“Guess I’ll be breaking and entering; sorry, Jess,” he said cheerfully as he pulled into a spot, but a sense of dread had already set in. He wanted company, even on this small errand. “Let’s see what skeletons Jessica has hiding in her closet.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, tamping down his nerves, and got out of the car.

Jessica lived on the third floor. Carlton had only been to her place once, but he found it again easily. In front of her door was a welcome mat: it was dark green, the word WELCOME written out in black script. Carlton lifted the mat, but there was nothing under it.

For a moment he stared, at a loss for what to do next, then he flipped the mat all the way over: taped to the center was a key. “Thought you could outsmart me?” he murmured, peeling off the clear tape.

“Can I help you?” someone asked sternly from behind him. Carlton froze. The voice said nothing else, and so with deliberate movements he finished removing the key, set the mat back on the ground, and smoothed it back into place, trying to seem unconcerned. He put a pleasant expression on his face, stood, and turned to face an elderly man scowling at him from across the hall. He was wearing a faded button-up shirt and holding a hefty book, his finger marking his place.

“Do I know you?” the man demanded. Carlton forced a grin and waved the key in the air.

“Just visiting,” he said. “I’m a friend of Jessica’s.” The old man peered at him suspiciously.

“She makes too much noise,” he said, and shut his door. Carlton heard three locks snap into place, then silence. He waited a moment, then turned and hurriedly entered Jessica’s apartment.

He shut the door carefully behind him and glanced around. The apartment was no bigger—or nicer—than John’s, although it was definitely cleaner. Most of the furniture had probably come with the place, but Jessica had determinedly made it her own. The scuffed floor was as spotless as it could be made without an industrial sander, and Carlton looked guiltily down at his sneakers, thinking maybe he should have taken them off outside. Jessica had covered the worn-out couch in fluffy blankets and throw pillows; her textbooks were lined up neatly on a wide bookshelf made out of brightly painted wood planks, and above the shelf was a large corkboard full of photographs, cards, and ticket stubs. Carlton made his way over to it, curious. “Let’s see what Jessica’s been up to,” he said, talking to himself just to fill the silence.