Kate in 8

When Paul Dent came home to his apartment building he found a woman he had never seen before at the gate. She was struggling to hold a bicycle on her shoulder with one hand and to get her key in the lock with the other.

“Let me help you. I’m going in.” He stepped ahead of her and unlocked the gate.

“Oh!” Then she was just struggling with the bike. Her eyes were wide and wary because she didn’t know him from any other street person. “Thank you.”

He held the door until she was through. Then they were both in the foyer with the many narrow mailboxes on the left and the wide staircase ahead of them going up to the apartments.

Because Paul couldn’t resist gentlemanly impulses he offered to carry her bike up.

“Oh, no.” The request seemed to flatter her but she was cautious. She kept the bike securely in the nook between her neck and shoulder. She held the frame steady with both hands. She asked him, “Did you just move in here?”

“Well,” He didn’t want to flat out disagree with her. Again, it was that nagging gentlemanliness in him. “I moved in…almost three years ago.”

“Oh!” She was full of exclamations, but her surprise was appealing. Did she flush a little? Her eyes darted nervously but Paul could understand that. People kept their guard up in the city. Her hay-colored hair was curly and fell nicely around her bright eyes. “We’ve just been missing each other then.”

“I guess so.” His heart rose a little in his chest to be meeting someone new and pleasant. “Anyway I’ll walk you up.”

She let him go ahead. “I’ve been in the building almost seven years. Moved rooms a few times.”

How old was she? Paul guessed not any older than he was. Actually she looked younger. Middle twenties. Then could she have been here so many years on her own? But he wasn’t about to press her about her age.

“The stories I could tell you about this place. It’s changed so much.” She said.

They came to the hallway on the first floor. The doors for the apartments were to the left and right along the wall and at both ends of the hallway there was a passage that went to a wing with more apartments. There were no amenities because it was an older building but it was not small.

“Which floor are you on?” Paul asked.

“Three.”

“Me too. My name’s Paul by the way. I’m in number twelve.”

“I’m Kate. In room eight.”

He thought that was a cute thing. He let himself be a little curious. “What’s been the biggest change since you’ve been here?”

“The people that live here.”

They were at the second floor hallway and she stopped. “For instance, two meth dealers used to live here.”

“Really?” Paul was jarred a little by the fact. “At the end of this hall?”

“No.” She dropped her voice to a hush. “Right here.” She jerked her head at the nearest door.

Paul hadn’t been aware of anything like that in all the time he’d lived there. But if it wasn’t nice to think of it also wasn’t very hard to imagine. Paul liked the building and felt safe there, but the neighborhood had a rancid history. “Good that they moved out then.”

“Had to. One of them was murdered in the walk-in closet.”

“What?”

She nodded. “They had to take the wood floor out and redo it with cement.”

What an ugly detail. He wondered why she’d shared it. “When was this?”

“A little more than a year ago.”

He was stunned. “I was living here then.”

“You don’t remember?” She went on. “What’s really awful is how they found them. The smell got so bad in there it set off the smoke alarm.”

“That’s impossible.” Paul was puzzled with what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe it.

They were up on the third floor now and he turned to look at her. Her face glowed more than ever. Was it just from the climb? Her teeth gnashed as she panted, catching her breath. Her tongue wandered mindlessly across her teeth until they clamped down suddenly like a kind of punishment. Her eyes were still darting furiously but they were shining now too. She had a manic expression. Paul’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

She said. “When the walls of this place talk they say things that are hard to believe.”

“You mean if they could talk.”

She paused at the banister as sharply as if someone had laid a hand on her to stop her. “What?”

“If the walls could talk…”

Her head bent thoughtfully down but her gaze went on scurrying. “Oh! There used to be a doorman here. They fired him.” She offered meaninglessly. Then it was like she hadn’t heard what he’d said at all. “Well, good to meet you. Thanks for helping me with the door.”

“It was… no problem.”

Did she hear him? She strode away down the hall and he looked curiously after her. He knew the way the apartments were numbered. Apartment eight was the other way. Lord in Heaven, he thought to himself and he waited until she was out of sight to unlock his door.