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The Quint Street apartments are only about one step above living in the slums, which is only about half a step above living in a box on the street. The landlord either unplugged his phone or, like most of the residents, refused/couldn't afford to pay his phone bill and got the line shut off. Largely because of the landlord's complete lack of any feelings of obligation to his tenants, the pipes leak, the wallpaper (in the few apartments lucky enough to have wallpaper) is water damaged and peeling, the floors are a good strong hop away from caving in, the buzzer doesn't work, hot water is considered a miracle, and the ceilings leak whenever anyone so much as spills a glass of water on the floor above.

But, hey, it's home. And it's better than living in a van down by the river, isn't it?

Previous

Blinding light from the uncovered windows practically smacked Zii awake. She groaned, her head killing her as she rolled over off the mattress and onto the floor. It took her a moment to get her bearings, and to recollect the events of the night before.

Rowland was snoozing on the mattress beside her, undisturbed by her movement. He hadn't been home when she'd come in; he worked the night shift and generally didn't arrive home until six or seven in the morning. His schedule made it fairly convenient for Zii to avoid him.

Zii moved through the apartment like a zombie. The shower awakened her a little and got rid of the stench of stale smoke and sweat, but her mind remained largely in denial of what had happened the night before. It was only when she walked out of the bathroom and into the large central room to dress that her mind registered the closet.

The closet was a tiny storage space that really seemed to be there only to further reduce the size of the tiny bathroom it was next to. Rowland and Zii kept the few garments they could consider "nice" in there, as well as a few boxes full of memories and other things that really had no purpose other than to be stuffed away and forgotten about. On this particular day, Zii would have ignored the closet much like she did any other day, except for the fact that the door was standing wide open and a long, cardboard box was lying on the floor poking out of it.

Zii recognized the box and rushed over to the closet. She was pretty sure that the box had been stuffed in the very back of the closet, so there was no way that it could have fallen naturally. She was getting ready to storm over and kick Rowland until he explained himself when she noticed that the box most certainly hadn't been opened by human fingers.

The box was opened at the top, the edges gnarled and holey, as though insects had chewed through it. Zii didn't know much about moths, but she didn't think that they ate cardboard. A brief inspection of the closet revealed that nothing else had been touched. Whatever was in the box must be pretty tasty.

For a moment or two, Zii considered duct taping the box back up and shoving it back in the closet. She had gone this long without seeing what was inside and she really didn't care about changing that trend now. But if the bugs ate through the box once, they'd probably do it again. At the very least, she thought, she should take out whatever is in there and put it in plastic or something.

With less anticipation than Zii thought she'd have when this moment came, Zii reached into the box. It was full of old newspaper and by the time Zii was elbow-deep she was beginning to think that was all the box contained. But then her hand hit something cold and smooth and she gripped it and slowly pulled it out into the open air.

Zii was holding a revolver. She had grabbed the barrel, and she quickly corrected her grip on the weapon as she looked at it with more confusion than she'd ever known in her life. Why would her grandfather leave her a revolver? The gun was sleek and black as pitch, surprisingly light in her hands. It looked brand new, certainly not like an artifact that had been stashed away in a box for twenty years. Zii checked but it wasn't loaded. Still, Zii had always been taught to treat a gun as though it were loaded, and she placed it on top of the box that had contained it with extreme reverence.

What was she supposed to do with it? Zii asked herself this over and over as she continued to dress and get ready to leave the apartment. Finally, she decided that, since she didn't have a license to own a gun and really wasn't about to get one, she might as well just pawn the thing. At worst, she'd get a pack of smokes out of it.

After stashing the gun into her bag and leaving a note for Rowland, Zii left the apartment.