When the door to the stall finally swung open, I waited for the woman to leave, before stepping into the stall and locking the door behind me. I squatted down, finding the loose tile behind the toilet and removing it with ease. Inside the hollow space was a small, black bag about the size of a clutch purse. I opened it, my eyes ignoring everything else in the bag as I searched for the key with the yellow tag. I found it, flipping it over to find #19 inscribed on it, and zipped the bag, placing it into the front pocket of my hoodie as my hand clutched tightly to the key. I replaced the tile and exited the stall, avoiding the mirror that lined the wall in front of me. I walked back up the steps leading to the main road, and took a right, walking quickly until I was forced to stop at an intersection. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15, as soon as the crosswalk signaled for me to go, I was off again. At the second intersection, I took a right and shielded my eyes from the rain as I looked up. The balconies overlooking the street confirmed I was in the right place. Number nineteen, third door on the right, was my next destination. I pulled the hand that still clutched the key from my pocket, and inserted it into the lock. I stepped inside, locked the door behind me, and went in search of the bathroom, as Luke’s voice reminded me of why I was here.
“Your goal is to not leave a trace. We don’t want any stones unturned. The chances of you being tied to this are slim, but we aren’t taking any chances. You want to distance yourself from the scene, get rid of anything that can tie you to it, and make sure you have an alibi as to where you were. You own an apartment in Atlanta. Make sure they know you are there. Keep your voice calm, make the call and create the problem. Be sure to do or say something familiar, use the tone of voice you would if the problem had actually occurred, but don’t say too much. Get to the point, get off the phone and remember, once you hang up you only have fifteen minutes.”
I pulled a hand towel from beneath the sink, threw it in the toilet and flushed, holding my breath until the toilet became clogged, and water began filling up the bowl. I walked to the kitchen, retrieved the phone from the wall, and made a call to the maintenance office.
“This is Dallas Knox,” I said, my voice coming out strong, confident, and laced with the slightest hint of bitchiness. “I have an appointment to show one of my apartments and I walked in to find the bathroom flooded. Something seems to be lodged in the toilet. I’m going to need someone here to fix it. I have already turned the water off and cancelled my showing.”
“Yes, Miss Knox. We will get someone on that right away.”
“While you’re at it, call me a taxi. I have scheduled to show another property while you fix the problem here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I apologize for the inconvenience. We have you scheduled for a twelve o’clock showing. We should have performed a final sweep. It must have been overlooked.”
“It’s fine. Just get someone up here after I leave.”
“Yes, ma’am. Your taxi will be here in fifteen.”
I hung up the phone without a goodbye, something I was known for, and headed back to the bathroom. I trudged through the growing puddle of water, grabbing a washcloth on my way to the shower. I opened the curtain and wrapped it around the pole so it would not get wet. I removed my filthy, wet clothes and turned on the water, being sure to use lukewarm as not to fog up the mirror. I took several gulps of water, soothing my dry throat and quenching my thirst. I scrubbed my body with the washcloth, using the shampoo that was used as a display for soap. By the time I counted to 150, I was clean. I stepped from the shower, into the running water that was now flowing into the hallway. I grabbed two towels from the cabinet and used one to wipe the remnants of water from the shower, making sure to wipe down the shampoo bottle as well. I grabbed my clothes, replaced the curtain, turned off the water to the commode and made my way to the bedroom, drying my feet before I entered. I pulled the large duffel bag from under my bed and threw on an outfit consisting of a clean pair of jogging pants, hoodie, and tennis shoes. I flipped my head over, piling my hair into a wet ball and stuffed my wet clothes, towels, and washcloth in the bag before throwing it over my shoulder and walking back to the front door. I threw the hood over my head, opened the door, and stepped back into the rain, before sliding across the seat into the taxi that waited for me.