Branded Read Online Free Page B

during the day as there was no yard work to be done and the garden had retired for the cold season. The rest of the house remained immaculately cleaned and would stay so considering I was the only one here. At least the days were slowly getting longer. One other major disadvantage Washington had is that in winter it starts to get dark at four-thirty. When one is trying to avoid sleep darkness is the enemy.

CHAPTER THREE
    I looked at the clock that hung above the kitchen sink as I wiped my hands dry on a towel. Two thirty-six. I felt pretty good despite the late, or rather early hour. The fact that all the dishes were now sparkling clean might have had something to do with that. I hated doing the dishes.
    As usual, I had on every light I possibly could in the apartment. As I said, darkness is the enemy. The temperature was also turned down as low as I could stand it and still wear my usual tank top and cotton shorts. Wearing anything else this time of night was just too uncomfortable.
    I grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge. I hated to admit it but I was addicted to caffeine. In a way I had to be, how else was I supposed to go such long stretches without sleep? I may not have needed as much as everyone else but I didn’t exactly have superpowers. I popped the top open and took a long draw. Bubbles swirled around my mouth for a short moment before they slid down my throat and fizzed in my stomach. I tried not to think about what all the carbonation might be doing to the lining of my stomach and my liver. It took me all of twenty seconds to down the can before I crumpled it and tossed it into the recycle bin under the sink.
    I made my way to my bedroom, grabbed my guitar and flopped onto my bed, my back leaned against the wood headboard. I stared blankly at the light yellow wall ahead of me as my fingers wandered on their own over the strings.
    An irritating prickling began on the back of my neck and I could somehow feel every detail of my scar. This happened almost every night. It was as if the demented angels were calling to me in my consciousness, whispering to me to come to them. They would not even leave me alone in my waking hours. It wasn’t enough for them to torture me while I slept.
    I stopped my strumming instantly when a small sound disturbed the otherwise silent house. The sound of a door creaking open. I knew beyond a doubt all the doors were securely closed and locked. Nothing should be getting blown open.
    My heart started pounding as I realized what must be happening. Someone had broken in, picked the lock. My ears started ringing in a weird way as I dashed to the door that led into the rest of the house. I crept silently to the bucket in a corner that held a large stash of sporting gear and grabbed a metal baseball bat. Numbers were racing through my head almost faster than I could even subconsciously process them.
    As I reached the bottom of the steps, I heard two or three heavy things drop to the ground. I inched my way up each stair, my back pressed to the wall as flat as I could make myself. The sound of keys jingling floated down to my ears and light found its way into the stairway as a switch was flipped in the living room above. I thought I heard the sound of the fridge open and close. This made no sense.
    Why would the intruder be checking the empty fridge?
    I heard steps cross the kitchen back toward the living room and approach my hiding place. My heart pounded so loudly, surely that was what brought the intruder to my hiding place. Another switch flipped on and the stairway was suddenly filled with blinding light.

    “Stop right there!” I shouted as I held the baseball bat ready to swing away.
    The intruder had just stepped onto the first stair when I shouted. He jumped violently, his foot slipping, and gave a yell. He held up his hands and I was glad to see they were empty.
    “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”
    “Me?!” I cried as I backed down another stair.