Epilogue
“Fuck,” Ericka groaned as she got off the subway.
She picked up her pace, pushing past the slow-walking people milling around on the sidewalk, her heels clicking loudly in her stead.
She ignored the escalator jammed with tourists on such a beautiful, sunny day, and raced up the stairs instead.
She was already sweating, so she figured a bit more of it wouldn’t matter.
The day didn’t seem to be going in her favor.
The moment she woke up, it was like the universe was trying to keep her from leaving.
Her alarm clock didn’t go off, and when she finally rolled over, she saw her cat must have pulled the plug out of the wall, the cord slightly chewed.
She was out of coffee mix, even though she was sure she had picked more up last week, and her milk was somehow already expired.
The subway had been late, every car was filled to the brim, but, as she finally turned the corner, she saw the apartment building of her absolute dreams.
It was one she had been eying ever since coming to the city, but the waitlist was years long.
It was beautiful, with exposed brick and all of the unique aesthetic pieces that people killed for around here.
It was one that influencers would take their outfit videos in front of just for clout, one that all of her friends couldn’t believe she had even applied to, let alone got asked to come in to see.
There was even a doorman standing outside to greet her, a huge smile on his face as she ducked her head politely at him. She was sure she looked a mess, but he greeted her so warmly she barely even thought about it.
The lounge was occupied by several people already sitting on the plush couches. Even the residents looked expensive and like they were a part of the building's aesthetic with their effortlessly pretty looks.
Ericka had been imagining living here ever since she put her application in, but now that she was standing here, she knew that she needed to live here.
She cleared her throat a bit and patted down her hair.
She straightened her spine and rolled her shoulders back, put a smile on her lips, and walked over to the front desk.
Ericka glanced each way when she noticed no one was standing there, and rang the little bell that had a note saying “ring me for assistance!”
The bell was so loud that Ericka jumped a bit, and her nervousness was made far worse by the fact that no one appeared even when she rang it a second time.
She turned helplessly each way before glancing over her shoulder at the women still sitting in the lounge.
She could hear them murmuring to each other, smiles on their faces as they laughed together.
Ericka pursed her lips and decided to take a seat to wait rather than ringing the bell again. She was the one that was nearly an hour late, they were probably giving someone else a tour. Ericka made her way over and took a seat a bit away from the women chatting and took out her phone.
She gnawed on her thumbnail as she swiped through her notifications, hyper aware of the battery quickly draining.
She groaned as she put it back in her purse, not wanting to completely lose access to her phone before she got home.
Her roommates were always telling her to not go out if her phone was low battery but it had fallen off of the charger last night, leaving her at red from the moment she woke up.
Her leg jumped up and down as she flattened out her skirt, fingernails digging into the skin of her thighs as she tried to calm herself.
She’d never even heard of interviews for an apartment so she had no idea what types of questions were going to be asked.
She hoped they would just go on a tour, and they’d ask her if she had any pets or smoked, and she had taken the word ‘interview’ too seriously.
She took a long, deep breath, and relaxed back in her chair as she looked around again.
“Yeah, I really want to eat something other than just canned soup,” one of the women said. Her words caught Ericka’s attention, making her turn her ear to them a bit more.
“No, I don’t want to go out there,” another said, shaking her head.
“How about we share it?” The third said.
“It’s just so disgusting when it’s cold.”
“Do you even know how dangerous it is?”
Ericka frowned as she turned to look at the women. She couldn’t figure out what their conversation was about even as she watched their facial expressions. They were all smiling, laughing, even as their words didn’t line up with anything funny.
Ericka tilted her head as she stared at one of them, thinking how odd it was for someone as blonde as she was to have eyes that looked nearly black.
She was too focused, because she barely even realized when those eyes flicked over to her, catching her gaze.
She blinked at the woman who stared back at her without any change in her expression.
“Ericka Geiger?”
“Here!”
Ericka jumped to her feet, back straight as she looked around for who called her name.
A man was standing over by the counter now, waving and smiling at her.
He had dark brown hair that was long enough for him to tie back into a bun that Ericka always thought looked a bit ridiculous on men, and was broad and muscular enough that Ericka almost wanted to ask him if he was a weight lifter or something.
She flattened her skirt and walked over as quickly as she could without literally running.
“Nice to meet you, Ericka,” the man said, putting out his hand to shake hers.
“Thank you for this opportunity,” she said, smiling widely.
“Of course, of course,” the man said, waving a hand at her.
“Don’t look so nervous, it’s just a tour of the place and a quick interview.
We have a few apartments open right now, so the competition isn’t as crazy as you’ve probably heard it is.
” Ericka nodded along as the man walked with her over to the elevator.
“You applied for 938—a studio, correct?” he asked as he pushed the button.
“Yes,” Ericka said, a little too quick. “It looks perfect.”
The man smiled to himself, like he had a secret. “It’s a nice space.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a mechanical sigh. Ericka hesitated on the threshold, nerves fluttering in her chest. She glanced at the man beside her. He stood still, patient, the corners of his mouth curled up in a polite, but oddly fixed smile.
Then she remembered what her mother had told her about interviews: use someone’s name whenever you can. It builds trust and makes things a bit more personal. “I hope this isn’t rude,” she said, mustering a small smile. “But… may I ask your name?”
The man’s expression shifted. His brows lifted slightly, as though surprised she’d spoken, and then his smile crept higher—too slow, too wide. His teeth were very straight and white.
“My name?” he repeated, voice smooth and velvety, with something rustling beneath it like a whisper caught in a vent. He stepped into the elevator, turning just enough to beckon her inside. The motion was stiff, like his limbs had to remember how to move.
Ericka froze for a second. When she met his eyes again, something in her chest clenched.
She hadn’t noticed it at first, but they were incredibly dark—not just brown, not even just black.
They looked bottomless, like there was no light in them, no reflection, just the matte sheen of something hungry watching her back.
“My name is Lionel,” he said.
She forced herself to step inside. The doors closed with a faint hiss, sealing them in together.
Lionel turned and pressed the button for the ninth floor. Ericka watched the number light up, and then she felt a strange rush of air behind her, as if a vent had opened somewhere. But there were no vents or hum of air conditioning. Still, a cold draft slithered across the back of her neck.
Her skin prickled. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her sleeves. It was probably just nerves. The building is quite old, so it makes sense it was drafty. But still—
Then she felt it—a hand, fingers, light but definite, resting on her shoulder.
She startled, recoiling from the touch and spinning around. Her breath caught in her throat.
Lionel hadn’t moved. But he was much closer than before, only inches away. His hand hung innocently by his side now, but he stared at her, unblinking, with a small smile on his lips.
The lights in the elevator flickered just once. It was quick enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined it, enough to make her wonder if she was going crazy. She didn’t have long to stew on it, though, before Lionel was speaking again.
“We can’t wait to have you here, Ms. Geiger,” he whispered as the elevator stopped. “Welcome to the building.”