A Deadly Winter Retreat

|6|

THE SOUND OF car brakes coming to a halting screech captured my attention. I ran to the expansive window overlooking the guest parking lot and pulled back the long gray curtains. I glanced out at the world. Noticing the sky was a dark hue, my eyes landed on TroFy's shiny black SUV, which caught my eye as it quickly swerved into the guest parking lot.

He drove around, searching for the nearest parking spot.  He located one and quickly maneuvered his SUV into it.  Hurriedly, he stepped outside of his vehicle and slammed the door shut. His feet gained speed as he sped-walked toward my apartment building. The black leather jacket that fit snuggly around him accentuated his muscular shoulders.

As I continued watching him, I couldn't help but notice the evident distress etched across 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, I grabbed my house keys from off the hook and ran out into the hallway of my apartment building to meet Troy.

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 my eyes landed on him.

Our eyes locked as he stood in the lobby. His deep chestnut-brown eyes held a torrent of emotions. Worry and fear swirled within their depths like tempestuous 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 took a step back, his hands firmly grasping my arms as he gazed into my eyes. "I was so worried."

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