The One Bedroom

The man walked into the apartment building's rental office. A young man sitting at a desk inundated with papers and folders was tapping away on his keyboard. He looked overwhelmed. He looked up and checked his watch.

"Oh, hello. You must be Mr. Smith," he said.

"I am. I had a 10:30 to look at an apartment."

"Yes, the one bedroom. Let me go grab the key."

The young man grabbed a ring of keys and stood up.

"Follow me," he said.

He led Mr. Smith outside the side door to the parking lot.

"I can show you the pool and the fitness center first."

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm just interested in the apartment."

"All right, climb on in."

They took a golf cart through the complex.

"There are 12 buildings, each with 16 apartments, four floors, and four apartments on each floor," he explained.

Mr. Smith looked utterly disinterested. They drove to the opposite end of the complex. They passed Alley's building and went around a corner, and he stopped.

"Here we are. The apartment is on the 2nd floor."

"Are all the apartments laid out the same?" he asked.

"They are. They mirror each other. So, depending on what side of the building you're on."

They walked into a small lobby. There was a small keypad on the wall.

"It's a code entry?"

"No, the residents use keys. The code entry is for employees, so we can log who enters the building and when. It's mostly for maintenance, so we know when they arrive and handle the residents' issues. There is a phone for buzzing visitors in," he said.

He stepped to the side and entered his code. Although he tried to hide it, he seemed so scattered that he didn't do an exceptionally respectable job. But hey, he tried. Mr. Smith committed it to memory. They walked the steps to the second floor. The manager fumbled for a moment, looking for the key.

"The locks look kind of old," Mr. Smith said.

"They work. That's the only thing that counts."

The apartment was on the same side as hers. He opened the door, and Mr. Smith stepped in. It was identical to Allie's.

"Do you mind if I take some photos or video?"

"Oh, no. Go right ahead. Walk around. I'll stay here if you have any questions."

Mr. Smith walked around. He decided to take a video as he walked. He walked into the bedroom and the bathroom, circled around the living room, and even went into the half bath and the laundry room.

He noticed a chain lock on the door.

"Do all of the apartments have these?" he asked.

"Not everyone. Most of the apartments that have one is something the resident installed."

"Good to know. He walked over to the window."

"So, what do you think?" the manager asked.

"I'm going to show my girlfriend the video and see what she says. If you don't hear from me, she didn't like it."

"All right. That sounds good." The manager closed and locked the door behind them and started down the stairs. Mr. Smith took a quick photo of the handle and the bolt. He then followed the manager down the stairs. The manager got into the golf cart.

"Mr. Smith, are you coming?" he asked.

"If I can, I would like to walk the grounds."

"Of course. That is a great idea."

The manager didn't want to drive him around, and he didn't have the time. He needed to get back to the office.

"Have a wonderful day. I hope to hear from you," he said.

"Yeah, thanks for all the valuable information," Mr. Smith said.

He drove off in the golf cart. Mr. Smith mauled around for a few minutes. He went back to the lobby of the building and entered the six-digit code the manager had used. He heard the door buzz and pop. Mr. Smith pulled the door open. He smiled.

See my special girl? This was all meant to be, he thought.

He returned to the rental office, picked up his car, and returned to her building.

He parked and dug around through his center console. He grabbed a small spray can and a small leather case. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a plastic bag.

As he was walking in, someone was walking out.

"Damn, how lucky am I? It's like when that whore left her doors unlocked.

He nodded his head and walked in like he belonged there. Up the four flights of stairs, two doors on the right.

He looked at her lock. It wasn't as beat up as the other one on the apartment door he had just looked at. He squatted down and inspected the deadbolt. It was in decent condition. In fact, it looks almost new. This was a bonus for him.

He sprayed some of the contents of the small can to lubricate the lock. He took his pick out of the small black leather case along with the tension wrench. He inserted the short end of the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyhole and put tension on the handle in the direction the lock turns. While keeping the tension, he poked the pick into the top of the lock and pushed until he felt one of the pins. He used the end of the pick to jimmy the pin up and then pushed the pick in farther until he made contact with the nest pin.

He lifted the pin while keeping tension on the wrench. The pin cleared the barrel and moved slightly—the slightest movement was enough to prevent it from falling back. He continued, pushing the pin deeper and jimmying up the pins one at a time until he lifted them all. At this point, he could turn the lock with the wrench.

The lock disengaged. He looked at his watch. It had been 3 1/2 minutes. I'm getting good at this.

He opened the door and walked into her apartment. There was no security chain on the door.

Awe come on; you are making this too damn easy. It's as if you are inviting me in, he thought.

The first thing he did was walk around. There was no scent of perfume or candles like in all the other places his girls had lived. He detected a faint smell of bleach and fabric softener.

He sat down on her bed. It was impeccably made. It had perfect, crisp hospital corners. The top of the quilt and the sheet were folded over exactly four inches, eighteen inches from the head of the mattress. The overhang was tucked in tight on the foot and sides of the bed. Her boots and shoes were lying neatly against the wall, from large boots to small flats. Her closet was equally neat. Clothes were hung from shortest to longest. All her pants had crisp creases. There were blankets and extra pillows on a high shelf. In the very back of the closet was a heavy black garment bag. He slowly unzipped the bag, exposing a full Marine Dress Blues uniform.

"Really, Detective? A Marine. God, that's hot," he said.

He ran his fingers down the seams and across the service ribbons and metals. She was a highly decorated Marine.

-Throughout her twelve-year commitment, she has earned the Marine Corps Drill Instructor ribbon, Pistol and Rifle Expert badge, Rifle Championship badge, Distinguished Expert Marksman and Pistol badge, Good Conduct Metal, Gunny Sergeant Insignia, Fleet Marine Force Ribbon, Combat Operations Insignia, National Defense Ribbon, Combat Action Ribbon, Global and Expeditionary War on Terrorism service ribbons, Marine Corps Good Conduct medal, Purple Heart, NAVY & MARINE CORPS Achievement ribbon, Bronze Star, NAVY & MARINE CORPS Overseas ribbon, Iraq Campaign ribbon, NAVY & MARINE CORPS Presidential Citation, Afghanistan campaign ribbon, Silver Star, NAVY & MARINE CORPS accommodation, NAVY & MARINE CORPS ribbons, Perfect Physical Fitness Award, Perfect Health Fitness Score Award, Community Service Award, Swimming Award, Map and Compass Award, Lifesaving 1st, 2nd, 3rd Degree ribbons.-

There was barely enough room on her chest plates for them all. It looked like she could have been a 5-star General. Alexsandra Kingston was a Marine to her Core.

Her nameplate, Kingston, was polished and shiny. Her gold EGAs on the collar and buttons glinted in the closet's light. He unpinned the nameplate. He held it between his fingers, turning it over and over. He stuck it in his pocket.

A black USMC cover bag was on the shelf. It was embroidered with Gunny Kingston. He unzipped the bag and took out her cover. It was perfect. The bill was shining. He gripped it by the bill. This was a no-no in the Marines. You were never to get fingerprints on it. He closed the closet door and looked around the bedroom.

Framed photos on her nightstand drew his attention. His special girl.

Of course, she was with the Sasquatch. She was on his shoulders, wearing a USMC T-shirt cut cropped and a pair of the shortest jean shorts he had ever seen.

Her tan legs draped across his neck like a scarf. He was in a pair of black basketball shorts. He was gigantic. A photo of her holding him in a fireman's carry was on the other side table. Her petite frame bent over slightly, holding a 250-pound beast across her back and shoulders. He was so tall that his toes were two inches short from the ground. The last was of her with a compound bow pulled back and ready to launch. Her long, curly hair up in a ponytail.

He didn't realize how strong she was. He could not simply walk up behind her and tell her to get into his car. She would easily be able to defend herself. He would have to ambush her when she was the most vulnerable. He had to make sure the sasquatch was not around. It already looked as if she could kill him. He didn't need any more obstacles that could kill him.

He dumped the contents of the bag out on the bed. There were three Arlo Essential Spotlight miniature wireless Wi-Fi cameras, also known as nanny cams. They are 1080P Night Vision Remote and motion-activated. The battery life is six months, longer if not in heavy use.

He made sure they were fully charged. He decided if they were in there longer, he would come and replace them. He found her router and located her Wi-Fi password on the underside.

"Now, where could he put them," he pondered.

Unfortunately, she had a very sparsely decorated apartment. There were few places to put a camera, even if it was as small as a matchbox.

He saw the flag display case hanging on the living room wall. He adhered the camera under the case. He checked the apartment and could see the entire living room, including her bedroom door.

He went into her bathroom and concealed one on the top of the cupboard over the toilet. He checked the app, and it had a clear shower view.

The last one needed to go into the bedroom. He had a tough time thinking of somewhere to put the camera. He decided to conceal it on top of the windowsill. His only hope was that the Sasquatch wouldn't be able to see it. The position gave him a view of her bed and the closet. The picture was clear in the daylight.

He turned off the bathroom light, stepped in, and shut the door. The night vision worked just like advertised. He ensured he picked up all the trash and smoothed out her blankets. He went through the dirty clothes basket she had kept in the closet. He dug through the basket and pulled out a pair of red lace panties. He shoved them in his pocket with the nameplate.

"I will enjoy you, Allie, for as many days as I let you survive. My plan is to keep you till you know you are mine. Till you call me Master." It took him a couple of minutes to relock the bolt. "Three minutes flat."

He was on his way across the lot when she pulled in. His chest tightened, and his heart began to pound. She looked right through him.

That guy looks familiar, doesn't he?

She checked the rear-view mirror.

"Maybe."

Why am I asking you? You are absolutely terrible with faces; do you realize that? You walked around with the love of your life, not knowing it was him, for over several weeks.

"I would take offense at that if it weren't 100% true, and if I remembered every face I ever saw, I wouldn't have any room left in my brain for the manifestation of my dead boyfriend."

But he does look familiar, doesn't he? And you thought of me as your boyfriend?

"I don't know. Maybe. Possibly. Maybe I arrested him before. And, of course, you were my boyfriend, but you know we couldn't tell anyone."

You realize that you have zero social life if you think the only way you might have met someone is because you put handcuffs on them.

"I don't remember everyone. I put handcuffs on."

Fur-lined ones don't count.

"I have never used fur-lined handcuffs."

"Never?"

"Not that I can remember."

I do.

"When? Tell me when I have ever used fur-lined handcuffs."

September 24, 2015. We were at the--

"How on God's earth did you come up with that?"

He furrowed his brow and parted his lips.

"Oh, that September of 2015. OK, so maybe I have used them before." She laughed.

Have you ever cuffed the big guy?

"You mean you didn't know?"

I am not supposed to be privy to those kinds of details.

"I'm glad you're sticking to our ground rules."

Of course. Did you ever doubt me?

"Yes. I did. And no, I have never. Cuffs don't fit him."

That's why man invented zip ties.

"Do you know how easily he could break out a pair of zip ties?"

Only if he wanted to, Caretaker. Trust me, if you put them on him, he would be in a situation where the last thing he wanted to do was bust out of them.

Hmm.

She considered the possibility. "Hey, Malibu. Feel like running to the hardware store?"