Work Text:
Fanfiction_The Quarry
Fictober 2025_Prompt 3: “I don’t need a reason.”
Summary: Takes place after the ending “Laura Captured.”
Author’s note: I hate this ending. I absolutely hate this ending. Is Travis still sane when he locks Laura up? What does he plan to do? Here’s one option.
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In hindsight she should’ve let him shoot her. When she was locked up in the North Kill jail she kept telling Max if they were alive there was still hope, but Laura was beginning to question that belief. It was only after Travis had walked away from her basement cage chuckling she realized just how much danger she was in.
She thought perhaps they’d bonded through enough carnage he would actually treat her like an ally, but no. Here they were repeating the same ol’ captive/ captor dynamic, but this time things were different.
Gone were the three meals a day routine; now Travis only came down once a day with food and water.
In the jail he’d allowed them a shower once a week, maybe twice if she was on her monthly; he’d not allowed her a proper shower once, instead handing her a jug of water, a rag, and a towel advising she “do the best with what she had.” She’d been picking dried blood out from under her nails for days.
He had given her a tragic looking dress that undoubtedly belonged to his mother, and a moth-eaten quilt to shield her from the cool damp of the basement. Other than that she’d been alone with her thoughts and roller coaster emotions. They were not good company.
On the seventh day Travis finally came down, arms full of supplies, and began prepping the cage next to her own. From the looks of things he planned for her or someone else to stay awhile: a sleeping bag, camping cot, lantern, several bundles of cloth, a large pair of slippers, and several other items she heard jostling in a large Rubbermaid container.
She raced to the electrified bars maintaining enough space to be careful not to touch them. “Travis. Travis! Travis, what’s happening? What’s going on?” He ignored her, humming as he worked on putting the cot together. “Travis, I don’t understand. Why are you keeping me here? Where are all the others? Where’s Max? TRAVIS!”
He refused to acknowledge her, and it enraged her. The audacity it took for him to hold her prisoner not once, but twice now was astounding. Who did he think he was? She’d figured that out a long time ago; a pitiful small town cop with a mama complex and a tragic backstory. Boohoo. She would make him talk, dammit. He would talk to her if it killed her.
Laura growled, and she swore she heard him chuckle. “You worthless piece of,” she began, letting a string of profanities fly from her mouth in rapid procession. She paused for his reaction, and was shocked when he started to chuckle which quickly grew to loud, raucous laughter. He turned, still laughing, and she couldn’t help but take a step back. He looked...wrong.
“You done?” He asked. The grin on his face made her shiver. “Get this straight, little girl: you are not in charge here. I am.” He thrust a finger at his chest, and the his grin looked downright maniacal. “And if I were you I would be a lot nicer to the one person who controls whether you live or die.”
Laura felt ill. “Where’s Max?” She whispered.
Travis shrugged. “Probably at the bottom of lake by now if the rocks did their job.” He smirked. “Your little boy toy and all those other kid counselors? Dead. Every last one.”
She swallowed hard before asking, “And your family?”
His eyes hardened. “Guess,” he hissed.
Laura eyes flickered back and forth as she tried to work out an impossible equation. “But then...then why keep me alive?”
“I don’t need a reason.” He looked at her with the same disdain he had once before when he told her she didn’t have anything to bargain with; he’d been right then, and he she knew he was right now.
Laura took a staggering step back. “But….” She couldn’t continue; tears were blurring her vision, and as much as she hated the idea of crying in front of him she couldn’t stop them. Was it possible to lose all your hope in an instant?
Travis approached the bars, cocking his head to the side, and smirked. “Maybe I will kill you. Maybe I won’t.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll use you as live bait for the next full moon. Maybe I’ll keep you down here for shits and giggles. Maybe I’ll wait until your parents inevitably come looking for you, and then kill them in front of you.” He paused. “Or maybe you in front of them. Which do you think would be more devastating?”
She took a ragged breath. “Travis, you’re not well. This isn’t you. It isn’t -,” he cut her off with such ferocity she winced as if he’d hit her.
“YOU DON’T KNOW ME! NONE OF YOU DID!” He glowered down at her, and she knew whatever humanity he’d been holding onto, whatever strength he’d had to hold onto that metaphorical rope was gone. He’d fallen in; he was at the bottom of the well like his family before him, and it was just the two of them now.
“Travis, please,” she whimpered, and she hated herself for it. “Please, just let me go home. I just want to go home.”
He grinned, and held his arms out to indicate the walls around them. “This is your home now, darlin’.” He looked positively gleeful. “You’re here for the long run, and I have all the time in the world to think about what I’m going to do with you. How much do you have, Miss Kearny?”