Page 16 of Peripheral Vision (Tethered in Darkness Duet #1)

He picks up a glass, buffing it. “Don’t make me regret it, love. You’ve got a good vibe: interesting, shy, honest. This place could use that. Besides, I want to get the chance to know what your favorite drink is since you wouldn’t order one now.”

I nod, slowly easing myself off of the stool and away from the bar, application in hand. “Thank you…” I pause, realizing we hadn’t exchanged names.

“Callum.”

I reach my hand out to shake his. “Dylan.”

I wasn’t expecting to get an application at the first place that I stopped, but things may finally be starting to look up a little bit.

I haven’t received any further creepy correspondence, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t been taking precautions.

I went to the store the day after I opened the package when I felt well enough and purchased a new security system.

I had to call someone to come and install it for me, which wasn’t money I had allotted to spending so soon, but I decided it was worth the benefit, even if safety is an illusion.

I check my phone, noting the time. I still have enough daylight to scout out my buildings.

I’ll have to run home to take care of Alaska before I can come back to the bar with my application for my impromptu interview.

Which, now that I think about it, I don’t think Callum and his boss make a habit of.

It was something in the way he looked at me, the way he spoke about my body bringing free booze and unwanted attention.

Or have I really been so out of touch with people my own age that I just can’t pick up on social cues anymore?

I make it back to my truck much quicker than the opposite trip took, and place the application on the seat before pulling out my transcript once more.

I’m standing inside the open driver's side, leaning over the seat as I make note of the building names before realizing that a campus map would probably help. Seeing as I don’t have one, I open up my phone and see if I can locate it electronically.

As I’m pulling up the campus website, I feel goosebumps rise on my arms and a shiver run down my back as if I have daggers being stared into it.

I whip around, expecting to see somebody right behind me but I’m only met with the bustling parking lot.

My eyes scan across the vehicles that are parked, the groups that are congregated, but I find nothing and no one out of place.

No leering eyes, nobody hiding below a hat or a mask or behind a barrier, and yet?—

Loud laughter startles me, and I drop my phone to the concrete. “Shit,” I mumble, clutching my hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

Attempting to locate my phone without door dinging the vehicle next to me, I shut my door and bend down, reaching for it where it landed by my back tire.

However, as I grab it, I notice a pair of boots at the passenger door of my truck, pointing towards me.

Freezing, I feel my goosebumps rise again as my eyes lock on those boots, polished except for a scuff on the left toe.

I feel like I’m barely breathing, waiting for one of us to make the next move.

The pressure in the air around me is tense, carrying the sharp tang of gasoline mixed with the metallic scent of the truck’s undercarriage and something else.

The breeze picks up and carries with it the aroma of leather, maybe, with the acrid bite of campfire ember and pine.

I recognize the scent from somewhere, but before my brain can pinpoint where, the boots turn and vanish.

Quickly snatching my phone, I shoot up from where I’m kneeling, subsequently hitting the back of my head on the undercarriage.

“Mother—” I hiss through clenched teeth, grasping at the back of my skull that is now throbbing with the feeling that my brain was just rattled in a jar.

A few people give me sideways glances before continuing about their day, and by the time I get my bearings about me once more, the stranger is gone.

A frustrated squeal works its way up my throat, but I suppress it quickly when I notice a flicker of paper on my windshield.

Heart pounding, I rush to the passenger side and yank it from under the wiper, the anticipation burning hotter than my throbbing skull.

Nowhere.

At first, my heart clenches in fear, but I notice more writing on the back side and when I flip it over, I find that a to-do list is scrawled on the other side.

- Grocery run

- Study group at six p.m.

- Practice presentation

I tug at the corners of the paper, feeling its weight in my hands, as if it’s somehow heavier than it should be.

“Nowhere.” Is it a cryptic message? Simply a coincidence?

Am I reading into it more than I should be?

What is the likelihood that it slipped from a lost soul’s notepad in the middle of what could be a mental breakdown?

The list itself is so normal, but it gnaws at me.

Maybe it’s because “Nowhere” was the first word I saw.

Maybe it’s because it’s such a strange thing to write on its own.

Looking closer, the uneasy feeling settles further into my gut as I notice the differences between the handwriting—the list is sloppy, as if written in a hurry.

“Nowhere,” however, is written neatly, measured, and intentionally.

If I were a student in the middle of an existential crisis, I would have written less purposefully.

I stuff the paper in my pocket, shaking it off, convincing myself that I’m looking too much into it.

I unlock my phone once more to pull up the campus map, continuing my goal of searching out where my classes will be held.

Then, I check my surroundings before I’m off again.

Fortunately, it only takes me less than thirty minutes to find them because they’re all located in the same location.

Content with just seeing them in person, I make the decision to go home and take care of Alaska and change prior to coming back to the bar tonight for my interview.

I wish I would’ve asked what I should wear.

Even though it is an informal interview, it’s still an interview all the same, but I also don’t want to put them off by going too lax either.

I pace back and forth in front of my closet, pulling things out here and there before settling on a maroon leather skirt that falls mid-thigh and zips up the front.

I pair that with a black long sleeve mesh contrast top that shows my shoulders and arms, and black Doc Martens.

I throw on a black belt with a gold clasp, some gold hoops in my ears, and a simple gold necklace before styling my hair and brushing on some makeup.

Once I’m done, I assess my appearance in the mirror, wondering if maybe I put in too much effort.

I don’t want to put them off by being too casual, but I wonder if I’m doing this for more than that.

I can’t deny that Callum is attractive, and he clearly thinks I am too, but should I be aiming to impress him with more than my mind?

It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with anyone, since I’ve even gone on a date or entertained giving out my number.

But I did come here for a fresh start. Getting involved with a potential co-worker, though?

I don’t know why I’m even going there—I’m making assumptions without an ounce of anything to back them.

One thing at a time. Smoothing out my attire and giving myself a once over in the mirror, I note the time reads seven p.m. Callum hadn’t given me an exact time to show up, just telling me to return tonight.

Seven seems reasonable enough to be getting fairly busy on a Friday.

I grab my purse and the application with my resume, saying goodbye to Alaska with a scratch behind her ears, and return to Sins and Sons.