Page 1 of Into the Mountains
CHAPTER ONE
CHARLOTTE
“Get the hell out!” I screech at the top of my lungs. Either from sheer terror or to get my point across that this evil feathered creature is not welcome in my home, I don’t care. I’ll be a happy gal as long as it flies its pretty little butt right out of the window I left open a half hour ago.
I grip the stock pot in my hands so tight that my knuckles turn white. I try to muster the bravery I know is nonexistent and move a few inches closer to what seems to be my new roommate, hoping I can coax it out of the window above its head.
As of right now though, there’s no sign of it budging. It’s ready to collect whatever dust and trash particles it can find to make its nest and claim its territory. Too bad for the bird, I am insanely organized and it won’t find a scrap of anything around here. I look into its beady little eye and I’m convinced it’s plotting the best way to peck mine out, and I might actually be living my worst nightmare.
If I were in a support group, my opening line would be: “Hi, my name is Charlotte and I’m deathly terrified of birds because I fell asleep in a park once and woke up to them pecking at me because they thought I was dead.”
I’m not even joking. That actually happened. Like I said, they are evil, feathered creatures. The only birds I will tolerate are the domesticated ones who can learn to talk andnottry to peck me to death. But a feral bird that actually belongs outside and not in my small, two bedroom apartment above the photography studio that’s half mine? Absolutely not. Not ever. Not any day and definitely not today.
Except the universe hates me and thinks todayisa day I should have to face my very rational fear of birds.
It screeches back at me and I jump towards the kitchen island, my elbow knocking the now cold cup of coffee straight to the ground. The mug shattering only initiates my arch-nemesis into a bout of annoying cries and I really wish I was anywhere but here.
Feathers ruffle as the demon takes off and the flap of wings sounds in the air followed by more unbearable noise. Most people would probably refer to it as chirping, but to my ears it’s an unbearable piercing screech. If I end up down below, that’ll be the only thing on my playlist, an endless loop of torture.
The white, pepper freckled wings flap faster as it comes flying straight at me. Actually, I have no idea where it goes because I immediately panic and abandon my post. I drop the stock pot somewhere behind me as I run.
With a slam and a click, I lock myself in the bathroom down the short hallway, leaving the rest of the apartment to the bird. He owns it now. My name may be on the lease along with my friends and business partners, Avery and Skylar, but we may as well tear it up right now and let him use the shreds for his nest.
Really, I could take care of this if I was less stubborn, but I want to do it myself and the last thing I want to do is callhimfor help. Anyone else will do. But there is no one in this town for me to call at this time of night.
I pull my phone from my back pocket ready to resign myself to whatever humiliation I know I’m about to endure. It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night and almost everyone that I know is busy with their significant others. Except for one person who is very single and very, very annoying.
Very annoyingly reliable. “Hello?” Because of course, he picks up on the first ring.
“I need your help,” I say in a deadpan voice, trying to hide how desperate I really am. Let’s face it: how scared I really am.
“The great Charlotte Monroe calling me at,” he pauses like he’s checking the time, “ten fifteen on a Friday night for help? When did the apocalypse start?”
I groan dramatically. I knew he was going to be like this and he’s definitely never going to let me forget it.
“Literally my last resort.”
“Oh, I’m so flattered,” he says, sarcastically. “You’re asking for my help. To even be at the bottom of Miss Monroe’s list is an absoluteprivilege.”
“Can you stop being an asshole for like two seconds?”
“You ask for help and then call me an asshole? I mean, ask me to jump and I’ll ask how high.”
Deep breath in and deep breath out. Elias and I have never gotten along and apparently a decade or so apart hasn’t changed that. He still gets on my last nerve.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reluctantly. “I really do need your help though. A bird got into my apartment hours ago and I haven’t been able to get it out. Everyone is busy getting laid and I don’t know what to do, and I need you to come over and help me.” It all comes out in one breath. Word vomit that only ever happens around him. Usually, I know what I want to say and I am articulate enough to get my point across, but with him I always manage to ramble.
“You need me to come over right now?”
“Please? Ethan is with his grandparents, right?”
“Yes, bu—”
“Elias, I need you.” I hate admitting it. I hatesayingit, but if I don’t get this damn bird out of my apartment tonight, I might actually die in this bathroom.
“I’ll be over soon.”
“The door is locked and I don’t think I can get myself to go down to unlock it.” Just the idea of unlocking it makes me nauseous.
