It’s about an hour-long drive to Asheville, and I cry the entire way. The only time I stop is when I lean my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes, inhaling deeply to try to calm myself down. The Uber smells like goat cheese, and the thought of it makes me laugh to myself before I immediately break out in tears once again. I silently apologize to the driver for potentially trauma-bonding her with the world’s worst Hallmark breakup movie. If she pulls out tissues and a chocolate bar, I might just propose.
I never thought I would have to say goodbye to Travis. I guess that’s just another thing I was wrong about.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Travis
Sage left three days ago. Actually, if we’re being specific, it has been sixty-eight hours and forty-six minutes since I last saw her. It feels like months have passed within each minute. No matter what I do, I can’t get her out of my mind. She lingers in my house like a ghost. Just this morning, I threw my laundry basket across the room because I swore she was hiding behind it. Turns out it was my hoodie—pink, of course, because she washed it with red. That woman left with my peace and my dignity.
Wherever I go, I see, out of the corner of my eye, her nest of pink hair piled on her head in the messy bun she always wore. I have to do double takes to make sure it’s not actually her. It would be on brand for her to show up out of nowhere, anyway. Weirdly, I find myself wishing she would.
My house is quiet. Just the way I like it.
You would think that would give me plenty of time to take care of everything I need to do. But instead, I sit in the silence and analyze every aspect of it—everything it’s missing. I don’t hear the faint sound of music playing through her too-loud headphones. I don’t hear her softly reading under her breath as she prepares to film for her latest video. I don’t hear her giggling at stupid TikTok videos. I don’t hearher in the kitchen making some elaborate dish, the sound of a kitchen knife scraping across the counter.
It’s amazing how loud this silence is.
I try to go about my days and forget about her. My routine, which I have missed dearly, will bring me out of this funk. I get back to my schedule. I just can’t focus. No matter what I do, Sage worms her way to the front of my mind, and I have to contend with the fact that I may never see her again.
That morbid thought is interrupted by the ringing of my phone. As always, my first thought is Sage. Hope blooms in my chest until I see Peter’s name flashing across the screen. Of course she isn’t going to call me. Before I answer, I curse myself for even thinking that she would.
“Yes,” I almost grunt.
“Travis, I dug up something on the Ryan and Amelia connection.” Peter gets straight to the point, as always. “At first, I really couldn’t find anything. Officially, Amelia didn’t have a boyfriend, let alone one serious enough to almost be her fiancé. However, I talked to one of her former girlfriends, who told me that Amelia did go out with a Ryan once. Apparently she wasn’t interested in him, but he told people around town that they were dating and even talking about marriage.”
“So the whole thing was one-sided,” I conclude.
“It seems that way, yes,” Peter confirms. “Do you want me to keep digging?”
“No.” I hang up the phone, having no patience for pleasantries right now ... or ever, really.
I feel slightly satisfied knowing the whole picture now, but that doesn’t erase the anger and disappointment in myself for missing that she’d had some psycho obsessed with her in the first place. Anyone keeping that close an eye on her should have come up, regardless of the circumstances. I spent the rest of the afternoon scolding myself for that mistake.
My watch alarm goes off at 5:00 p.m., alerting me to dinnertime. I go to the kitchen and throw together everything I need for a veggielasagna. Of course, it brings back memories of Sage, something I’m quickly realizing I might never be able to escape from. I do my best to force them aside as I prepare my food and wait for it to cook.
When it’s done, I let it cool and bite into it. Like every morsel of food I’ve had since she left, it’s bland. I even tried adding hot sauce. Five drops later, I was crying—not from the spice, but from the deep emotional betrayal of discovering I can’t even make sad veggie lasagna properly. I don’t know if it’s because my taste buds have somehow decided to stop working or if the food Sage was making was just that much better than what I cook. Either way, it’s not satisfying.
I eat it regardless, knowing I need to keep my body nourished. Everything I’m experiencing right now is nothing more than a blip in an otherwise well-oiled system. Maintaining my precise body mass and health is integral, considering what I do. If I don’t have the strength to overpower my victims, that leaves too much room for mistakes to be made.
After dinner, I sit down at my desk and crack my knuckles before logging on to the computer. This is what I live for. It’s my favorite part of what I do, the surveilling and stalking of my victims.
But instead of opening up all the software I use to stalk people, I idly stare at the blue desktop screen for a few moments. Sage’s words echo in my mind: “If you hurt Nicole, I’ll never forgive you.”
For some reason, it’s stopping me. It shouldn’t matter. Sage is gone, and she’s not coming back. Besides, she’s not going to know what I do anyway. Nicole is going to vanish without a trace, and Sage won’t be able to do anything to keep tabs on her.
“I wonder if she made it to Asheville okay,” I whisper to myself, tapping my finger on my desk. I go to the web browser and type in the URL for Instagram, but I stop myself. It’s not time to look into her. It’s time to focus on Nicole. Now that Sage is gone, I shouldn’t have any distractions. I can get back to doing what I love.
I close out of the browser and open up my surveillance software to try to get tabs on Nicole. It’s late in the evening, and Nicole is exactly where I expect her to be. She’s in the alley she showed me the first time I met her, sitting on a blanket with a bottle of cheap wine. Her hands are shaking, and there’s a sheen of sweat over her face. This is probably the first drink she’s had in a couple of days.
While I stare at her, I find myself wondering about her past. Is she really as innocent as Sage says she is? How am I supposed to know anything about that? Sure, her face looks young and sweet. Underneath all the grime and filth she’s covered in is the visage of a young girl who’s had a difficult time in her life.
“Stop that!” I shout in my office. I slam my hands on the desk and close out of the software. It’s like Sage has somehow infiltrated my mind and is constantly reminding me about her. I don’t care about my victims’ lives. The only thing I do care about is that I’m targeting someone who won’t get me caught. Why the fuck am I thinking about Nicole’s past now?
I furrow my eyebrows and stare at my blank desktop screen for a few moments before I give in and type in Sage’s Instagram handle. Maybe if I can just see her, know that she’s okay, I can forget all about her.
My heart skips a beat as the page loads, and I see all the selfies she has taken and posted. They’re all virtually identical pictures of her smiling in the exact same pose, almost making her grid look like the Andy Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe.
There’s only one new post, and it’s a picture of her smiling in the backyard of the Airbnb she checked in to after leaving. Lush green grass surrounds her, and she’s clearly poolside. The caption readsGoodbye, Lake Lure. Hello, Asheville! Exciting new content coming soon! My latest vlog will be a little delayed, so bear with me lol. Taking some time away from the screen to focus on myself, but I’ll update you all soon!
