she sheds the last vestiges of a “normal” life.
Her grief manifests not only in sorrow but in a cold, calculated rage that enables her to make ethically and psychologically extreme decisions—from stealing a corpse to staging her own credentials as a killer. Her creation of the “Mistletoe” persona is a masterstroke of psychological armor, allowing her to infiltrate the serial killer forum while simultaneously providing emotional insulation from the horrors she encounters.
Yet this detachment is also her slow descent; as she becomes more embedded in the group, she finds herself reacting with thrill instead of fear, confidence instead of panic. Cyra’s evolving relationship with violence becomes alarmingly fluid, marked by a shifting boundary between justice and vengeance.
Her final acts—murdering Eli in cold blood, only to later kill the true killer, Izzie—cement her transformation. No longer a civilian driven by grief, she ends the story as a predator in her own right.
Mistletoe is not a mask; it is what Cyra has become.
Lamprey
Lamprey is perhaps the most menacing presence in the support group, exuding a predatory charisma cloaked in good looks and psychological cunning. From the outset, he is described as someone who can charm as easily as he can kill, and this duality makes him both dangerously magnetic and deeply unsettling.
Lamprey quickly identifies Cyra’s ruse, but instead of exposing her, he manipulates her, turning her secret into leverage for his own ends. His interest in her is less about trust and more about fascination—he sees in Cyra a latent killer, someone like himself.
Their relationship becomes a warped dance of dominance and complicity, culminating in a partnership to murder Eli. However, Lamprey’s narcissism and belief in his own superiority are his undoing.
Even as he collaborates with Cyra, he always intends to betray her, as proven when he ambushes her in her apartment. His ultimate defeat comes not from brute force but from underestimating the woman he tried to control.
In death, Lamprey represents the apex predator that Cyra had to kill to become something even more formidable.
Mira Griffin
Though deceased for the entirety of the narrative, Mira Griffin remains the emotional epicenter of Cyra’s psychological descent. Through Cyra’s memories and reflections, Mira emerges as a complex figure—artistic, emotionally sensitive, and a symbol of both love and betrayal.
Her infamous black-and-white photograph of Cyra during a panic attack, which launched Mira’s career, is a lingering point of emotional tension. To the world, it was a powerful statement on mental health; to Cyra, it was an act of exploitation.
Mira’s affair with Eli and her friendship with Izzie add further layers to her portrayal, complicating the purity of her victimhood. Ultimately, her murder becomes the catalyst for Cyra’s transformation, yet the final unsent email she left behind reveals Mira’s enduring love for her sister, offering a rare sliver of grace amid the darkness.
Mira is both martyr and muse, the silent force behind every monstrous choice Cyra makes.
Eli
Eli serves as a red herring throughout much of the narrative—Mira’s ex-boyfriend, a grieving partner, and ultimately Cyra’s suspect and victim. Initially portrayed as a nervous and possibly complicit figure, Eli is hunted down and executed by Cyra and Lamprey in a chillingly methodical act.
It is only afterward, through a subtle slip from Izzie, that Cyra begins to question his guilt. Eli’s ultimate innocence casts a shadow over Cyra’s transformation, making her complicity in his murder a turning point from vigilante to true killer.
His death acts as the story’s cruel moral fulcrum—where vengeance oversteps justice and irreversible choices define identity.
Izzie
Izzie, Mira’s best friend and Eli’s girlfriend, emerges late in the story as the most unexpected and chilling antagonist. Initially backgrounded as a grieving friend, Izzie becomes a sinister figure when Cyra realizes she knows more than she should.
Her eventual confession—that she murdered Mira in a jealous rage and staged the scene to mimic a serial killer’s MO—reveals the depth of her instability and emotional duplicity. Her crime is not rooted in compulsion or pathology but in betrayal and envy, making her act both personal and coldly manipulative.
Cyra’s decision to kill Izzie is swift and unburdened, a final act of grim justice that also affirms the irreversible changes within Cyra herself. Izzie’s arc underscores how even those closest to us can harbor lethal secrets, and her presence redefines the entire trajectory of the narrative.
Whipworm (Ernie Martinez)
Whipworm is the enigmatic founder of the serial killer support group and serves as a chilling reminder that even murderers seek connection. On the surface, he projects warmth and benevolence, playing the role of a mentor and gatekeeper.
However, beneath this veneer is a deeply repressed and dangerous individual whose own crimes stem from violent sexual repression. His founding of the group is an act of self-justification, a way to rationalize monstrosity through community.
Whipworm is both a father figure and a hypocrite, desperate to impose order among predators while minimizing the severity of his past. His eventual defeat by Lamprey reveals his delusions of control and the hollowness of his authority.
He is the architect of a false sanctuary, doomed to collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.
Python
Python operates as the group’s gatekeeper and moral compass—a paradox, given his past as a hitman. He is meticulous, rule-bound, and deeply suspicious, representing a warped sense of ethics in a group founded on bloodshed.
His cautious rapport with Cyra and his private misgivings about her story highlight his strategic thinking. Yet his attachment to Whipworm blinds him, and his failure to detect Lamprey’s betrayal costs him dearly.
Python is a tragic figure of compromised ideals; his desire to impose structure within chaos ultimately renders him powerless when real danger erupts. He is both protector and pawn in a world where no rules are ever truly sacred.
Mockingbird
Mockingbird is the most silent and opaque member of the group, a former trucker whose icy demeanor and emotional detachment make him one of the most fearsome characters. His presence is defined by stillness and menace, and though he never shows overt aggression, his coldness exudes the threat of latent violence.
His cryptic reassurance to Cyra—that she is not “his type”—is both disturbing and oddly protective. In many ways, he functions as a shadowy foil to Lamprey: both killers, but where Lamprey is performative, Mockingbird is elemental.
His alliance with Cyra is uneasy and fleeting, but it plays a crucial role in her final confrontation with Lamprey. Mockingbird exists on the periphery, a reminder that sometimes silence is the most terrifying form of power.
Sand Fly
Sand Fly is a volatile and misogynistic figure whose aggression toward Cyra is immediate and unrelenting. He challenges her credibility, tries to intimidate her, and represents the most overtly toxic form of masculinity in the group.
His lack of subtlety and violent temper make him a likely suspect in Mira’s murder, at least initially. However, his erratic behavior and eventual death reveal him to be more bluster than mastermind.
His presence serves as a contrast to more composed figures like Lamprey and Mockingbird, showcasing the diversity of threat within the group. Sand Fly is dangerous, yes, but also transparent—his menace lies more in his volatility than in cunning.
Cuckoo / Charlie Guardia
Cuckoo is revealed to be Charlie Guardia, a rogue cop who infiltrated the group after killing a sex worker to “prove” himself. His persona is disarming—young, somewhat detached, and erratic—but beneath it lies a desperate need for validation and control.
Unlike the other members, Cuckoo doesn’t kill out of compulsion or ideology; he kills to belong. This makes him uniquely reprehensible, as he adopts a psychopathic mask to gain entry into a world he doesn’t understand.
When Cyra discovers his identity, she uses it as leverage, exposing him to Lamprey to buy more information. Cuckoo’s story is one of hollow ambition and moral bankruptcy, an outsider pretending to be a monster, only to be consumed by the very real ones around him.
His arc underlines the danger of romanticizing evil and the fatal consequences of hubris.
Pea Crab
Pea Crab is a peripheral but telling figure—a sloppy, erratic killer possibly suffering from addiction. Viewed with disdain by the others, he is more of a liability than a threat.
His murder within the group violates its core tenet of safety, setting off a chain reaction of suspicion, manipulation, and betrayal. Though not central to the narrative, Pea Crab’s death becomes the fuse that ignites the novel’s final explosion of violence.
He is the weakest link in a chain built on deceit, and his demise represents both the fragility and the volatility of this false community.
Themes
Moral Ambiguity and the Corruption of Righteous Intentions
Cyra Griffin’s descent from grieving sister to a calculated killer is not a sudden transformation but a gradual erosion of her moral framework under the guise of justice. Her pursuit of Mira’s murderer begins with a desperate need for answers, but quickly shifts into ethically murky territory.
Her decision to use a dead body to fabricate a false identity is the first marker of this shift, a clear violation of ethical norms justified by her grief. As she gains access to the support group by mimicking the characteristics of real killers, Cyra becomes increasingly comfortable with deceit and manipulation.
Her actions evolve from mere deception to calculated violence—first psychological, then physical. The killing of Eli, performed in cold blood and without confirmed guilt, signifies the point where the original moral compass is no longer guiding her decisions.
By the time she kills Lamprey and Izzie, the motivations are less about justice and more about maintaining a new identity—one forged in violence, unburdened by guilt. Cyra’s arc forces the reader to consider the danger of righteous fury when it operates without accountability.
Her moral decline doesn’t happen because she wanted to do wrong, but because she was willing to bend right into whatever shape she needed to survive and succeed. That shift, from victim to vigilante to villain, blurs the traditional boundary between good and evil and makes her transformation all the more disturbing.
The Weaponization of Grief
Grief in Serial Killer Support Group is not portrayed as a passive emotional state but as an active, volatile force that transforms and drives Cyra. Her sister’s death doesn’t just hurt her—it unmoors her from society’s emotional norms and reshapes her identity.
Rather than seeking comfort or healing, Cyra uses grief as a fuel source for revenge, justification for violence, and even a cover for her own emotional numbness. This grief becomes a double-edged weapon: it both masks her actions and motivates them.
Her ability to operate within a circle of killers depends on her emotional detachment, which is enabled by the hollow core left by Mira’s death. Cyra’s trauma is never truly confronted; instead, it is redirected into the construction of “Mistletoe,” an emotionally armored alter ego who can withstand the psychological warfare of the support group.
Grief no longer manifests as tears or breakdowns, but as ruthless focus and dispassionate violence. When Cyra ultimately kills Izzie, the act is carried out without emotional hesitation.
Her grief has mutated into a tool—efficient, sharp, and silent. This theme challenges the reader to reconsider how society expects grief to look and behave.
In Cyra’s case, it becomes an accelerant for moral destruction, illustrating how unresolved trauma, when left to fester in isolation, can become not just destructive but predatory.
Identity as Performance
Throughout the novel, Cyra’s survival hinges on her ability to perform—to become someone she is not, and to do it so convincingly that even she begins to forget the difference. The false persona “Mistletoe” is constructed with cold logic, but over time, it consumes the real Cyra.
This identity is not just a disguise for the killers around her, but a refuge from her own pain and vulnerability. Her new role allows her to escape the emotional weight of grief, self-doubt, and social expectations.
She adopts behaviors, language, and even physical gestures that align with how she believes a killer should act. At first, this performance is conscious, but the deeper she goes, the more it becomes reflexive.
Her ability to regulate panic by channeling Mistletoe, her increasingly cold responses to violence, and her comfort in manipulating others all signal a transformation that transcends the initial charade. What starts as roleplay eventually rewires her sense of self.
After Eli’s death, she questions her emotions not because she feels too much, but because she feels too little. Her final acts—calculated, unflinching, and emotionally barren—confirm that the persona she created has supplanted the original Cyra.
The theme underscores the fragility of identity and how sustained deception, especially under psychological stress, can lead to irreversible change. Identity, in this narrative, is not just performed but forged through action—and every violent act reinforces the mask until it becomes a mirror.
Predator and Prey Dynamics
The psychological tension in Serial Killer Support Group is rooted in the constant flux between predator and prey. Cyra enters the serial killer forum as prey, an outsider walking among predators, but she mimics their behaviors to survive.
Each interaction—especially those with Lamprey, Sand Fly, and Mockingbird—functions like a test of dominance. The threat of violence is omnipresent, encoded in every glance, word, and gesture.
Yet Cyra’s ability to manipulate, deceive, and eventually dominate these predators flips the power dynamic. Lamprey, the group’s most dangerous member, initially treats her like prey, testing and taunting her.
But when she gains his trust and ultimately kills him, the roles reverse. Her transformation is marked not just by her ability to defend herself but by her willingness to assert dominance through violence.
Even her confrontation with Izzie is framed through this lens; once Cyra identifies her as the killer, she wastes no time in enacting judgment. The evolution from prey to predator is not presented as a triumphant arc but a chilling inevitability in a world where empathy is a liability.
This theme highlights how survival in hostile environments often demands a shift in posture—and once that shift occurs, returning to a previous state of innocence becomes impossible. In Cyra’s world, to remain prey is to die; to live, one must become the predator.
The cost of that evolution, however, is the slow erosion of what made her human.
Justice, Vengeance, and the Illusion of Closure
Cyra’s journey is ostensibly about justice for her sister, but what she seeks is far closer to vengeance. Her initial motivation is to find Mira’s killer and bring them to account, but her methods betray a deeper need for control, punishment, and retribution.
As she integrates into the support group and adopts the Mistletoe persona, the pursuit of justice becomes secondary to enacting violence that feels morally justified. Each death along the way—whether Eli’s, Lamprey’s, or Izzie’s—serves as a milestone in her search for closure.
Yet each killing also leaves her emptier, more fragmented, and further from any meaningful sense of peace. The final realization that she may have killed an innocent man in Eli destabilizes her sense of moral clarity.
Even when she identifies Izzie as the true killer and eliminates her, there is no catharsis, only more blood. The traditional narrative arc of revenge leading to closure is intentionally subverted.
Justice, when sought outside of societal systems and filtered through trauma, becomes a distorted mirror—one that reflects the avenger’s own corruption. Cyra’s retreat into anonymity at the end of the novel underscores this hollowness.
She has accomplished her goal, but she is irrevocably changed, haunted not just by loss but by what she has done in its name. The theme illustrates how vengeance may temporarily satisfy a moral craving, but it rarely delivers the emotional resolution one expects.
In Cyra’s case, it only deepens the void.
Isolation and the Breakdown of Social Bonds
As Cyra dives deeper into the world of serial killers, her ties to normalcy and human connection fray. Her relationship with Bea dissolves, not through dramatic confrontation but quiet neglect.
Eli, once a friend and emotional anchor, becomes either a victim or a symbol of misplaced trust. Izzie, once Mira’s best friend, is revealed as the ultimate betrayer.
Each social bond in Cyra’s life becomes either irrelevant or poisonous. Her immersion in the support group is not just a tactical move—it becomes a new form of belonging, however twisted.
The isolation she experiences is both self-imposed and circumstantial. The grief of losing Mira, combined with the emotional toll of impersonating a killer, makes her incompatible with the world she once inhabited.
Even when she reflects on her past, it’s through artifacts—photos, emails, objects—that no longer carry warmth but weight. This isolation is both protective and corrosive.
It enables her to act without accountability, but it also ensures that there is no one left to pull her back from the edge. When she finally disappears, it is not an escape but a surrender to a reality where human connection has been replaced by violence and memory.
The theme underscores how trauma and vengeance, when left unmediated by support or healing, can sever the very ties that define our humanity. In Cyra’s case, her transformation is as much about becoming a killer as it is about becoming utterly alone.