Page 12 of Peripheral Vision (Tethered in Darkness Duet #1)

Chapter

Seven

DYLAN

T he next morning, I wake up with a splitting headache.

I can’t remember the last time I drank so much.

Clara and Grant poke fun at being old timers, but man their bedtime is still much later than my own.

I rub my eyes, searching for my phone when I hear a clunk as it falls off of the bed.

I roll over to my back, groaning at the sunshine coming in through the window that I didn’t close the curtains on last night.

Alaska, always the opportunist, jumps up on the bed with a little clink of her food bowl in her mouth, her big brown eyes locking onto mine with a look of sheer determination.

She doesn’t even bother with a bark—no, this is far more effective.

She just stares at me, bowl dangling, waiting. Expectantly.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I mumble, still blinking away the sleep.

“It’s too early for this.” I actually have no clue what time it is and reach for my phone where it’s fallen below my nightstand.

But Alaska doesn’t care. She tilts her head, the bowl clinking again.

She’s a dog on a mission, and I’m her target.

Checking the time, I note it’s 9:34 am. I groan, slowly pushing myself up into a sitting position.

My head feels like it’s going to explode, but Alaska’s unwavering gaze is enough to make me move.

“Fine, fine. I’ll feed you,” I say, defeated, even though it’s two hours past her normal feeding time.

Alaska’s ears perk up, and she practically launches herself off the bed, hitting the floor like a cannonball, ready to lead me to the kitchen.

I drag myself out of bed and shuffle toward the kitchen, each step sending waves of nausea through my stomach. Alaska trots ahead, tail wagging, her excitement palpable. I open the cupboard to grab her kibble, only to find it’s nearly empty.

“Of course,” I mutter, reaching for the last of the food and pouring it into her bowl.

She’s already pacing in circles, practically vibrating with anticipation.

I set the bowl down and watch as she devours the food like it’s the best meal she’s ever had.

She looks up at me between bites, eyes wide and filled with that innocent feed me more look that dogs somehow master from day one.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine will work its usual magic.

I take a sip, but it feels like acid in my stomach.

A mistake. I wince and put the mug down, wondering how I ever thought drinking wine was a good idea in the first place.

While last night wasn't a blur, I’m still not proud of my current state and I can only hope that I didn’t leave a sour impression on Clara and Grant, even recalling how much I actually laughed.

Alaska, now finished with her food, is back by my side, sitting in that expectant way of hers, waiting for the next move.

She’s got a sixth sense for when I’m down, and I can already tell she’s about to give me a what’s next?

stare. I scratch behind her ears, trying to get my thoughts together.

I finish my coffee in silence, leaning back against the counter.

The headache is still there, but at least the sharp edges are starting to dull as my stomach fights to keep the black sludge down.

Alaska starts pacing again, trotting over to the door and giving me a quick glance over her shoulder as if she’s suggesting something.

“Want to go outside?” I ask. I stand up slowly, my body aching in protest, and reach for my shoes.

Alaska starts bouncing around, the anticipation almost more than she can handle.

Even though this is a new neighborhood, I’ve trained her well enough that I’m confident she won’t run off, even without a fence to keep her in.

But I follow her anyway, stepping into the cool morning air.

The breeze causes me to shiver, leading me to fold in on myself to get warm.

Looking down, I realize that while I was able to get myself changed into pajamas last night, that they aren’t at all appropriate for the current temperature.

Alaska barks at me as she darts to the edge of the woods and back a couple of times before settling at my feet.

“Look at you, all energetic and ready to take on the world,” I say, trying to keep up with her.

“You must think I’m a mess.” She glances up at me as if to say, you are a mess.

But it’s okay, you’re my mess. I chuckle at my internal dialogue.

We stay here for a little while, and slowly, the pounding in my head starts to recede.

Alaska is happy as can be and I start to feel a little more human again.

I turn around and whistle for Alaska to follow me, and as I step back inside the house, the worst of the headache is behind me.

Alaska, as usual, is already thinking about her next meal, sitting by her bowl and staring up at me like I’ve failed her in some way by not providing a second breakfast, and I suddenly remember the anonymous package I had set on the couch last night.

Leaving Alaska where she is sitting, I step into the still half unpacked living room and see the package where I left it.

Alaska watches me, her ears perked with equal curiosity, but when she realizes it’s not food, she loses interest. Carefully, I peel back the paper, revealing a plain cardboard box.

Inside, nestled in shredded paper, is another little box.

When I open it, I freeze—staring back at me is a military patch.

It’s initially unfamiliar, but then a cold wave washes over me as I make the connection. I’ve seen this patch before…

My stomach churns.

I reach for the note that’s underneath it, my hands shaking. The ink is slightly smudged, but the words are loud and clear, even as the ringing starts in my ears.

I see everything, little viper. Even when you can’t see me.

I know now, this is no longer a coincidence. The feeling that’s been haunting me, the dread that has followed me in my quiet moments—it’s real. They’re real.

The final line makes my blood run cold:

You’ll see me soon, whether you want to or not.

The coffee I have fought so hard to keep down suddenly threatens to make an appearance and I have to rush to the restroom, barely lifting the toilet lid before spewing a nasty combination I don’t want to think about into the bowl.

I don’t know how long I kneel there, my body convulsing with each violent wave.

The mix of coffee and wine is unforgiving, churning in my stomach like acid and clawing its way back up.

My hands grip the cold porcelain, desperately trying to hold myself steady, but the nausea seems endless.

Every time I think it’s over, another wave hits, forcing me to retch again until there is nothing left and I’m only dry heaving.

Finally, when I think I’ve emptied every last bit of my stomach, I slump against the wall, gasping for air.

My head spins, my headache rising with vicious revenge, and it’s only then I realize I’m still clenching the note.

The patch and box forgotten on the floor somewhere.

I smooth out the edges that my hands have damaged, my fingers trembling, rereading it until my eyes cross.

The words stick in my mind like a sickening chant.

My stomach churns again, but there’s nothing left to expel. Why? Why is he doing this?

The question echoes in my mind, a scream that won’t escape my throat.

What does he want from me? What does he think he’s going to achieve by this…

this obsession? My hand shakes as I fold the note back up, but I can’t seem to let go.

I can’t seem to stop reading it, even though I know it’s only pulling me deeper into his twisted world.

A part of me wants to run away from him as fast as I can, and another part…

a darker part… I stand, my legs unstea dy beneath me, the cold tile floor beneath my feet a sharp contrast to the heat surging through my body.

The headache pounds like a drum in my skull, each throb pulling me closer to a breaking point I don’t know if I can handle.

I step back toward the box and the patch, my mind in a fog of confusion and fear. He’s out there. Watching. Waiting. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I freeze. What if he’s closer than I think?