Lower-Floor

"Yeah, properties like this rarely come up for rent" said the Estate Agent as he unlocked the door. The door was imitation wood. In other words, it was plastic, but brown. There was a locking device aside from the key, which James recognised as an intercom system. "The area is very popular with people of all ages, a mixture of houses and apartments and level-access housing" he continued, opening the door and walking in. James followed, watching the weatherboard as he raised his leg to clear it. He was very particular about where he placed his feet. As a young child he would walk on cracks in the pavement so they placed exactly at the centre of his foot. If it missed what he perceived to be the centre, his other foot would have to hit the same exact spot on the next crack. The sense of relief at taking two steps where the cracks in the pavement hit a perfect centre. He thought of this as he cleared the weatherboard, happy that he doesn't do that anymore. Well, rarely.

As he walked into the hallway he noticed the doorways leading to other places. It was empty, the walls were plain but clean. He was thankful for this, as cleaning was never something that stimulated him. The estate agent continued talking, but James had already tuned him out having occupied his mind with ideas. "TV would go there, sofa there" he thought as he followed into the living room. He was pleased that the property was in a nice area, the rent was affordable, the rooms were of a large size. It would be perfect for a single person.

"Single person, living alone" he thought to himself. He often thought of his children; the 5 year old son, and the dead one. The anguish that was supposed to follow never did. Numbness took him by the hand, and slowly reached up around his throat. He never even noticed that his girlfriend had moved back to her mother's place. It was like a trip to the dentist; the novocaine was starting to wear off, but wet drops of saliva on a shirt showed the results of the treatment. There was no going back for either of them. No way to continue, not after what happened. While the feeling of numbness hadn't left him completely, he could only continue.

After the two gentlemen discussed a few details they made their way back to the front door. "Ah yes, it's worth mentioning that this property doesn't come with a bath, but a wet room. The previous tenant was an old man, this was fitted for him a few years ago to stop him falling in the bath". James inspected this room. The floor was like the swimming baths he used to go to as a child. His father would take him there on weekends. While there was no bath, the shower seemed adequate. "I'll take it, please" said James. As they exited through the same door they came in a question appeared in James' mind. The previous tenant was old, old enough to not be able to manage a simple task of entering and exiting a bath. There was an intercom system on the front door, which was unusual for a lower-floor apartment. He asked the question knowing the answer it wouldn't affect his decision, but he asked it anyway.

"Did the previous tenant die here?"