A Deadly Winter Retreat

|6|

THE SOUND OF car brakes coming to a halting screech garnered my attention. I run to the expansive window that overlooks the guest parking lot. Pulling back the long gray curtains, I glanced out at the world outside.

Troy's shiny black SUV caught my eye as it quickly swerved into the guest parking lot. I watched as he drove around, searching for the nearest parking spot. He locates one and quickly maneuvers his SUV into it. Hurriedly, he steps outside of his vehicle and slams the door shut. I continued watching as he sped-walked toward my apartment building. The black leather jacket that fit snuggly around him accentuated his muscular shoulders.

As I continued to watch him, I couldn't help but notice the look of distress drawn over his face.

What if I'm making a big deal out of nothing?

What if it's just some random teenager or college student playing games because they're bored?

I released my grip on the curtains and dashed into the living room. Swiftly slipping on my shoes and grabbing my keys from the hook, I ran out into the hallway of my apartment building.

My shoes echoed against the hardwood floors as I made my way down three flights of stairs, meeting Troy halfway.

"Troy!" I called out as soon as I saw him.

Our eyes locked in the lobby. His deep chestnut-brown eyes held a torrent of emotions—worry and fear swirled within them like storms battling to break free. Raindrops trickled down the collar of his black leather jacket, forming glistening droplets that fell onto the gray doormat beneath his feet.

"What's happening, babe?" Troy asked, taking a step back and firmly grasping my arms. "I was so worried."

My hands trembling, I nervously handed him the letter and bit my lip. His eyes followed the words on the page, and his expression shifted from curiosity to deep concern. He shook his head, clearly affected by its contents.

"Trish, I got one of these letters too," he admitted with a sigh."I know. I saw it when I cleaned off your briefcase the other day," I confessed, "It slipped out of the front pocket."

"Why didn't you tell me you saw it?" Troy's eyes widened, and his gaze locked onto mine.

I shrugged and stared at the ground beneath me, "I don't know. I didn't know what to think," I responded, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

"What the hell, Trish? Do you think I had something to do with writing these letters?" Troy's face contorted with disgust, hurt evident in his eyes.

"No! No, of course not!" I hurriedly reassured him.

Troy's shoulders relaxed slightly, but a troubled frown remained etched on his face.

"I'm sorry, Troy. I didn't know what to think." I reached out and grabbed his hand, soothingly caressing it. His palm was smooth with a few rough patches, probably from working on his classic Mustang, which he used to do almost every weekend, but had stepped back from project recently.

"I didn't want to scare you, so I kept it to myself. I thought it was a prank." He shrugged his shoulders, "I think it's time for us to report these letters to the police." His eyebrows raised, and his voice laced with concern.

"I thought it was a prank too, Troy!" I started, "You know how the college kids are around here." I rolled my eyes.

For some reason, I hesitated about going to the police right away. The letters were troubling, but I felt we lacked concrete evidence to present to the authorities. Maybe it was just my gut feeling, but I wanted to explore other avenues first. Hiring a private investigator seemed like a sensible first step, especially if the source of these letters turned out to be nothing more than a prank from a college kid, and we could nip it in the bud.