Apartment 4b Novels & Stories

Von POV The Following Morning Marcus arrived at 7 AM with coffee and bad news. "The text came from a resident," he said without preamble, spreading documents across the dining table. "Apartment 42B. Belongs to a woman named Claire Whitmore." I froze. "Whitmore? As in "

Fortunately, it really was Ben. Ben had always been helpful to the residents in the building. He would help us take out the trash and collect our parcels. Every time he helped me with something, I would pass him a couple of drinks to show my gratitude. I would never let him leave empty-handed, so we knew each other quite well. “I went away for a competition and handed the apartment to Jacob so that he could look after my expensive paintings. Who knew that he would pass the key to Prissy and allow her to partition my apartment?

My grip against the hand of my bag tightened as I made my way upstairs to his apartment. “422” I muttered to myself immediately I got to the forth floor, I took slow and steady stride as I made my way to apartment number 422, immediately I got there I pressed my hands on the doorbell, from where I stood I could hear the bell ring throughout the apartment. Shortly after I heard footsteps and the door unlocked.

“Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you either.” The thin walls between Apartment 4A and 4B had never felt so useless.... or so perfect.

I could hear his end of the conversation and I had to keep myself composed as Joseph told Dan, the man downstairs, to send the little piece of fruit cake up. “Fourth floor, apartment four C,” he said to me and I smiled my thanks. I went up to the fourth floor and I shook my head as I laughed in the elevator. The doors opened up and I turned left. Their apartment was the third one and I knocked. Joseph Wilson opened the door and looked me up and down.

She did not want to stand in a kitchen and see the city from the same angle. The fourteenth floor apartment faced east. The agent showed her the main room first. It was smaller than she was used to. The kitchen was a galley. The bedroom had one window that looked at the building opposite and would not get direct sun until late afternoon. She stood in the centre of the main room and looked at the walls and the floor and the ceiling and the window and thought this is manageable. She said I will take it. The agent said did you want to see the bathroom. She said no. She said I will take it.

Jimmy commented shutting the car door. "It says here," Natalia said, looking over a slip of paper. "Alex lives in apartment 12 B." Jimmy thought the apartment number sounded familiar, "What was Osheys?" Natalia flipped a small writing pad over. "11 B, next store." "Well let's see if Alex remembers Oshey." Jimmy started climbing the exterior steps. He walked in silence to a door marked 12. He glanced over his shoulder to Natalia before knocking twice on the door. "Just a moment," a male voice from inside called out.

The white apartment door before us bore the number 12054, which, once translated, indicated our location: the 120th floor, apartment 54. As Alex and I stepped out from the capsule taxi to the balcony, it seamlessly closed its door behind us and departed, leaving us at the threshold of our new dwelling. The door to our apartment swung open in response to the proximity of our smartwatches. The apartment, though modest in size, was efficiently laid out, encompassing a living area, kitchen, a queen size bed, and a bathroom all within 30 to 40 square meters (around 400 square feet). It was a compact space.