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Once I pay the bill, I head back to the booth with his card in hand and drop it to the table. “I paid your tab.”
His eyes slowly lift and meet mine. “Oh?” He takes his card and flips it back and forth. “Good thing I wasn’t lying about my name. Bartenders just give people’s cards to strangers? It’s a good thing you’re not a thief.”
Worse.
“This is a small town. Safe. People trust everyone here.”
“They probably shouldn’t,” he says with a glint in his eye.
“No, they probably shouldn’t.” His eyes flicker past me, probably to his next victim. “I’m going to take a piss then I’m gonna head home.”
“Already?”
“Yeah.” I don’t elaborate on why. It’s not like we’re friends. I just walk away.
I deliberately take my time, hoping he thinks I’ve left, and when I emerge back into the darkened room, I’m glad I did. He’s got two people sitting in the booth with him. One I can see clearly. She’s his typical victim—blonde, young, average. The other person is hidden behind the back of the booth, but I see Kas and the blonde look across the table and smile. A dainty hand reaches for a glass, and it’s the only reason I know it’s not a guy.
I linger near the hall to the bathrooms, watching him while he works. He’s a different person than he was a few minutes ago. He’s loose and at ease. He laughs, tilting his head back like whatever was just said was the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He covers his face with his tattooed hand as if he’s hiding a blush.
God, he’s good.
The blonde is smitten already. She looks at him like he’s a god. Like she can’t wait for him to make her worship him.
I wonder briefly what might happen to this woman. Will she end up disappearing without a trace, too? Should I lurk in the shadows and wait for them to leave? Maybe he’s just hoping for a hookup. After watching for another minute, I decide to let whatever’s going to happen, happen.
The only way I’ll be able to find out more is by letting him believe we’re friends.
ChapterFive
It’s early October, so the grass isn’t growing as quickly. The company I work for—Escape into Nature—has us doing some edging, winter lawn prep, and gearing up for what’s always a busy season. Snow removal and plowing is probably the most important job around here between November and March.
As I finish my workday, ready to head home and take a shower, I can’t help but wonder what sort of a job Kaspian has. He’s really good at wearing the skin of someone normal, maybe better than me. I fucking hate to admit that, but I’m curious if he works with people or stays away from them. I’m guessing the former.
You may question why I care, and I couldn’t tell you. Like I said before, he’s intriguing. I’ve never likedopen bookpeople. They tell you everything you need to know about them in your first twenty-minute conversation. Kaspian’s good at pivoting away from questions. When he answers them, I don’t believe most of what he says. You’d think that would be annoying, but not to me. All that means is that he’s got something to hide, and it makes me want to dig deeper and find it out.
I’ve always wondered why I am the way that I am. The way media calls it is that you grew up in a fucked up family and dealt with abuse. Maybe your father beat your mom. Maybe your mom beat you. Perhaps they were druggies and alcoholics who brought home whores and pimps and fucked them in front of you. And perhaps you watched them die.
But what if you grew up in a fairly wealthy neighborhood? What if you were never hit, never starved, and never neglected? What if you had absolutely everything going for you and yet you still had these urges? Dark and demanding.
I can’t diagnose myself. I can’t really pin it on one particular thing. Is it a mental illness? Was I born with something missing? I’ve read that genetics can play a part, and a person’s environment can possibly trigger that thing in your brain that turns you into a monster.
I want to study Kaspian. I want to know about his past, his life, and why he does the things he does. I know I don’t have proof, but I feel it deep inside my fucking bones. I know he’s killing these women, and maybe, just maybe, I can get that high from the mere knowledge of his crimes. Maybe he’ll fill me in on the details or maybe I’ll be able to watch and it’ll keep me from doing what I’ve been dying to do for two years.
* * *
Once I’m home,showered, and changed, I nuke some baked ziti in the microwave. As I wait for it to be done, I lean against the kitchen counter and reach for my phone on the other side of the sink. It slips from my fingers and careens into a water and soap-filled casserole dish that was soaking in the sink. I’m quick to retrieve it, snatching a gray towel from the handle of the oven to dry it off. I immediately test it out to see if it works, happy to see that it unlocks and comes on with no issues. I tap the internet icon and breathe a sigh of relief when the page comes up.
The microwave dings, so I remove my food, grab a fork, and take it to the living room before going back to the kitchen for a bottle of Coke and my phone. When I sit down and click on a video to watch, the sound is muffled.
“Fuck.”
I try a couple different videos and they all sound the same. The speakers are messed up. As I continue to play with it, it shuts off on its own.
With a sigh, I throw it to the cushion next to me and plan to visit my cell phone provider with the hope that it’s a quick and easy fix.
Luckily, in a town this size, nothing is ever too far away. I’ve chosen to live on the outer edge of town, away from the business district, far from people. So it’s a little out of the way, but it still doesn’t take long to get there.
When I step into the brightly lit room, besides the dozens of phones taking up space, there’s also a dozen fucking people in here. I think it might be time for this town to open up another store, but what do I know?
