Page 9 of Dying Flame

TEN

EMILY

The hike was going relatively well until Devin decided to pass out. I heard him hit the ground in a hurry, and I slowly made my way towards him to make sure he didn’t hit his head or do anything serious to himself. I didn’t expect the drugs to hit him so hard; I only gave him a light dose after all the research I did. It was just a test to see how he would react, or if he would even realize I gave him something.

He didn’t.

I stand over him and contemplate rolling him over to the edge next to us. He made it about ¾ of the way up the trail. There is an overlook point at the end that I had in mind to push him off of, if he made it that far. I take a peek over the cliff and think to myself: Would he die from a fall at this height? Most likely, but knowing my shit luck, he would live, and I would go to prison for attempted murder.

How ironic. He’s the fucking serial killer, and I would go to prison for trying to rid the world of him. I sigh and turn him over on his back; he’s still breathing, but his breaths are short and shallow. The drugs are doing their job. I found something that would relax and paralyze his muscles just enough so that I could hurt him in a inconspicuous manner.

I give him a good kick in the ribs, and he grunts. If he’s responsive, that’s a good sign, right? After Devin passed out last night, I walked around to check the vibes of the people here. Last night the campground was rowdy, with lots of drinking, partying, and extracurricular activities going on. Lots of couples minding their own businesses, and a bit of a younger crowd here to have fun. No one was paying too much attention to anyone outside of their own group.

Good.

I don’t need anyone noticing anything out of the ordinary and becoming curious. Even if they did question anything, Devin has been drinking like a fiend, and I can push it off as him just being drunk. When I came back to the cabin, he was talking in his sleep a bit. Saying a woman’s name I didn’t recognize.

Could she have been one of his victims? Does he even think about them after he’s killed them and disposed of their bodies? Probably not, but what do I know? I’m not a fucking serial killer. Hell, I don’t even know if I can actually go through with getting rid of this fucker.

Every idea that comes to my head I dismiss. I have the feeling this week will come and go and nothing will change. Devin’s eyes flutter slightly, and I sigh—I should have given him more of the paralytic. I read online that if I give him too much, it’ll slowly stop his breathing, and I don’t want him to go that easy.

I want him to feel every bit of pain he deserves, to feel the fear his victims have felt, to see death as it stares him in the face, and to know there is no one coming to save him. A man like him doesn’t deserve to die in his sleep peacefully. If I ever do anything right in this world, it will be getting rid of him so he doesn’t hurt another soul again.

I take a water bottle out of my bag, kneel next to him, and pour a little water on Devin’s face, over his eyes, nose, and mouth. He coughs weakly, his eyes struggle to open, and he almost chokes on the bit of water that went into his mouth. I wait a few minutes and pour more water on his face. His eyes shoot open, and he coughs violently while turning his head to the side, spitting out the water that went in his mouth.

“What—what the fuck happened?” His voice is gruff, and he doesn’t get up off the ground.

“You fell. I was trying to wake you up. Can you make it back to the cabin?” There is no concern in my voice. Even if he can’t walk back with me, I’ll just go back on my own and leave him here.

Fuck him.

“Yeah, I—I think so.” His eyes are bloodshot and his face is flush, but he manages to stand up on wobbly knees. I can tell he is disoriented, but I make no move to help him down the trail. I stay behind him as he zigzags his way back down, and I’m actually impressed he’s been able to make it down without falling again.

By the time we get back to the cabin, he looks as if he’s going to pass out again, so I’m glad he goes straight to the bedroom to lie down in bed.

I think I’ll slip some more of the paralytic in his drink when he wakes up again. He won’t feel like himself for the rest of the trip if I can help it.

ELEVEN

DEVIN

Ihad so many dreams and nightmares after I passed out, but I can’t remember any of them except for one.

My first kill: Kayla.

I’ll always remember that night vividly. I learned so much from that experience—what to do, what not to do, and what I needed to change for future ones. What excited me the most was how natural everything came to me that night. There was no hesitation or fear, only instinct.

The only thing I wish I did was leave a mark, a calling card of sorts, on her. I’ve done it for every other kill. I make a cut across the inner thigh, severing the femoral artery. Since I usually strangle my victims, the blood pours out in a soothing way for me. As I watch them bleed out, it calms me, brings me down from my high, and brings me back down to reality.

Afterward, I can focus, clean up the mess, and take care of the body. Of course, there have been times when plans haven’t gone my way, and I’ve had to improvise. Those times do not fulfill my needs, and I have to go out and do it again sooner than usual.

I lie in bed and slowly let myself wake up. The foggy and hazy feeling I had yesterday is still there. It must be the alcohol, but I don’t remember having any after I got back to the cabin after our hike.

It’s still dark outside, and Emily is not in bed with me again. What time is it? I need to get up and find my phone. Did I sleep through the day?

As I sit upright, a throbbing headache takes hold, and I wince as I put my hand on my head. I have a bump on my left temple, probably from falling on my face on the trail, and the crook of my arm is sore and itchy. Must be a mosquito bite.

The door to the bedroom is open, and the cabin is eerily still. It’s pitch dark in the entire cabin, and it makes me uneasy.