by Madelyn Alt
“Oh. Well, all right, then.” In an instant annoyance transformed into excitement in his pudgy features. He even rubbed his hands together. “I can sure use that.” He picked the box up and carried it almost reverently to his desk, placing it in the position of honor, smack in the center, actually running his palms over the box like a lover. Someone needed to get out more. It took him a few moments, but he finally seemed to come back to his senses. He licked his lips, looked over at me, and laughed self-consciously. “It’s the little things in life.”
Yeah, like a souped-up, tricked-out, uber-pumped piece of electronic wizardry.
Lou had maneuvered the Hollister dude down the sidewalk toward the cross street. I could see them there, speaking earnestly together, and, thankfully, not coming to blows or scuffling in any way. As for Locke, he lead me off in the opposite direction toward the health center. Very nice. Sunny, airy, plenty of fans, and air-conditioning. Oh, and the equipment looked decent, too. I also drooled over the pool area as we walked past. So calm, so peaceful, so blissfully blue. In my mind I was already coming up with elaborately creative ways to use the pool while still preserving the relative water-free state of my cast.
“The apartment I’m going to show you is in Building One,” he told me as he lead the way up the brand-spanking-new sidewalk toward the apartments themselves, and I forced myself to leave the pool behind, both literally and figuratively, and pay attention. “It’s the only ground-level apartment I have open and available for rental right now.”
The architecture of the building made for a walkway around the exterior center stairwell, so we cut through it to get to the front of the building. “The apartment upstairs was just recently taken by a teacher at the high school,” he was telling me. “Young. Nice. Pretty. Just getting started in her career, I should think.”
Curious, I peered at him. “Not . . . the Angela person that that man was talking about?” I could just see myself walking into a situation that would put me in contact with disgruntled neighbors.
“Angela Miller? No, she’s in another of the buildings. We have a couple of young teachers here. And nurses. We’re very popular with newly established ladies in both of those fields. Nice, clean apartments that are safe and well-maintained and affordable are hard to come by, and . . . well, word gets around.” He was in manager mode again, using the detail as a selling point. I had to say, I much preferred it to anything more personal. And, technically speaking, he was right. Good apartments were few and far between, especially in a small-town environment.
The walkway area was clean, the external siding intact and probably not asbestos. The exposed stairs looked sturdily built and well maintained. All good.
He put the key in the dead-bolt lock and paused before turning it, his hand on the knob. He cleared his throat. “I do have to admit, for the sake of disclosure, that the apartment was tenanted for a couple of months this summer. Meaning, you are not the first tenant to have this apartment after renovations. Not that that is important in any way. The apartment has been completely cleaned and repainted, again, naturally.”
The news surprised me. “I thought the apartments had been involved in renovations since the new owners bought the property,” I commented.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“The tenants must have moved out very quickly.”
He turned his back on me and turned the key in the knob. “I’m afraid I was forced to remove them.”
“Remove them?”
“Yes. They violated the lease. I had no choice but to evict them. I’m afraid I can’t discuss it, though. Privacy laws.”
Why did I feel so certain there was more of a story behind that action? “I see.”
He cleared his throat again and pushed the door open. Back in manager mode, he said, “Here’s what you really want to see. Feast your eyes on the apartment itself. I think you’re going to like it.”
The blinds were all drawn, making it difficult to see much. But as he reached to flick on the lights, a sound came from somewhere deeper in the apartment itself, and it definitely didn’t sound like your average noise caused by settling. Locke froze. I froze.
In the next moment Locke lurched into action like some landlocked sea beast, clumsily searching from room to room. Probably just a squirrel, I thought, oddly at ease with the notion that a squirrel could be in residence in the same apartment I was considering renting. I opened my mouth to voice my thought to Locke, but as he lunged to look beneath the sofa, he paused and cut off my first syllable with a gesture that was both a warning to keep silent and an instruction for me to stay where I was. Properly chastised, I decided to continue letting him make a fool of himself as much as he wanted to and zipped my lips as requested. Instead, I remained hovering in the doorway, propping the door open with my back as I waited.
The apartment wasn’t bad, from what I could see of it. Not bad at all. Granted, the dim lighting prevented me from making out any great detail, but it seemed to be pretty nice. Nicer even than I had hoped. One open-concept and large living-slash-dining room, carpeted with what looked like Berber, with a galley kitchen and island-slash-bar lining the wall in the northeast quadrant from where I was facing, and big windows facing out on both ends of the extended space. In the kitchen I saw decent-looking cupboards and a supernice countertop that might be some sort of stone, and there were two barstools facing the island counter. Awesome.
I was considering stepping farther into the confines of the apartment and exploring while Locke did his thing. I mean, it couldn’t hurt. Right? Especially since he was now moving down the dark hall toward the back of the apartment. I could hear the shower curtain being pulled aside, the hooks making scraping noises against the rod, and then a door. Linen closet, maybe? Oh, I hoped so. I closed my eyes and tried to feel the room, letting the sounds pull me in. The ability to remotely view an unseen target had certainly intrigued me, but it was not something that seemed to come naturally to me. Maybe starting small like this would help. I took a few deep breaths, in and out, to center myself, focusing on grounding here in this place, then allowing my inner self to drift out, to follow the manager’s path. In, out, in the bathroom. In, out, down the hall.
He let out a muttered oath. I heard him ranting to himself, but it was as though his voice existed on another dimensional plane: faint, faraway, thready. What was he angry about? What was he saying? Did it even matter?
I felt an odd sensation, almost a perceivable shift of sorts, as though I had moved but my body itself had remained in place. Was it working? I tried not to let my excitement knock me out of the sensation, tried to remain centered and not try too hard with my focus. It might have worked, too, if a faint, secretive click hadn’t sneaked its way into my conscious mind. It was the secretive sense of it that caught my attention and jarred me out of my meditative state and back into my head. I reeled my energies in and let my eyelids flutter open.
Just in time to see the closet door next to me start to open, no more than a crack of darkness around it.
Chapter 4
At first I wasn’t sure that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. My eyes opened wider, and I blinked to clear them, in case the lingering mists of third-eye vision were still affecting me. The door opened a little bit more, a fraction at a time, stopping at about an inch. I turned my head in that direction, my eyes now in hyperfocus on the thick line of black space between the door and the door frame. My heart started beating faster, tripping over itself. All of a sudden, Hollister’s claims rang in my ears. Sounds. Things moving. I knew, there and then, it wasn’t just settling. And I knew there was something in that closet.
But something turned out to be someone.
Just as I found myself turning my body on crutches in that direction and reaching for the door, I was forced to take a step backward when a small form launched from the closet and rushed headlong past me. One of my crutches went flying when the shape scrambled for forward momentum. The other crutch jammed hard into my underarm
as I lost my balance and fell back against the front door.
The figure stopped on a heartbeat as the realization of what had just happened struck her. Because it was a her. The girl turned back toward me in one freeze-framed moment. Wide green eyes, peering out from beneath the low brim of a cap, locked with mine before she turned again and in the next instant was out the door, zipping away in a flash of jeans and a sassy pair of purple Chuck Ts.
By the time Locke responded to the metallic clatter of my crutch crashing against the door frame and came lumbering out from the nether regions of the apartment, the girl was long gone. I was carefully balancing myself to lean down and pick up the wayward crutch.
“What was that?” he demanded, turning his head wildly this way and that. “Oh. Your crutch.”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. That, and a girl in the closet. Nice feature, I guess,” I quipped, “although if your tenants are in fact mostly women, as you’ve said, I would think someone of the male persuasion might be a better selling point.”
“A gi—” His brow rose and fell like the swell and ebb of the ocean, ending in a crescendo of aggravation that caused him to push past me, nearly knocking me off my feet again. Unlike the girl, the manager didn’t stop. He continued lumbering down the interior pass-through toward the parking lot. I heard his pounding feet stop a short distance away and could picture him searching to and fro.
I straightened up again and got my crutches beneath me, moving out of the way of the door so I couldn’t possibly get trampled again. Locke was gone only a short time before he came tramping back through the door with his bearlike, side-to-side shuffling gait, his breath coming in uncomfortable puffs and a gleam of perspiration on his large forehead from his short-lived exertion. I had a fleeting sense of him kicking back in a dark apartment somewhere, playing online video games in loose-fitting athletic pants and a sloppy sweatshirt, and I wondered how close it came. This was not a man you’d find working out at the health center. Most definitely not some type of sports junkie. I didn’t even think he was a couch-bound quarterback.
He ran his hand back through his hair and let his breath come out at once.
“What was that all about?” I asked him.
Locke shook his head. “Teenage hijinks, I expect.”
“That’s kind of bold, don’t you think?” I pressed. “Breaking into an empty apartment like that. What could she possibly have wanted? I didn’t see any sign of forced entry when we came in—you should probably check for an unlocked window somewhere.”
But no matter what I said or asked, Locke was ready to move on to other things. “I’m sure it’s nothing. An annoyance, but unoccupied apartments are always at risk. It will solve itself. Let’s go take a look at the other rooms, huh?”
It was his apartment complex. Or more accurately, his to manage. But as I made a walk-through of the bathroom (utilitarian, but clean and fresh), past a small bedroom-office combo, I couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t seem overly concerned about it as a security risk. I mean, sure, if it was just hijinks, I suppose the threat to a future resident was probably minimal. Maybe I was worrying about nothing. I had seen with my own eyes that it was just a girl, a teenager, with enough mascara and eyeliner surrounding her luminous green up-tilted eyes to rival Marcus’s semi-goth cousin, Tara Murphy, and blond braids poking out from beneath her hat that made her look younger than she probably was.
Finally, we moved into the main bedroom, and I was pleased to find a bit of luxury. Plush carpets and a walk-in (be still my heart!) closet. There was one surprising feature that claimed center stage: a huge, heavy mirror, presumably in the place where the bed would be situated. I didn’t like it. It was too large, and besides, something about a mirror over the bed made me cringe. I also discovered what I could only assume was the cause of Locke’s earlier outcry when he was searching the apartment: a spiderweb of cracks radiating from a center point in the glass.
“Oh, what a shame,” I commented, though I didn’t really mean it. “The mirror is broken. Perhaps it could just be removed.” As in, hope hope, hint hint.
Locke shook his head adamantly. “No. It’s a built-in. Dammit, it’s the second time I’ve had to have it replaced, too. The owner is going to have a cow. But don’t worry. I’ll put it on the list of items to be repaired. It will be taken care of.”
Hmm. Just my luck.
“So, Miss O’Neill,” he said, making his voice light and conversational as we exited the apartment at last and he turned the key carefully in the dead-bolt lock, “now that you’ve seen the place, what do you think?”
Locke, evidently, was a man to cut straight to the chase. Then again, it was late in the afternoon. Maybe he just wanted to get his hands on his new computer.
“I don’t think you’ll find another housing complex like this,” he continued in his sales pitch. “Predominantly female, which in my mind would be reassuring to the single young woman like yourself, no children under the age of eighteen, stable tenants. Good people. The rear of all the apartments face the manager’s office; you can’t beat security like that. You would have a neighbor just overhead. The building next door is fully occupied but for one. Buildings three and four are unoccupied, and currently under renovation. The last building, five, was the first to be renovated, and is fully tenanted. What would it take to put you in this particular apartment?”
I didn’t know if I was quite ready to make a commitment. I mean, there was the issue that the Hollister guy had brought up. I decided being straightforward was the only way to go. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m a little concerned because of what that gentleman brought up about the lease agreement not having a termination clause.”
“Oh, it does have a termination clause,” he assured me. “It just wasn’t to Mr. Hollister’s liking. You can’t please everyone.” He shrugged as if that proved his point.
“I would have to review the contract.” I shrugged right back at him.
He laughed. “How about I let you do that, and . . . now, I’m not supposed to do this, but Lou is a lodge brother, and one of the perks of belonging to the Eternal Order of Samaritans is, we take care of our own . . . What would you say if I offered you a special deal?”
Hm. Something told me if I played this right... “What sort of special deal?”
“Normally, I’m sure you know, a lease is a lease. But, I’m prepared to offer you this: how does a short-term lease sound, just to get your feet wet? Six months, with the option to extend the preliminary low monthly rent to a term of two years.”
“And how low are we talking?”
He named a figure that was, in fact, surprisingly affordable. “And, because I like Lou and he was kind enough to recommend his nephew to me for that hot new piece of equipment I have waiting for me back in my office, I am prepared to also forgo a security deposit and offer you two months’ free rent. Beginning with October, though you could move in any time that you like, so essentially you will be receiving three-plus months’ free rent. How does that grab you?”
I had to say, it was a very tempting offer. My rental agreement for my basement apartment allowed me to leave at will with thirty days’ notice—like I reminded Steff, old school—and I was already paid up for September. Three months’ worth of free rent would give me two whole months with no rent payments whatsoever. Rainy day money, anyone? Still, I hedged. “I’m not sure. I’m just not comfortable making snap decisions. Will you let me think about it?” I asked.
He looked disappointed. “Sure. But not for long. I do have other people that are interested.” He took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and consulted his messages.
Of course he did. Isn’t that what they all say? “I will get back to you shortly,” I assured him.
“I appreciate it.” He held the door to the office for me, and I swung past him, over the threshold.
Lou was there, waiting for our return. He looked up as I entered the lobby with Locke bringing up the rear. “How did it go?” He directed the
query to me.
“Good,” I told him. “Mr. Locke has made a very tempting offer. And, I believe he was about to get me a copy of the lease so that I can look it over.” I glanced over at Locke inquiringly.
Locke nodded. Circling the desk, he pulled open the top drawer from the file cabinet behind it. He pulled a few pages, stapled together, from the nearest file and handed them across the desk to me. I accepted them and, folding them in half, tucked them into my purse.
“I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can,” I told him.
“I’ll let you know if someone else is interested in the apartment,” he replied.
I glanced over at Lou and smiled. “Ready, then?”
Lou nodded and handed me his keys. “Why don’t you go on ahead? Locke and I have some business to take care of. I’ll be along in a jiffy.”
Said business had to do with the computer, I was positive. I knew Marcus was waiting for payment. I took the keys and gave them the privacy to complete their transaction. It was a beautiful afternoon, and I had a lot to think about. Like whether or not I could feasibly uproot myself on the spur of the moment, for instance.
I have always been a spontaneous person. My mom might say impulsive was more par for the course. But these were big changes we were talking about here, and as ready as I might have convinced myself I was to bring the sweeping winds of change into parts of my life, when actually faced with making it happen, I hesitated. Something was telling me without words that I should take a moment. A sense of uncertainty that stiffened the muscles between my shoulders and settled in the pit of my stomach. But then, if I looked back at the last year, it was easy to see that change had been a part of my life for quite some time. It had actually started occurring the moment I walked (fell!) through the front door of Enchantments to discover a witch in residence . . . which then led to me finding the witchy woman within myself. I had been up to the challenge then, even though at the time I would never have guessed it. Was I up to the challenge now? Could I pull up stakes in the apartment on Willow Street once and for all? Could I pull away from Marcus’s temptingly sweet arms in order to give him back his autonomy?
