Devious Things (The In-Between Trilogy Book One)

1.

        Wind whips through the trees, biting at my skin as I tighten the buttons on the thick leather jacket I managed to pick up from the thrift store last week. I force my sluggish feet to move forward through the snow, each step more exhausting than the last.

      More than six inches has fallen in the last two hours, the slush now soaking into the bottom of my jeans so that it can melt against my always warm skin.

     A twig snaps behind me and I whirl around, my hands up and ready to strike. I scan the empty streets, my eyes squinting as I attempt to see through the thick flurries as they fall.

     The feeling that I am being watched has double since yesterday, ever since I found the small noted tucked under the mat by my front door.

      'You need to leave.' it had warned.

     It was vague as hell but it was enough to deter me from heading into town and send me running to the airport instead.

     Maybe I actually am being followed or maybe this is just the general paranoia that comes with walking the streets of Salt Lake City at night alone. The crime rate here might be on the average to low side but, from the things I have experienced in my life, statistics don't always ring true.

      Another gust of wind tears at me and I cram my hands into my pockets, trying hard to dwell on the fact that there are places in the U.S. that aren't experiencing sub-zero temperatures right now; places where it is warm year-round and there are people sitting around a pool drinking brightly colored cocktails.

     Why the hell did I pick Utah as my hiding place?

      'Because they know how much you love warm weather. Because you never thought they'd come looking for you here,' I remind myself. 'Looks like you were wrong, doesn't it?'

     Warmth floods into the hall as I open the door to the one bedroom apartment I have been calling home and step inside, taking a moment to look over my belongings. Everything looks exactly the way I left it, but that doe nothing to ease the sinking feeling that has begun to set in.

     My stomach growls as I slip out of my drenched jeans and into a fresh pair of sweatpants, kicking the filthy pair into the ever-growing pile of laundry I will never get to.

      I check my watch and sigh, it is almost midnight and that means that there are still five hours left to kill before my flight leaves out.

     Despite my persistent tone and the frequent calls to the airport, there had been no last minute cancellations that I could scoop up. I had even gone as far as to let them know that price was not an issue, which would have guaranteed me a seat in the past, but today, in the midst of this blizzard, got me absolutely nowhere.

     There is not one train, plane or bus leaving this wretched town until morning.

     My fridge is practically bare and I pull out the three-day-old carton of Chinese takeout, praying that nothing has begun to grow on it. Most days I would have just sucked it up and made the trek down to the twenty-four-hour store down the street but that is probably not the best option for me today; not where there are people lurking the streets, leaving ominous notes under my doormat.

     It has been a day and a half since I remembered to eat more than a few handfuls of stale potato chips and, while this might not seem like much because most people can go at least three days without eating before it becomes too much, it is far too long for someone like me. Thanks to what I have become, my body requires some form of nourishment every three to five hours before it begins threatening to shut down and one hell of a migraine kicks in.