Well, there wasn't much about the place that one might credibly term, 'active.' Their hearts were beating, blood went through their veins and they moved about. Slowly. So many of them came here as the last stop. Like the critters loading into Noah's Ark, they came two by two, and then one by one. Many had lost spouses. Many needed personal assistance.
But when Cathy looked at their applications, she noted that they were all breathing and had healthy checkbooks. That is all she needed. Next.
Cathy had the tiniest chiseled up face with freckles everywhere. They provided her complexion with a mottled look.But few would see her up close. Except on the initial contact. And when they signed the lease papers. Cathy stayed in her office. Curled up. On the rare occasion when she uncurled, she ran outside to smoke a cigarette, often wearing her coat. Cathy spoke to few.
There was an on again off again working relationship between her and Miguel, the maintenance man. Unlike her, he was tall, big, with a constant unkempt appearance. It wasn't always that way. Not when I signed my lease some eighteen months ago. He was a thinner version of himself. Less smoking. Or maybe not less. He didn't wreak of cigarette smoke like he did now. Nor was he glassy eyed. Or sniffling.
It wasn't until Elsie mentioned that Miguel solicited her for unused Oxycodone, that I began to wonder. To fear. Or the long nights he would work. Sometimes just hang around. He would go into an apartment and spend a month 'repairing' it. He would find things to do to pad his hours. Residents began to suspect something.
Then when Paula talked about odd things left in her apartment. Things that were not hers. And a mussed up bedspread. Tanya saw him go in and out of other apartments. Everyone heard him say,
"Oops, wrong apartment."
Of course he only said that when the next door neighbor was standing outside of their apartment. Miguel worried the neighbors might suspect something.
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