Prologue #2
Maybe the time had come to invest in a car, so he wasn’t dependent upon public transportation.
Up to this point, it had seemed uneconomical when he was a quick ten-minute walk to the ‘T’ station and could jump the Redline to work at the Boston Police headquarters with ease.
Not to mention the cost of insurance, parking, and initial investment.
The thought of riding home from work in a warm car was appealing, though.
Trevor ran up the flight of exterior stairs to his front door.
The building housed six units, and his was on the back side on the second floor.
He searched the pocket of his coat for his keys.
A loud crash from some metal trashcans in the alley alongside his building made him almost drop his dinner and scream like a little girl.
A low yowling from a cat had him looking over his shoulder.
The poor thing sounded scared, and Trevor felt the same when he spied a hulking shadow peering around the corner of the building next door.
Perhaps his imagination played tricks, but the faceless form appeared to fix him with its gaze.
He flung open the door to his apartment and locked himself inside.
His back pressed against the door, the bag of take-out gripped so tightly in his hand, it was a wonder his fingers didn’t rip right through the paper.
A few seconds later Trevor realized what a ninny he was being and shook his head at his overactive imagination.
No boogeyman haunted him. The Thing did not lurk outside his door.
He tossed his coat on the hook beside the door and walked the three steps to the edge of the wall that formed a rectangle in the center of his apartment.
A kitchenette sat on the exterior side of the rectangle, sharing space with his living area.
His bedroom rested at the opposite end, and a tiny but functional bathroom was housed in the interior.
Bare brick walls and hardwood floors kept the atmosphere minimalistic.
All in all, Trevor thought the little hideaway was perfect for him.
He flicked on one of the small under-cabinet lights he had mounted and set the bag of take-out on his three feet of counter space.
Reaching up into one of the three frosted glass cabinets, he removed an oven-safe dish, a plate, and a glass.
He opened his mini-fridge under the counter, only to discover his milk had expired two days ago.
Trevor gave it a sniff and, detecting a hint of sourness, poured the remaining contents down the round, undermounted stainless sink.
It looked like he would have water with his dinner tonight, which had become cold despite his best efforts.
Trevor pushed the buttons on his stove to preheat the oven.
The thing was half the size of a regular appliance, but sufficient for his needs. It wasn’t like he was a gourmet chef.
Trevor walked the few paces over to his sofa and dropped in exhaustion.
He looked out the two large windows overlooking the backyard of the building and caught sight of a shadow from the branches of the large oak tree blowing in the fall night air.
The weatherman had said a cold front was approaching tonight and by the feel of things on Trevor’s way home, he could definitely confirm the prediction.
Trevor searched for the remote in the edge of the cushions for a minute then clicked on his new television.
He was a bit of a self-admitted audio- and videophile.
Trevor worked with top-of-the-line equipment during the day for the Boston crime lab unit, and a couple of months ago he’d reached his breaking point.
Unable to stand coming home to the second hand laptop he’d picked up at Goodwill when he moved in for one more second, he’d withdrawn part of his savings and sprung for a new forty inch smart tv couple of months ago.
The colors leapt off the screen and, despite not forking over the cash for the surround-sound system, Trevor thought the sound quality was excellent.
It wasn’t like his apartment needed surround-sound anyway.
The oven beeped, and he placed his barbeque chicken and corn in the dish to heat up, then slipped it in to heat for a few minutes.
Trevor walked down the short hallway to his bedroom and, despite his inner pep talk by the door, peeked out the blinds of his window to see if anyone stood on the corner. Just as he thought, there was nothing.
Trevor pulled a pair of comfortable sleep pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt out of his dresser.
He didn’t bother to turn on his bedside lamp.
He knew every inch of his bedroom. The well-washed fabric was soft and slid over his body with the comfort and familiarity of an old friend.
Trevor eyed the bed with longing but knew he should eat at least a portion of his dinner before collapsing.
It had been a long day, and he hadn’t taken the time to eat lunch.
If he went to bed without dinner either, he would probably wake up starving later, and Trevor had every intention of sleeping a full eight—if not more—hours tonight.
He shuffled back into the living area and retrieved his dinner.
Setting his food down on the sofa, he got comfortable.
His love of his sofa was a necessity; the apartment lacked space for a dining table.
He channel-surfed until the classic movie station flashed up on the screen, and he saw they were playing Operation Petticoat —a Cary Grant comedy he loved.
Two of the characters were trying to steal a pig, and Trevor’s laughter echoed off the bare walls. He looked around. While he was proud of being able to support himself, it was times like this when he wished he had someone to share his space with. Share his life with.
Maybe someday he would meet the right man, but until then, he always had Cary.