Darts

Chapter I

Wren's P.O.V

Two months earlier

"This is a stupid idea."

"But mom I-" I protest, to which she ignores.

"You are a straight A college student. You have to make a smart choice here. This is only your second year, I don't want you in an apartment, okay? It's not safe."

I cross my arms, mirroring my mother, and roll my eyes. It's a good thing she didn't notice or I'd be grounded. Seriously. I attempt to bottle my anger and frustration before it spews out into a volcano of doom.

"Mom, I'm ninteen. I'm an adult, which means I can make decisions on my own. I'm growing, and if you hold me back, I'm never going to spread my wings and fly. Instead I'll fall. Spiraling towards the ground - and splatt!"

Mom manages a ghost of a smile. "You always loved your birds. And even your name is a type of one. I suppose that's why you chose to be an Ornithologist instead of doctor or a lawyer or a...teacher."

"Yeah, I suppose I did always love birds."

In the end, I had won the argument. I had turned the tables using the five senses. Smell and taste were the fresh batch of cookies I had made, hear was the persuasive word choices that I presented to convince her, and touch was me holding her hand and rubbing her shoulders soothingly.

She was disarmed and finally relented. I was getting my own apartment room. I was soaring. But I was falling way before I could stop myself.

Two months later/the day I fell

I grip the strap of my backpack tightly. The colors have faded over wear and tear and the material is course. But it serves its purpose well. The books weigh it down, so I'm glad when I reach the apartment complex. My classes are done for the day, so I plan on working on some assignments.

I climb up the staircase to level three, sliding my hand along the cool metal railing. When I reach my room I don't even realize that using my keys isn't necessary. The door is already open.

My skin crawls and I freeze. Should I go in? What if someone is in there? Should I call the police? Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh.

I grab my phone but my shaky hands let it slip and clatter on the ground. Trembling, I stoop down to pick it up. A notification dings and I look at it. A blocked number has texted me.

I choke on my lunch that begins rising in my throat. My ears strain as I listen for noises of an intruder. My heart is like a congo. Loud and very audible. I'm sure anyone - if someone is in there at all - can hear it.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Like a hammer. Like a drum. Like anything that can gain unwanted attention. The attention of a murderer. Stop it Wren, there's no reason for a murderer to be in your apartment. Right? I clutch the bird necklace I was given in celebration of my first semester at college for Ornithology.

I force myself to open my messages, too shocked to think to call 911 while I still have the chance.

Unknown: Look at your desk.
Seen.

Who are you?
Seen.

Unknown: Look.
Delivered. Seen.

My heart speeds up - if its even possible - to match a boom boom boom rythm. I take a deep breath and shudder. Then I make the stupid decision to venture in and do what the unknown person wants.

This is how they die in horror movies. This is it. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. Die. Die. Die. It's like a chant running through my brain. Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity. Killed. The. Freaking. Cat.