Chapter Nine Travis
Chapter Nine
Travis
And just like that, all my planning has been for nothing. I spent two whole weeks of my goddamn life planning for Kevin’s kill, and now it’s all over.
I watched with a stone in my chest as Kevin’s brother from Massachusetts came into town to search for him. Most people would have looked at that as a heartwarming reunion, but I was ready to break every window in my house from the fury I felt.
Kevin is going to get back on his feet. His brother’s going to take him to rehab, and when he’s out, he’s going to get him a job at his construction company.
Yippee.
Now that Kevin is gone, I need a new target. I haven’t gone this long without a kill in years, and every moment that passes is torture. I’m not thinking clearly. There is a thick fog in my brain I can’t get rid of. I’m on edge, and this is destroying me.
Sage managed to destroy a perfectly good target.
Kevin was a nobody. He had no friends in Lake Lure, and the family that he did have were done with him.
He’d stolen from them and used them long enough and they cut him off.
After all, how can you help someone if they’re not willing to help themselves?
Now, with Kevin completely off the table, I can soon make another attempt with Sage. I don’t know how long she’s going to be my neighbor, but I can’t let her upend my life like this anymore. I’m going to teach her that actions have consequences.
Stalking her has been incredibly easy. Since she constantly posts pictures and videos of herself, I know exactly where she is and what she is doing.
This morning she climbed up the stairs to the Chimney Rock American flag, and now she is checking out some of the souvenir shops in front of the state park.
In town, I find an empty seat at one of the picnic tables outside Scoops Ice Cream. It’s swarming with children and parents who aren’t paying nearly enough attention to them. Their shrieks and high-pitched laughter only make my nerves more frail.
Oh no. I cringe when I see a little boy walking up to me. He is still a toddler, waddling while holding an ice cream cone in his little hand. I shake my head at him, hoping he will get the message and not come any closer. He doesn’t get it.
His tiny feet carry him to where I sit until he stops mere inches from me. I lean back, hoping this germ-infested child won’t touch me. It’s nothing personal. All children are carriers of sickness. He smiles at me, and I desperately look around for this boy’s mother.
When I can’t find her, I huff. “What do you want?”
The little kid doesn’t say anything, but holds out his ice cream cone to me, urging me to either take it or, worse, lick the melting chocolate ice cream currently dripping down his sticky hand.
Barf. I gag internally before saying, “This is not the blood sacrifice I require.”
The boy’s eyes go wide before tears form in them.
Oh, fuck no.
I plug my index fingers into my ears a split second before the boy opens his mouth and starts crying with the most annoying high-pitched sound. Finally, the mom comes running toward us. She grabs the boy and lifts him up into her arms, rubbing his back while he keeps crying.
They walk away, and I do my best to tune it all out as I train my eyes on the crowd around me.
I’m not here to let myself be annoyed by these dreadful children.
I’m here to potentially get eyes on my target.
Even though I can easily follow her online and get visuals through various security cameras around town, sometimes I like to get a real look. Feels more personal that way.
In the distance I see an unmistakable mop of fading pink hair tied in a bun, and I grin at how easy it is to find her. If I believed in fate, I would say this is it. My smile fades when I realize she is turning my way and walking toward me.
Shit, I wanted to see her from afar, not up close. I quickly stand up and turn away, but it’s too late. I thought I could evade her, but I have no such luck when it comes to Juniper Sage Featherstone.
She catches up with me a few seconds later. “I never took you for much of an ice cream guy,” Sage says, playfully patting me on the shoulder.
“And I thought we had a deal,” I reply, staring at her with a blank expression in the hope that she can finally take the hint and leave me alone.
“Listen, you told me to stop showing up out of nowhere, and I was just in town,” Sage says, holding her hands up as if to proclaim innocence. “This is nothing more than an innocent chance encounter. I swear.”
I stare at her blankly.
She flashes me a smile. “How about some apology ice cream?” Sage says, gesturing to the shop behind us. “Consider this me waving a white flag. I’ve caused you a lot of inconvenience, and I really am sorry.”
Something tells me she’s not being entirely truthful, but I do appreciate the gesture. Besides, it doesn’t look like she’s about to take no for an answer.
“Fine,” I say, walking inside with her.
It’s a hot summer day, and Scoops Ice Cream is a hot spot in town, so the line is long. Sage and I stare up at the chalkboard menu in silence while we try to figure out what we want. All the ice creams have funny names, so it’s hard for me to decipher exactly what each flavor is.
“What’s your favorite?” Sage asks, looking up at me with fluttering eyelashes. “I’m a Rocky Road girl.”
“So you’re a heathen?” I say.
“And you’re dramatic.” Sage laughs. “Clearly, you’ve never had Rocky Road. Otherwise you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“It’s inconsistent. The very premise of the flavor is to add variety to something that should be uniform.” I shake my head at her. “Ice cream was invented to be a creamy, smooth dessert. The textural differences in each bite of Rocky Road are a disgrace to the concept of ice cream.”
Sage laughs and nudges my shoulder as she rolls her eyes. “Okay, so if you’re such an ice cream expert, what are the best flavors?”
“There’s a very particular order for these things,” I say, scouring my mind for my ice cream list to share with her.
“The top of the list is vanilla. It’s a classic for a reason, and everything about it is perfect, considering what ice cream is supposed to be.
It’s smooth, creamy, and the flavor is palatable to nearly everyone.
They don’t sell 425 million gallons in a year without reason. ”
“That’s rich, because knowing what I know about you, I would not expect anything vanilla.” Sage cocks an eyebrow at me with a devious smirk.
“Funny,” I say. “The next flavor is chocolate. After that, not ice cream per se, but rainbow sherbet—”
“Well, is that some variety I see?”
“Well, with an anticipated variety like that, it’s acceptable. Besides, the flavors are all meant to meld together in sherbet.” Sage laughs again, clearly not taking my ranking seriously. I feel a flicker of annoyance at that. “I suppose you just have whatever is interesting to you at the moment?”
“Yeah, that’s what cravings are,” Sage says, shrugging.
We get to the counter, and she asks for three different flavor samples, and I feel my annoyance level spiking. The lack of organization and order in this woman’s life drives me insane. What is she, some kind of psycho? Just living life by the seat of her pants?
“I’ll have one scoop of Rocky Road and one scoop of cotton candy in a waffle cone, please,” Sage says as she finally puts in her order. The idea of the textural-and-flavor nightmare of her order sends shivers down my spine.
“I’ll have one scoop of vanilla and one of chocolate in a bowl.” That’s how you order ice cream. Simple, easy.
Sage pulls out her wallet and pays for both of us, and a moment later we’re both handed our ice cream. Beside the cash register is a toppings bar that a bunch of kids are swarming around, holding small spoons and dropping them over their ice cream cones to cover everything in sprinkles and M&M’S.
Of course, living life with absolutely no boundaries or order, Sage goes to the toppings bar and starts covering her cone. “Do you want any nuts or anything?”
I shake my head and stare at her, aghast.
“Do you know how disgusting these toppings bars are?” I ask, already knowing she either knows and chooses ignorance or has no interest in knowing at all.
“These toppings are left to sit out all day long, with many hands reaching for spoons that don’t get washed.
The nuts and other toppings that you are covering your ice cream with are filled with bacteria from countless different people.
That’s how viruses spread. That’s how pandemics happen. ”
She finishes coating her ice cream with candied pralines and turns with an amused smile on her face. “You’re a pretty quirky person. I didn’t expect that from you.”
She turns around and walks outside toward a picnic table to take a seat before I can say anything back. I have to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out at the comment.
How can someone go through the world so recklessly like this? Honestly, I should have strangled her the other night. I would have done her a favor with a quick death.
I join her at the table. I guess I can do some one-on-one research with her, for recon purposes only. It’s still in my revised schedule for the day, and I don’t want Sage to continuously disrupt my life. She needs to die sooner rather than later.
Sage talks incessantly. She hardly stops, and she doesn’t have a filter. She’s excited about life. She’s young and she has nothing tying her down. She goes from town to town reviewing Airbnbs, getting to live in places like this for free.
She’s the perfect victim.
“I don’t see my parents that much anymore,” Sage says, licking a drip of ice cream off hands I know she didn’t wash before eating. However, her statement catches my attention.
“Why is that?”
“It’s kind of a silly story,” Sage says, laughing and shaking her head as she leans forward.
“My parents were major hippies—exhibit A being named Juniper Sage Featherstone. I grew up super sheltered in a commune with them, and because of that, there were so many experiences I didn’t get to have.
I don’t know. I guess I resent them a little for that. ”
“And now that you’re an adult, you’re experiencing life on your own without letting them guide you.” It’s a story I’ve heard before. Sage may think she is some original, trailblazing free spirit, but she is nothing if not an amalgamation of all the people who have come before her.
“Exactly!” Sage replies, seemingly excited that I can see a part of her she thinks most people don’t.
Ice cream is dripping down her arm, and it’s all I can focus on. She doesn’t seem shy about licking it off her hands, but she at least has the decency to get up and get a napkin when it’s practically at her elbow.
I sit at the table and watch her for a moment as she holds her cone in her hand, still licking the atrocity, and grabs a handful of napkins in the other. Then she snaps a few ridiculous selfies. Turning away from her and looking out at the town, my eyes lock on someone’s car.
Sitting in a silver sedan is a man looking in my direction.
He is wearing a baseball cap, pulled down enough for the shadow to hide his face.
A chill runs up my spine, and I’m immediately reminded of the search Peter told me about.
He already sent me information eliminating Sage as the suspect.
Apparently two IPs were searching for me, and the activity linked to Sage didn’t raise any flags.
Without thinking, I start approaching the sedan. He lingers for a moment as he watches me step closer, but when I’m about ten feet away, and my ice cream is dropped on the ground beside me, he puts the car in drive and speeds off.
I run to the road, where I just catch the license plate number, repeating it over and over again in my head as I pull out my phone and text it to Peter so he can run it immediately.
“What’s going on?” Sage asks behind me. I turn around, ready to give her an excuse about seeing an old friend but being mistaken. The lie is on the tip of my tongue, but something tells me she won’t believe me anyway.
My phone buzzes in my hand before I can say anything. Peter has responded already. Looks like a rental car registered to a John Doe. What’s going on?
Without a shadow of a doubt, I know that’s who was searching for me. Now I just have to figure out why.