Chapter Eighteen Sage
Chapter Eighteen
Sage
I know I should run. I know I should grab all my things and flee Lake Lure and never come back.
Even if I wanted to, it’s not like it would do me any good.
Let’s be real. Travis has confessed to killing thirty-eight people.
He’s confessed to stalking them meticulously before each kill and creating a routine they probably didn’t even know they had.
At first I let myself fantasize that he was taking out only bad guys and people who deserved it, but when Travis told me about killing an indisputably innocent man, my stomach churned. I don’t understand how I was still able to come apart at his touch. Confusion over that swirls around my brain.
I should definitely leave, but there’s nowhere on God’s green earth I can go that Travis isn’t going to find me. There’s absolutely no point in running. Plus, I definitely didn’t pack enough cute clothes for a life on the run.
Yeah . . . there’s no way I’m getting hunted in Crocs.
Besides, I don’t know if I still want to get away.
Despite Travis’s revelation about his prior kills, I’m warming up to the idea of killing Eli—calling him by his real name instead of DarkHours99 feels surreal, but in a way, it’s helping all this.
He’s threatened me, and he’s delusional enough that he might actually act on it.
If I can do something to stop him from hurting me, and possibly other women like me, I should.
Travis says that isn’t the reason he kills, and the idea of that makes me a little nervous.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if I can help him.
I know, I know. The whole “I can fix him” mentality doesn’t typically work.
But I do think it’s possible in this case.
Besides, he wanted to kill me and then decided not to.
That’s progress. He is totally fixable, and I’m going to be the one to do it!
There’s something in Travis making him act this way, and if I can figure out what that is and redirect that energy to something else, then that could be a great thing.
My phone chimes, and I look at it; immediately my heart drops at seeing a message from Eli, but I open it and prepare to respond. For the time being, I need to keep him calm. Travis told me it would be the best thing to do until we can be with him in person.
He’s coming up with a plan, and I’m eager to make myself useful. I have to prove that I can be of value to him before he revisits the idea of killing me. God, I desperately need to convince him to change the way he chooses his targets. Innocent people don’t deserve this.
I see the weather is beautiful out there! Any chance you’re gonna go for a swim? Eli messages with a tongue-out emoji. Knowing that he’s sending me this while simultaneously having a fiancée back home is frustrating. I feel bad for her, but this problem will be out of her hands soon enough.
I’m Dying to lol!!! I’ll make sure to send pics. Maybe I’ll go skinny dipping . . . I reply, feeling the ick run through my body at the idea. I shake it off and put the phone down, turning my attention to Travis’s pantry.
It is stocked with food, but it is not stocked with food I want to eat. You don’t get a body like Travis’s without eating disgusting whole-grain meals all the time. But some of us aren’t built like Greek gods. I need carbs, chocolate, fat, and salt.
“If I’m going to be staying here, we have to go to the store,” I say over my shoulder.
Travis is sitting at the counter, drinking his coffee and reading the news on his iPad.
Ever since his confession, he’s barely let me out of his sight.
“If it’s not on your schedule, I can go on my own. You can trust me.”
Travis sets the iPad down and shakes his head.
“I’m not taking any chances.” He looks at his watch and thinks for a moment.
“I have an hour and forty-three minutes of free time remaining before I get back to work. We can go, but if you tip anyone off about what I’ve told you, I’ll be forced to reconsider killing you. ”
I laugh and smile at him, leaning against the counter. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
His eyes narrow as he stares at me, but he has to know I’m being truthful.
I really wouldn’t. To my knowledge, I haven’t met any other killers, but I don’t think I could look at them the same way I do Travis.
I want to know more about why he kills. There’s something in him that’s driving him to do this, and I want to learn everything I can.
Both of us get ready to go to town, and after his driving ritual, we make the short trek there. Travis opts to shop at a small mom-and-pop grocery store. I’m surprised this place can even survive in an area like this.
It’s smaller than your typical Whole Foods store, with aisles that are narrow and packed with name brands as well as local wares. I marvel at the bakery section, seeing all the homemade goods from countless small businesses nearby.
Travis follows me around and watches my every move as I navigate the aisles.
We get to the baking section, and I stand in front of the brownie mixes, trying to figure out exactly which one I want.
It’s been a long time since I’ve made weed brownies, and I remember there’s one brand that clashes particularly badly with the weed butter I make.
“They’re all the same,” Travis says, tapping his watch to remind me we’re on a schedule.
“This coming from a man who probably hasn’t had a brownie in ten years.” I grab two boxes and look at them to study the ingredients.
“Try twenty-eight.” His phone rings before I can tell him how ridiculous that is.
“We’re going to have to change that,” I whisper to myself while he pulls the phone from his pocket.
He stares at it and looks at me cautiously before looking back at the phone. “I need to take this. You better not do anything stupid.”
He slides the answer button to the right as he turns to walk away. I barely manage to catch a glimpse of the name Peter on the screen. “Hello?”
Travis walks away, looking over his shoulder at me one last time as he leaves the baking aisle. I hesitate for a moment, knowing that I want to eavesdrop. Travis warned me not to do anything to expose him, and I don’t think this would.
I set the brownie mixes into the basket and follow him. He didn’t go far—he is just an aisle away, talking in a hushed voice. He’s not looking, and he doesn’t hear me tiptoeing up behind him as he whispers into the phone.
“Any surveillance from the rental shop?” Travis asks.
Surveillance? Is this about a potential kill? Eli, maybe?
But who else would know about this?
“He has to have given a real ID somewhere. The man’s not a ghost,” Travis continues, running his fingers through his hair.
There’s a long pause on the other end as Peter tells him something else.
“So he’s still in the city?” There’s a hint of hope in his voice, and I think this has to be about a kill.
“All right. Keep me posted if they move anywhere.”
He hangs up the phone and turns around, his face immediately falling in disappointment as he sees me. “What did I say?”
“You didn’t say anything about eavesdropping,” I reply, shrugging casually. “What was that about?”
Travis huffs and shakes his head, grabbing my arm and leading me toward the cash register. “Can we not talk about this here?”
He grabs the basket from my hand and sets it down on the register, neither of us saying anything to the cashier as they ring up each item. Travis hands them the bank card, chivalrously paying for all the junk food I’m buying. He might be a killer, but he’s still a gentleman.
We pile into his car, and he checks his watch one last time before pulling out after his routine. I know we’re cutting it pretty close to his scheduled work time, and I feel a little guilty about this impromptu outing.
“So, who was on the phone?” I ask while his hands are glued in the ten-and-two position while he focuses on the road.
“You know, I stepped away because it was a private phone call.”
“You’re tracking someone, though, right?” I pull my leg up underneath me as I turn to stare at him. “Do you normally outsource the tracking to someone else? Who else knows about . . . your hobby?”
Even though Travis doesn’t look at me, I can feel him rolling his eyes.
“It’s a genuine question! If I know about this, I am liable in a way. I need to know about these things. If there’s someone else out there who understands what’s going on, then I should be filled in.”
Travis sighs and shakes his head slowly as he rolls up to a red light. He finally looks at me with resignation in his eyes.
“I have a private investigator on payroll. He has had some indication someone is looking into me, and he’s helping me find out who it is.”
There’s no emotion in his voice, not even stress. If I were him, I would be terrified someone was looking into me. He is, after all, a serial killer.
“How does he know this?”
“Someone has been searching for my name in some unusual ways. On top of that, I’ve seen somebody watching me. When we were at the ice cream shop, there was someone in a car clearly keeping an eye on me. They weren’t trying to hide it either.”
I feel sick. How can he be so calm about this? Someone knows what he’s up to, and they’re looking for him.
“What if they have evidence? You said you do the whole thing with the abandoned factories, and maybe that’s traceable in some way.
Someone could have gone on to one of those sites and obtained something to implicate you,” I say.
I’m nervously rambling off every fear that pops up in my head.
“They could capture you. It could either be a police officer who is ready to arrest you and throw you in jail, or possibly even give you the electric chair. Does North Carolina still have the death penalty?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but I don’t even give him a second to speak.
“What if it’s worse? It could be someone who’s been following you and wants to blackmail you with this information.
They can take everything from you. Maybe even make you kill other people on their behalf like some kind of hit man. ”
“And that will be worse than lethal injection?” Travis laughs for the first time all day, and I stare at him, almost surprised to hear the sound. “You do realize almost anyone else in the entire world would think this is a good thing, right?”
He’s absolutely right. Most people would not be worrying about a serial killer being caught.
They would be cheering on the police officers or vigilante heroes helping to throw them behind bars.
But I’m not. The thought of somebody barging into Travis’s house and throwing him in handcuffs makes me want to vomit.
“Well, I’m not like anyone else.”
“I’m starting to wonder if you’re more dangerous than I am,” Travis says with a small chuckle at the end.
It’s supposed to be a joke, I think. But maybe he has a point.