Chapter 12 - The Apartment With the Unlocked Door
The hallway on the third floor smelled like old carpet cleaner and someone's microwave dinner. Dmitri idled down by the stairwell like my instructions had asked — visible but not standing over my shoulder — and Victor's car hadn't pulled in yet, which was the point. I wanted to walk into my own place alone.
My door was not closed.
It was open maybe two inches. Not kicked, not splintered. Just ajar, the deadbolt still thrown but the latch not catching, like someone had eased it shut and it hadn't clicked. I stood there with my keys in my hand and felt my breath go shallow.
I hadn't left it like that. I triple-checked my door. Always.
I pushed it with one fingertip. It swung inward on silent hinges.
"Lena?" Dmitri's voice came low from the stairwell. He'd seen me stop.
"Stay there a second," I said. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted it to. "Please."
I stepped in and didn't touch anything. The apartment looked exactly like I'd left it at six that morning — dishes in the rack, uniform laundry folded on the chair, my mom's chipped mug by the sink. Nothing was tossed. Nothing was missing. My laptop was still on the counter. My little jewelry dish by the window still had my pearl studs' backup pair and twenty-three dollars in cash tucked underneath.
Then I saw the kitchen table.
There was a single sheet of paper centered on it. It was white printer paper. On it was a photo — a bad, grainy print of my hotel staff schedule for the week. Lena Hart - Housekeeping/Banquet Support. My shifts, my break times, my assigned floors. Someone had circled Friday night in red pen and put a small x next to my name.
My stomach dropped so hard I had to put a hand on the chair to stay upright.
No note. No threat written out. That was the threat.
I backed out into the hall. Dmitri was already halfway to me, his phone in his hand.
"Someone was inside," I said. I kept my voice low because Mrs. Cho next door was always listening. "They didn't take anything. They left my schedule on the table."
Dmitri looked past me through the open door, his face going flat and hard. He didn't go in. He just nodded once and lifted his phone. "He is two minutes out. Do not touch anything."
Victor came up the stairs thirty seconds later. He wasn't out of breath but his jaw was tight when he saw my face and the open door behind me.
"You went in?" he asked me.
"I looked," I said. "I didn't move anything."
He stepped to the doorway, didn't cross the threshold, just scanned from the hall the way a cop would. Then he looked at me again, really looked at me. "You're not staying here tonight."
It wasn't an order the way Dmitri would have said it. It was quiet, but it landed the same. I felt that flare of needing to push back.
"I need to call the sheriff's office," I said. "This is documentation. They told me to report anything."
Victor nodded. "Call. We'll wait in the hall."
I called the non-emergency line with the deputy's card still folded in my apron pocket from the hotel. My hands were shaking enough that I had to switch the phone to speaker to hit the numbers right.
The same deputy picked up on the third ring. When I told him the address and what I'd found, his tone went professional and careful.
"Are you inside the apartment now, Ms. Hart?"
"No. I'm in the hall. The door's open. There's a printed schedule on my table with my name circled."
"Don't touch it. I'm logging it as intimidation and possible unlawful entry. I can have someone come by to take photos and a statement within the hour, but I need to be straight with you — we can't post a unit overnight. We're stretched and this is still a property incident without forced entry."
I closed my eyes. The hallway light hummed over us. "I understand."
"We'll increase patrols on your block. If you have somewhere else you can be tonight, you should be there. Keep the paper as is until we arrive. Don't clean anything."
"Okay. Thank you."
When I hung up, Victor was watching me, his hands in his pockets. Dmitri had moved down the hall a few feet to give us space.
"I can stay at the hotel," I said before Victor could suggest anything else. "There's a staff suite on the fourth floor for when banquet runs late. Housekeeping keeps it made. It's inside the building, with cameras and key cards."
Victor's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "That's better than here."
"With Dmitri in the hall," I added quickly. "Not in the room. And not at your property. I need that boundary. I can't — I can't be at a house of yours overnight. It changes what this is."
For a second I thought he'd argue. His mouth tightened, then eased. He gave a short nod.
"One night in the staff suite," he said. "Dmitri in the hallway. Hotel security logs you. I stay off that floor. You agree to keep your phone on and you don't leave the building alone until the deputy clears you."
"Yes," I said. My shoulders dropped a little. "That's fair."
We waited in the hall until the sheriff's car rolled up. The deputy came up, gloved, photographed the door, the table, the paper without moving it at first, then bagged it. He asked me the same questions again, wrote down my timeline, told me they'd run the print for any source printer if there was one, but said plainly he didn't expect fingerprints.
When he left, I locked my apartment — the lock still worked, which somehow made it worse — and followed Dmitri and Victor back down the stairs. The parking lot was dark except for the one buzzing sodium light. My apartment windows looked back at us, blank and ordinary, and I felt suddenly sure I didn't want to sleep there, not tonight.
At the hotel, the night manager didn't ask questions when Victor asked for the staff suite key. She just handed it to me, not him. The room was small, cinderblock walls painted white, two twin beds made with tight hospital corners, a kettle and a mini-fridge. It smelled like laundry detergent.
Dmitri took the chair outside the door without being told. Victor stood in the doorway and didn't come in.
"Lock it from inside," he said softly. "Text if you need anything. Anything at all."
I nodded, my throat tight. "Thank you. For letting me choose where."
May you like
He held my gaze for a beat, then stepped back. "Goodnight, Lena."
I locked the door, set the chain, and sat on the edge of the bed listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the faint footsteps of Dmitri shifting his weight in the hall, and tried to believe one locked door could be enough for tonight.
