II

There’s no lock on the lobby door, which I don’t like under the current circumstances. The dim lights cast an ugly yellow hue across its ordinary light beige floors and dark beige walls. The grid of silver mailboxes is directly across from a hallway holding three apartments. There’s another hallway in front of me beside the elevator.

A glance over my shoulder at the mailbox shows the names of the tenants on each. It’s convenient, but I don’t like it. After ripping Raina Olsen’s name off her mailbox, I head toward her apartment. I don’t want to wake her, and instead of ringing the bell, I test the doorknob to make sure the lock is still intact.

The door doesn’t budge, which makes me feel slightly better. I want to get my eyes on her. The windows to her apartment are around the back of the building from what I remember. It only takes me a few minutes to make my way around the side of the building.

My eyes continue to drift to the fence line separating the building’s property from the ho