Chapter 3 - Shadows in Apartment 4B
While William arranged for a private car to take Emma home, across town in a decaying brownstone, apartment 4B was growing dangerously cold.
Martha Reynolds lay coughing against her thin pillow. Her breath rattled in her chest as she reached blindly for her water glass on the nightstand, only to knock it over. The glass shattered against the hardwood floor.
“Emma?” Martha rasped, her vision swimming.
The front door of the apartment suddenly clicked. Martha sighed with relief, thinking her granddaughter had returned from the local bodega with bread and milk. But the footsteps echoing down the narrow hallway were heavy, sure, and entirely unfamiliar.
The deadbolt turned with a harsh clack.
The door swung open, revealing a tall man in a dark trench coat. Marcus Vance—not the private investigator from before, but a local loan shark operating out of the district—stepped into the dim apartment, his shoes crunching on the broken glass.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” Marcus greeted smoothly, a cold smile touching his lips. He stepped into the bedroom, looking around the dilapidated room with clinical disdain. “Still living in squalor, I see. Which is strange, considering your son took out a substantial emergency loan against this property three years ago before he skipped town.”
Martha tried to sit up, clutching her blanket. “I… I don't know anything about a loan. My son hasn't called in years.”
“Unfortunately for you, the debt transfers to the primary resident when the borrower vanishes,” Marcus said, stepping closer to the bed and pulling a folded legal document from his coat pocket. “And since the payment is three months overdue, my associates and I are here to repossess the lease.”
“You can’t do that,” Martha breathed, panic spiking her heart rate. Her chest tightened violently. “We have nowhere to go. My granddaughter is eleven years old—!”
“Then she better find a park bench,” Marcus interrupted coldly. He tossed the eviction notice onto the bed. “You have two hours to pack your things. If you’re still here when my men return, we’ll throw your boxes onto the street ourselves.”
May you like
As Marcus turned and walked out, slamming the front door behind him, Martha clutched her chest. The room spun wildly. She reached for her pill bottle on the nightstand, but her trembling fingers knocked the container over. It rolled under the dresser, just out of reach.
Alone, cold, and gasping for breath, Martha slid off the bed, collapsing onto the floor as darkness closed in around her.
