Nikki Shore - Ghost Beneath The Ashes

Chapter 2

Roscoe Apartment, 9:55 AM

Roscoe Apartment, a rundown building just a few blocks from the Fuente Circle. It was an old building which stood out from the rest of the other modern aluminum-clad buildings with its painted cement walls and decor straight out of the seventies. One could wonder on how it could even survive in this day and age. I rented the third space from the right side of the fifth floor 10 years ago, and despite the condition it was in, it was still serviceable for my needs.

I finally arrived at the apartment after a grueling minute walk. The jeep stopped two blocks away from the apartment, which is also on the other side of the road. When I arrived at the apartment, the front desk guy gave me some bills and leaflets for stuff I couldn't afford and have no interest to buy. The elevator was beyond repair at that point so I climbed the stairs. Each time I climbed these stairs, it reminded me how lonely it was in my office, or rather what's left of my father's legacy—

His old wooden desk where he checks and edits reports from the paper he used to work; the big old office chair that kept him company, even going so far as becoming his bed; the worn out lamp with its busted light bulb illuminated each of the times where he rushed the edits overnight just to get it reached to the printing press by next morning; the fan that stood beside the desk with a busted switch that could no longer hold still and kept turning its head; and lastly a still life painting of a bowl of fruits that used to hang in his walls which now graced mine.

The only thing I own in the office is a Monobloc chair for my clients I bought on ACE Hardware for the cheap, and the plastic yellow blinds illuminating the room each night with an aesthetic chiaroscuro of parallel lights and shadows coming from the silent moon outside.

As I opened the door, the place looked like a mess. On the floor near the slightly worn maroon office sofa was an expensive looking red leather Versace handbag with gold trim on its zipper and handles, a pair of faux suede/leather thigh high boots, probably Loboutins, along with a bunch of cardboard shopping bags plastered with designer brands.

On the sofa, there was a woman reclining there, eating a chocolate cupcake with strawberry icing held by her slim hands with pink-painted trimmed nails.

She was blonde as a blonde gal could be, sporting a fluffy ponytail wrapped around a red scrunch hair band. Her nylon white beach cover-up reveals her coquettish red and pink bandeau bra. Her miniskirt barely wrapped her long legs covered with black lace.

She is sexy through and through, she is my best friend, and she's eating a cupcake so sloppily. She looks at me angrily.

"HEY! What took you so long! Look, I'm eating a cupcake alone thanks to you."

"Don't give me that crap, Er. It's been a rough day."

Erin Chase ignores me as she continues on with her cupcake, munching each and every morsel with her chapped red lipstick-laden lips.

Catherine Chase, the daughter of a hotel magnate here in Bellvue. She wants everyone to call her Erin, but fails to convince them. Her father was a good friend of my old man. She currently served at her father's hotel, as their finance officer of sorts.

People often think of Erin Chase as a spoiled heiress, spending her ostentatious wealth with parties and such refinements and often associated with scandals left and right that would make a celebrity jealous, I know her better though. She always is brash and bitchy at times, but that's just her open mindedness. She's a real go-getter, she loves the thrill of it, I guess, but she has her limits.

We went to the office backroom, which served as my home. On the left side is my mini kitchen, it had the typical L-shape layout with basic amenities. A small refrigerator rests on the side of the kitchen. The room is divided by an L-shaped leatherette sofa right beside the doorway which transitions the room to my 'living room'.