I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman / Chapter 5: The Call at Maple Heights
I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman

I Unlocked the Door for a Dead Woman

Author: Randall Conrad

Chapter 5: The Call at Maple Heights

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Building 4 of Maple Heights is nearby. It only took me five minutes to get there. I entered the elevator and pressed 14. When I arrived, I saw a woman crouched in front of Apartment 1404.

The building was quiet, the kind of hush that’s only interrupted by the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional dog barking in the distance. The elevator creaked up, the numbers flickering like they were tired too. I stepped out onto the fourteenth floor, the hallway bathed in a sickly yellow light.

As soon as she saw me, she quickly stood up and asked, "You’re Mason, right? The locksmith?"

She looked nervous, eyes wide and red-rimmed, like she hadn’t slept in days. She was hugging herself, maybe against the chill, maybe just for comfort. I gave her a polite nod and tried to look as trustworthy as possible.

Maybe it was my imagination, but her voice seemed to tremble a little.

It was subtle, but unmistakable—the kind of fear that seeps into your bones. I wondered what kind of trouble she’d had tonight besides the lock.

I nodded. "Yeah, you just called me, right?"

"Yes, yes. I don’t know what happened—my door won’t open, the key just won’t turn. I used too much force and broke the key inside."

Her hands shook as she gestured, her voice barely above a whisper. I could see her broken key, the jagged metal poking from the keyhole.

She pointed to the lock. Sure enough, half a key was stuck in the keyhole.

I knelt down for a closer look, giving her a reassuring half-smile. "Don’t worry, this happens more often than you’d think."

"Looks like the lock cylinder’s worn out and needs replacing," I said, showing her my business license and locksmith registration, as required. Then, I verified her identity and her relationship to the property, checking her ID—her name was Lauren Zheng. She was indeed the owner.

Her Illinois driver’s license shook in her hand as I glanced at the photo, double-checking the address like I was following some invisible rulebook. I handed back her ID after a careful look, keeping my tone professional. Lauren Zheng. I mentally filed it away—just another name, another door. She seemed grateful for my caution, maybe a bit surprised at my thoroughness. I always make a point to follow the rules—most of the time.

Strictly speaking, there should be a third-party witness, like a building manager or neighbor, but since it was late, some rules are usually skipped.

Nobody wants to wake the building super at 2 AM. I jotted her info down on the work order, let her sign, and gave her the carbon copy. She was shivering now—maybe from nerves, maybe just the chill of the hallway.

After completing the unlocking paperwork, I took out my tools and got to work.

I set my toolbox down, rolled up my sleeves, and began. The metal was cold in my hands, but it was all muscle memory by now. My fingers worked quickly, but I kept my movements slow and deliberate, glancing up at her every so often to check on her.

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