“There it is, 1206, and Charles was right, the door is slightly ajar. Slow down, Annie, we don’t want to get too far down the hall.” She looked down at her watch. “Two seconds, turn around,” she hissed. “Now!”

Annie and Myra barreled back down the hall and were inside Bonnie and Clyde’s apartment the moment the windowless hallway went black. Myra counted to ten. The power came back on, and the apartment came to life. Whoever had entered first and left the door open for them must have been the one to turn the lamps on. Undoubtedly they would return and put things back the way they were after Myra and Annie left. The overhead light in the foyer gave off enough light to illuminate the dining area, the kitchen, and the living room.

The apartment was sparsely furnished.

“I don’t know for sure what rental furniture looks like, but I think we’re looking at it,” Annie said, indicating the dark, bland furniture that looked neither comfortable nor fashionable. The women separated, Annie taking the bathroom and bedroom, Myra the kitchen, living room, and dining area. It took only four minutes before the women met up in a short hallway that separated the living area from the bedroom.

“No one lives here, Myra. There’s no stuff. Everyone has stuff. Everyone brings something with them from the old place to the new place, even if it’s only a dying plant. There’s always a bit of the past you want to bring with you to the present to remind you where you’ve been. This is just a shell, a cover of some sort. Everything is new, the sheets on the bed still have the creases on them from being packaged, and they smell new. Everything is minimal, drugstore cosmetics, all new. Clyde’s shaving kit and his sundries are new and unused. They forgot to take the tag off the towels. The chest of drawers holds brand-new clothing from JCPenney. Seven of everything. It still smells new. The closet has shoes, they’re new, too. No DNA anywhere in this place, and that’s a guarantee.”

“It’s the same thing in the kitchen,” Myra said. “There are four of everything. Nothing extra. Two pots, two fry pans. The refrigerator has a bottle of wine, three bottles of beer, and a six-pack of bottled water. There are two dried-up oranges in the fruit bin. In the freezer there are two frozen TV dinners, a can of frozen juice, no pitcher to mix it in. That’s it. The coffeepot has never been used, and the can of coffee hasn’t been opened.”

“This place is carpeted, but there’s no vacuum cleaner. No cleaning supplies. I don’t think Charles was expecting this. What do you think, Myra?”