Page 54 of Wrong Cabin, Right Time
“How about I give you some pointers, then?” Sage says as she whips her head around and glares at me. “When somebody reaches out to a person they care about and tries to connect with them and be a part of their life only to be rejected, they might react this way.”
My body stiffens, and I take an inadvertent step back as I study her face. I never thought her suggestion was coming from a place of caring about me. My assumption was that she wanted to have fun. She liked the high she got from being involved in Eli’s murder, and she wanted to feel that again. I thought it was childish. Even the idea of being some kind of vigilante hunting down sex offenders felt foolish to me. But now I see things from her side a little better.
Looking back, I realize how I was wrong. She was coming from a place of caring about me, someplace real.
Her face softens when she sees my reaction, and her shoulders slump.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I look behind me at the bathroom door and think about the possibility of someone else coming in and finding us here. This conversation should not be had in public, so we have to get home. “I see where you’re coming from, and I shouldn’t have shut you out the way I did. I promise I’ll think about your idea, but only if we can leave right now.”
She agrees and follows me out of the bathroom. We forget just about everything we even came to town for and climb into the car to go home. Our grocery trip was completely derailed, and now that part of my day has been ruined.
I can sense that Sage feels triumphant. She stares out the window, the passenger-side mirror revealing a faint smile on her lips. She thinks that she’s won this argument, but I’m not so sure she has.
For whatever it’s worth, I’ll let it go for now. But as we drive, my eyes linger on the roadside Nicole pointed to, and I can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like to follow her. I’ll genuinely take Sage’s advice into consideration. It’s not a bad idea—it’s just not what I’m used to. But I have to keep in mind that my safety is paramount. I can’t sacrifice that just to appease her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sage
I can’t stop thinking about our argument in the grocery store. We only just killed Eli, and Travis is already looking for someone else. Now, that energy could be an incredible thing if we were directing it where it needs to go. But targeting a young homeless girl—he said her name was Nicole—who has already probably had a pretty rough go of things is just wrong. I’m worried about her.
Travis can get stuck in his ways, and I don’t know how I’m going to fix the situation. I thought I could change him, and for a while it was looking like a possibility. But now, everything every woman has ever said about it being impossible to change a man is making sense.
You would think it would be unfeasible to keep a secret from me now that I know his deepest, darkest ones, but I’m not so sure. I never know what he is thinking. Plus, when he has his scheduled times for work, I don’t know if he’s lying to me. That’s a part of his routine I’m usually not privy to. Eli was an exception because I was so involved in that. But Travis has made it clear he doesn’t want me involved in his other kills.
I hover around him as much as I can. I’m paranoid, and I know it. There’s just a very real chance he is doing something I have asked him not to. He told me we’d talk about it, but he hasn’t been receptive. Iknow it’s going to lead to an argument, and I try to avoid it for the sake of that. But there are other ways to find out what he’s up to.
“Hey, I was thinking we could go for a swim later?” I say as I walk into the office. He’s leaning back in his desk chair and looking at me as I walk around to sit in his lap. Yes, I would like to go for a swim with him at some point, but I’m also trying to get a look at his screen.
I don’t know if I expected to see him watching surveillance camera footage of someone, but he has spreadsheets and a notepad document with code typed out. “I have free time in two hours,” he says, his expression unreadable.
I kiss him on the cheek and walk out of his office. I even think about spiking some brownies again and getting him to confess to targeting Nicole while he’s high. I doubt he would take any more brownies from me, though.
While I wait for him, I plop down on the couch and start searching for my own information on the phone. While the guys in my DMs provide some promising targets for Travis’s energy, I’m sure there are some local victims who might be more enticing.
I pay for a monthly subscription on the Citizens app to see how many sex offenders are registered in the area. Surprisingly, this gives you their names, faces, and their addresses, which makes it easy to find them on social media, where they stupidly share everything about themselves. My mouth hangs open when I see just how many there are. It’s a really sick world we live in. One guy’s profile picture is him holding a lizard, like that’s supposed to soften the blow of being a garbage human. “Ladies, he’s a perv—but hey, he loves reptiles,” I mutter to myself. “Swipe left, but keep your terrarium locked.”
I tap on a few listings for very promising ones. These are disgusting men who have abused children and definitely don’t deserve to breathe the same air as everyone else. I screenshot the information, planning on showing it to Travis at some point. If he isn’t looking into Nicole as a victim, these are perfect choices. Maybe I can distract him from her long enough for him to forget she even exists.
Two hours pass, and Travis is still in his office. He’s looking at his computer, and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that he’s doing something I don’t want him to do. He never ignores his schedule. The only reasonable excuse I can come up with is he is so caught up in stalking Nicole that he’s lost track of time.
I distract myself by going into the kitchen and preparing dinner. It’s not a Saturday, which is one of the days Travis gave me to cook for him, but I do it anyway. I know he cares about his routine, but if this throws off his routine just enough to buy Nicole some more time to get out of town, I’m happy.
I start throwing together some Marry Me Chicken. My mom used this recipe when she was young to convince my dad that she really was the one, and they’ve been happily together ever since. If she could do that, maybe I can use it to convince my future husband not to kill a specific person.
After a while, when the savory smell of the food in the oven permeates the entire house, Travis peeks his head out of the office.
“It’s Thursday. I have chicken and broccoli on Thursdays, so you’re not going to convince me otherwise,” he warns, flashing me a half-hearted smile.
“Wait, it’s your chicken day?” I stand up and feign an apologetic look. “I think I used the last of the chicken. I’m so sorry.”
Travis looks frustrated, but he doesn’t let it get to him too much. “What is this, then?”
“It’s Marry Me Chicken. It’s actually my mom’s recipe. I would love to share it with you,” I say, smiling nervously at him. I walk over to him and place both my hands on his shoulders as I stand on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. It’s so obvious I’m lying—about wanting to share it with him right this moment. Subtlety has never been my strong suit.
“What the hell is that?” he asks. His tone is clipped, and he forces a smile. He’s trying to adjust, and I am thankful for that, and I feel kind of bad for ruining his schedule. But I need to distract him.
“All you need to know is that it’s delicious and ready in ten. Would you grab us some wine? A white will probably be best.”
