It could happen, part III.

The managers office, though not exemplary, is sufficiently neat and organized for an efficient search for the information I seek. All the cabinets and files are open, save those holding tenant information. Those locks are easily bypassed, meant only to give someone with mere curiosity or an emotional outburst a check while the manger found a means of altering the intent. It seems the occupancy was complete. There is always more information than one needs in these files, yet that information can be interesting. I had only sought occupancy data, and perhaps where the larger groups or families were staying as the possibility of larger stores would be there. But reading about people who had lived only a few moments away for years and with whom I had no real life connection, let alone contacts which I could remember, pulled me in. After looking at all and pouring over a few files, I decided to push past my interest and begin looking for stores, keys, and whatever else the place might provide. First though, I used the data and a floor map to pick a preferred path to the preferred apartments.

Most of the keys, some in as much as triplicate, are contained in a shallow, mounted, cupboard, with a lock itself though not actually locked. The keys are labeled, and the cupboard is labeled, so my task here is easy. I notice several empty key rings, and decide to put each floor’s keys on their own key ring. There are about seven apartments with no keys, only two missing keys on the floor above me, and after looking at the map and my choice apartments, I decide I may easily work my path to avoid these places, at least initially. As I am about to close the key cabinet, I notice several keys quietly tucked into the frame in the bottom right-hand corner area. They are on one key ring and there is a paper with writing, “Chief” it says. Hmm, masters? I take one off, add it to it’s own key ring, and bind the rest of the bands with this newest fourth ring. Lord of the Key Rings, I muse, and hope. The other potential masters and keys, I sort as above, taking one lesser than my primary but greater than the last key ring as a spare, and hide the lesser key ring, precisely where I will not forget it.

I find several loose tools lying around and gather them. I notice a few metal boxes and a few plastic boxes and investigate. All but one has tools and repair pieces and parts. Electric tape, bolts, wire cutters, and other small miscellaneous items. The boxes, for the most part, are also fairly well organized and arranged. The last tool box contains Legos. Lots of Legos. Not a bad find itself. I find information regarding supplies; receipts, notes, vender information lists, hazmat sheets, but the information is useless, in truth. I will just have to see what is left myself.

The room having been completely sorted, I go to the bedrooms. Blankets, sheets, clothes, rags, and other items might be recoverable. If nothing else, I will have an idea of what resources are available. And more, after looking at the files regarding the tenants, and seeing the handiwork of the manager and perhaps his family, I am curious about them. Who were these people. The first bedroom I enter seems to be a spare room combined as a personal storage area. The bed is made and seems fresh. Boxes of home supplies fill a third of one corner. It seems the caretakers sorted their clothes, bedding, and perhaps other items according to the seasons. Having been late spring when havoc ensued, the boxes were filled with winter wares and clothes. A very nice find, to be sure. They seem to know there stuff as well, the items are woolen, down, silk, and if some appeared a bit worn, they were clean and in good repair. There are two cedar chests in which the wool and some other items are neatly folded or stored. The clothes were far too small for my use. He must have been of medium build and of average height. He had big shoes for such a man, though not large enough for my use. I had to chuckle at the thought that perhaps in more ways than one I could not begin to fill his shoes.

On to the next room I find my mind directing and my feet begin moving me forward. The door is well ajar from my initial search. The cat hears my approach and rushes out and by and “purrrrsss” along her way, while leaning in and counting coup, touching base, and saying goodbye like females of any species are want to do. The room is clean, neat, and decorated for a child, a baby, probably a baby boy I should think. There are pink elephants sitting straight legged on their bottoms holding books in their straight out upper legs-as-hands painted around the room near the ceiling, contained within a foot wide white boarder. The rest of the room seems to be a soft yet not-irritatingly-so blue. There is a tall but narrow dresser, a crib, a night stand, and a mobile over the crib, the furniture appears to be unstained lacquered pine. In the corner is a lined hamper and to the side of the nigh stand is a lined trash bin. I can smell baby powder, maybe some baby oil, though neither strongly. There are no other or bad odors to be found. Several baby pictures sit atop the various furnishings, framed and neat. Cute baby, if you think babies are cute I suppose. The moment touches me, in spite of my typical cynicism. Real people, good people, and a baby; prognosis, unknown. Still, I search, gently. I find nothing, not even old baby clothes, and leave the place as well as I found it, then make my way to what must be the parents room.

A sound? Did a door close several levels up, was it some mechanism in the building clicking on, maybe off? It was not close and did not push me to the alert, but it did bring me back to my task and helped me clean my mental palette of the reverie it seemed to have been being lulled toward.

As I move along the hall toward my final social studies examination, I pause to take note of the time, immediate area, and to just let go and feel the building. I am looking for the hum and regularity of the place. Hoping that if such an arming works, I might be able to go forth so armed and thus sense something out of place in less secure parts of the fort like complex. The air conditioning shuts down, and a little shutter runs through the little world. The air slows and stops. The quiet attacks my senses. Ah, but more. Little hums of various energies moving and working lives in the background like stars sprinkle the night. It seems strong here, I suspect this will fade the further I get from this part of the building. This is the nerve center, maybe even the heart, of the facility. Humble, manageable, clean, and functioning. I almost like this place, these people.

The manager and his wife’s room is as well kept as the rest. The humble cleanliness soothes the senses, the furnishings both tasteful, correct, and yet with some sad knowledge of their humble place speak much and leave me respectful. The bed, as the others, is clean, made, and comfortable looking. In my detailed search, I notice the sheets are applied the old way, tucked with 45 degree folds. Each partner has a nightstand and a lamp, both matching their counterparts. There is a reading lamp over one of the partners pillows, more directional and perhaps less bright then the night stand lamps, but with the window in the room, I will not risk testing my theory. There is a long shorter dresser, a tall thin dresser, and what appears to be a jewelry cabinet. Each is searched for useful items. Items of value might be collected and stored, but unless a need for such appears, I have no interest in diamonds or gold. Books in the night stands, a few over the counter medicines on the unlighted side. A few bullets in the lighted side stand. Odd, I had thought she would be the late reader. The cabinet and dressers are methodically searched. The now half empty drawers seemed to lack anything of substance and the jewelry chest was empty. As usual though, I withdrew then completely removed the compartments and looked and felt each the within each void. In this case, I worked with care, intending to leave the place in as much peace and tidiness as the conditions allowed. My hand found something my eyes had not. Behind the second from the top left-hand void was an envelope, plastered to the back of the area, and for whatever reason, nearly invisible using the goggles and against the wood. The color perhaps? I made note of the new found limitation. The rest was clean, so I restored the drawers, laying the envelope on the bed. When finished, I grabbed the envelope and put it in my back pocket. I decided to look it’s contents over more carefully, in full light, in the office.

Inside the office, the door closed and locked, I retrieve the envelope from my back pocket, turn on a reading lamp, and begin examining the outside of the envelope. There is a name, nothing else. It says “Karen”. I see, also, why the envelope could not be seen with my goggles, or at least, it makes sense now. There is some heft, and the feel of paper either thick and hard, or containing something which is hard. I open my pocket knife and slice the flap. Inside I see a wedge of bills, with the bank paper still around the new bills. I cannot tell if any are missing, though I suspect not. This is $10,000 dollars then, for whatever that means at this point. As well, I find a three page letter and a key slid into the center of the bills. I am torn between reading the letter now and reading this later in my more secure location. The air conditioning clicks on, and the air moves through the room. Later it is, decisions are made sometimes ‘just because’.

I decide to finish with the main bedroom. I find my way back, filter through what I believe I have already searched, but briefly, then look to the closet. Nothing of importance to me inside the space. A few shirts, a dress, some empty and full shoe boxes, a few popular magazines, nothing. Next, the bathroom. The bathroom opens into the main bedroom and the main hall. I am amazed at the cleanliness. Not a thing remains in this room. Towels, soaps, medicines, even the toilet paper is gone. I continue on, wishing to finish this area before deciding whether to call it good and go home or whether to attempt the choicest picks on the first floor first. I find some food supplies, though not what I had hoped. The refrigerator and freezer are empty, but the dry goods and canned goods remain, seemingly untouched. Perhaps a week or two supply of food and meal supplements. I find several power tools, and collect these together with the tools I found in the office, and put them all under the bed in the master chamber. I find several of the supplies I had been looking for. Toilet paper was plentiful, paper towels, the brown, folded once, industrial dispenser type, are in goodly supply, and there are many and many sizes of light bulbs. As well, cleaning supplies and a few odds and ends.

I decided I had been successful enough for one night. It was closing in on 4:00, and it being summer, I decided to leave rather than be caught in the light where all tactical advantage disappeared. Luck is a 50/50 thing, when one does not have the distinct advantage. I gather the food goods, paper products, and a few packs of light bulbs. I lock all of the lockable doors with what seems to indeed be the master key. The cat! Yes, I had better ensure she gets out of this place yet not out of the building, not yet for sure. I go through three rooms, searching and then closing, before finding her laying on the spare bed. I close that door temporarily, without going in, as I check that the rest of the doors are closed, locked if possible, and return to the cat. On a hunch, I decide to unlock and open the office door, then I retrieve the cat, close the spare room door behind me, and enter the office. I take off the goggles and turn on the reading lamp. I check her collar, and there it is, “Isabelle”. My little friend has a name, a pretty one. Off with the lamp, up with the prizes and cat, out, shut, lock, to the entrance, and a squat and listen. A few minutes pass and Isabelle is becoming disinterested in my interest. I quietly and quickly unlock the bolts and the knob, twist, pull, release, open a crack and listen, with my foot barring an unexpected potential attempt to force the door. No sound, no sense, clear. Up and open, stop a second and listen, out and down, and I let Isabelle dance up the steps and around and out of my sight. “Meow”, bye, I say as she comes back into sight heading up the steps, disappearing again as she prances up the last steps I can see and flits into the darkness. No other sound or movement. I turn partly, close the door, and see if I can lock it. All of the locks in this part work with the possible master key.

Out of the building, in the same manner as in, no movement, light, sound, or feel disturbs my exit to the path through the trees and bushes and to my hidden path out from the area. Quiet as a cat, I head for home. Once there, I check my little traps, move through them to my main primary entrance, unlock that, and into the cave I go. I get to the table and set my goods down upon it. I then head to my special place and take a seat at my private inner area, close the door, turn on a lamp, check the shotgun, draw my pistol, remove the magazine, unload it, check the number of rounds, insert the magazine and chamber a round, release the magazine and replace the previously unloaded round into the magazine, insert it into the pistol once more, and then holster it. I scan my menu options for the evening. Canned tuna and crackers, with a bit of sun tea, and six cookies. I will deal with my prizes after I relax. There was nothing vital, exciting, or perishable. Then again, maybe not until tomorrow. I am tired and sleep sounds good. But first, a little meal. The Legos! Those would have been fun. I pull a pad out and write LEGOs on it.