Maggie von Spreckleson Ch. 1

CHAPTER ONE

The apartment was stark, cobwebs hanging carelessly in the abandoned corners.  Dishes piled up, teetering precariously in the tiny, stained sink.  Maggie swung through the battered front door to her apartment and threw the dishes a scathing glance as she tossed her backpack onto the faded upholstery of a sagging armchair.  The stifling humid heat clung stubbornly to Maggie’s body, wrapping its way into every tendril of hair until it was sagging lifelessly against her damp back.  She felt as if she were being slowly cooked to death in her own apartment. The landlord had yet to fix the air conditioning unit that sat nestled crookedly in the wall, its face blank.  Mentally, Maggie cursed at the landlord, resisting the urge to phone him at such a late hour and remind him that air conditioning was the sole redeeming factor of the apartment.  Instead, she settled for sticking her head inside the freezer for a few moments, taking advantage of the situation to pull out a frosty bottle of vodka.
 
The floorboards creaked ominously outside Maggie’s apartment door and she froze, tilting her head to get a better listen.  Her apartment door was the last one in the corridor; there was no reason for anyone to pass its threshold.  The freezer still huffed out frosty smoke as Maggie raised her left hand and made a flicking motion, plunging the apartment into darkness.  The floorboards groaned again, Maggie’s skipped a beat.  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blackness and she squinted blindly for a moment, searching for a weapon and finding a dirty kitchen knife on the counter.  It would do.  Still firmly rooted in front of the wheezing fridge, Maggie motioned and the knife sailed silently into her hand. 

She knew she was probably just being paranoid but she couldn’t shake the feeling.  She hadn’t heard anything in the hall now for a minute; even if there was someone outside the door, they had probably left. What an ass, Maggie silently chided herself as she quietly placed the vodka bottle on the messy counter and padded slowly to the door.  It’s probably just some dumb drunk who forgot where the hell he lives. You’re always getting yourself worked up for nothing, Mags. 

Nevertheless, she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she checked it out.  The outside light shone brightly through the tiny peephole on the front door as Maggie gulped and pressed her eye to it, peering out.  Dear god, don’t let there be anyone out there.  I think I’d have a fucking heart attack if someone popped up right now.
Nothing.  No one.  Maggie squinted against the blurry peephole a second time and saw nothing. 

A succession of sharp staccato raps to the door sent Maggie scrambling back, her heart in her throat as the knife clattered to the ground.  There was no one out there.  The knife back in her hand, Maggie took a few cautious steps toward the door.  A nervous giggle bubbled in her throat and Maggie choked it back, berating herself silently.

Maggie stared at the peephole in trepidation, willing herself to lean forward and look through it again but her body was frozen.  30 seconds had passed since the mysterious knocking but Maggie just stood there like a paranoid statue.  Another nervous giggle erupted and she clamped her mouth shut.  Jesus Mags, just look through the fucking hole already.  Why are you acting like such a wimp?  She leaned forward, took a deep breath and pressed her face against the peephole. 

RAP! RAP! RAP!  Another steady, insistent series of knocks.  This time the giggle leapt from her throat as a yelp and she jumped back again.  Even though it had been a quick peek, Maggie knew no one was there. 

“Who is it?” She called out gruffly, twisting the handle of the knife absently in her hand.  Silence.  The floorboards didn’t creak, no one shuffled on the other side of the door.  Maggie was beginning to wonder if she was finally going crazy, or crazier than she already was.

“Who IS it?”  Maggie called again, voice dipping lower, a warning. 

“I’m looking for Maggie von Spreckleson.”  A deep male voice answered.  The tone was stiff, almost oddly formal. 

Maggie paused, wondering who the hell knew her name, eyes widening in alarm.  She didn’t recognize the voice, not that it mattered.  He knew her surname.  No one in this city knew Maggie’s name – Maggie made sure of that.  Names came with a past and her past was one thing Maggie did not want anyone knowing about.  Yet, someone had called her von Spreckleson, a surname one does not simply confuse.  Better think fast, Mags
. 
“You must have the wrong apartment.”  The lie came smoothly, as they always did.  “Maybe she’s on another floor.”

“I don’t think so.”  There was not a hint of doubt in the voice on the other side of the door.  Maggie was at a loss.

“I’m telling you, you have the wrong apartment.”  Maggie snapped back.  She had slowly been inching from the door and even as she replied she was pulling her bookbag on and sliding her feet into sneakers.  The kitchen window, the voice inside her said, climb the fuck out of the kitchen window.  Maggie nodded and leaned over, grasping her keychain with her full fist to muffle the sound of the keys clanking together.  As she slid them softly into her bag she heard the click of the kitchen window unlocking.  Within three strides she was across the apartment and in front of the window as it was sliding open, squeaking slightly, seemingly of its own accord.  By the time the man knocked again Maggie was swinging her bare legs through the window, balancing on the small ledge outside.  She knew she could easily jump across the few feet emptiness to the fire escape balcony on the building across from her own.  With a deep nervous breath, Maggie pushed herself from the ledge, twisting in mid air, and grabbed the rusted rungs of the fire escape ladder with a resounding clang.  Whoever was banging on her apartment door wouldn’t be able to run down five flights of stairs in the time it would take her to climb up the escape and onto the roof of the other building.  From there she could monitor the situation, keep a close eye on her apartment.  If running was absolutely necessarily Maggie knew she could easily let herself down the fire escape on the other side and lose her unwanted visitor in the twist of alleys below.  Always running, that little voice inside her of admonished, you’ll never stop running away.  Maggie ignored it and kept climbing.  Her conscience was something she could deal with later.

Quietly, Maggie slunk up the fire escape, hopping over the ledge of the roof, scraping her knees on the rough brick surface.  She hissed in pain and ducked down, cocking her head, listening.  Nothing.  The front door of her apartment swung open with an atrocious howl of metal on metal and she would have definitely heard if someone went through it.  Cautiously, she peered over the ledge of the roof.  A light suddenly flickered on in her apartment and Maggie ducked down, counted to ten, and then slowly raised her head so she could get see over the roof ledge.  A shadow moved, distorted through the filmy curtain near her bed.  With a small sigh of relief Maggie realized that the kitchen window was shut; no one would suspect her climbing out of it.  Maggie removed her backpack and pulled out a pair of binoculars so she could see who was rooting around in her apartment.

“Well, that was certainly unexpected.”  A male voice wryly remarked behind her.  Maggie choked on a scream and whirled, launching to her feet and sliding the pack on.  The man leaned casually against a door frame that led into the apartment building effectively cutting off her escape route.  Trapped.

“Can I help you?” Maggie asked warily, brushing dirt from her skirt and silently wishing she had worn jeans instead.  The man just chuckled.

“Didn’t have you pegged as the Spiderman type, that’s all.”  He replied, never moving from his spot.  His hands were shoved in the pockets of his slacks and Maggie vaguely wondered if that was supposed to be comforting to her.  It wasn’t.  He was tall and thick, his expression inscrutable.  He didn’t take his eyes off her and Maggie knew he was someone she did not want to tangle with.  A brief moment of silence passed, then pushed his shoulder from the wall and gestured to Maggie.

“We just wanted to talk to you” He took one step forward and Maggie took one step away.  “There is no need to run from us.” 

A cold chill settled in her stomach and Maggie understood that this man had something to do with the guy rummaging around her apartment at that very moment.  Wordlessly, Maggie hopped up and over the ledge of the roof, hitting the ladder and dropping down to the next landing with a bone jarring thud.  Her knees buckled in protest but Maggie ignored it and quickly raced down the fire escape.  She thought she heard an amused chuckle float after her from above.  There was no sense in being quiet; Maggie thundered down the escape, dropping herself down to the ladder below, cutting her palms on the ragged metal.  Fuck, this is going to hurt tomorrow.  If I make it, that is.  She let go of the metal and hit the pavement with a yelp of pain, pausing barely for a second before she could coax her legs to work again.  Then she was off, weaving silently through the maze of the alleys.