Winslet sat on the floor of her new house, browsing through furniture on her phone, but her mind was elsewhere.
Throughout the whole past week the nightmares had continued, and every night she woke in a panic, feeling as though she was being watched. The dreams had varied, in some she felt as though she were being chased through the wet forest of the Florida landscape, some nights something tall and menacing was standing just out of her vision, but she couldn't move. It left her feeling cold and terrified.
She lurched when Max meowed, breaking her out of her trance.
"You can tell I'm not focusing, huh?" She asked quietly. She ran a hand through her hair, still wet from her shower. The fear and the heat had left her waking in a sweat every morning, which made her search to find a suitable washer and dryer all the more desperate. "Maybe a trip into town would help."
Winslet quickly found some more suitable, comfortable clothing and grabbed her keys, forced to leave her clothes on her inflatable mattress. She cringed, deciding she should find a bed soon, too. Thankfully whoever had lived here last had left behind a refrigerator and a microwave, so she had managed on quick runs to a nearby convenience store, short lived and usually late in the night, but getting by with just the bare essentials was starting to grate on her.
Winslet climbed into her old Jeep and pulled out of the muddy driveway.
She lived just a short drive from town. Well, what could be called a town. In Port Mayaca, there was close to nothing. There was the Cypress Lodge and the Restoration Shell Pit. So Winslet drove in the opposite direction, toward Indiantown.
The name bothered her, but having something to eat did not.
She drove around a short bit, before she finally had to take out her phone and google someplace to eat.
Crackers Cafe was a small, red roofed building. Along one of the walls leading up to the front door was an old-western style mural with quieted neon lights lining the top. It was a bit gaudy, and as Winslet gazed at the painting she felt all at once just how far away from home she was. She frowned, and quickly headed inside.
She was greeted with the smell of bacon and syrup, and a sight she was assuredly not accustomed to.
Black and white photos of cowboys with their horses hung on the walls in wooden picture framed, lined by mounted guns and cow skulls. There was a large record and a line of saddles behind the counter, and the tables shone in the midday sun streaming through the window, glossy and the color of wood, but they looked closer to plastic.
A waitress wearing a company tee-shirt was quickly scrubbing down a table, her dark hair pulled back in a relaxed ponytail. She glanced at Winslet as she walked through the door, her eyes bored, but she stared just a moment too long.
"I'll be right with you," she called out. "You can sit anywhere." She seemed young to Winslet, which calmed her nerves a little bit. Most teenagers were too busy thinking about themselves to say much about any outsiders.
Winslet took a seat in one of the booths, next to a bright blue and brown mural of a cow, and plucked one of the menus out of the stand.
She heard the door open behind her a moment later, and instinctively turned to glance at whoever was coming in. She wasn't quite prepared for what she saw.
The man was tall and thin, and wore of all things a pinstriped suit. His black hair was slicked back, and he was remarkably pale. His eyes were dark and striking, although Winslet wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't staring directly at her.
