It wasn't until he was actually turning the handle of his bedroom door that Martin saw the pink sticky-note stuck to it, just at eye-level. It had been a long few days of flying and his eyes were threatening to close already.
Immediately his thoughts went to his rent. He had paid it, hadn't he? He couldn't remember. What day was it? Wednesday? No, Thursday. The fifth of the month. He was pretty sure he had paid it. At least,
Mrs. Finnigan hadn't been pounding on his door, demanding money. But he'd been away on a trip for the last…few… He hadn't paid his rent. The first was the date of that horrible flight to Texas with a bunch of rowdy cowboys. Oh no. His heart somehow managed to sink and speed up to a dangerous rate at the same time.
But he wouldn't have the money, even when Mrs. Finnigan did come knocking, as she eventually would. He had been flying so much lately that he hadn't had time to move people's things with his van. Icarus Removals had been rather dormant lately.
He leaned against the faded paper in the dimly lit hallway, rubbing his burning eyes and desperately trying not to cry. He was tempted to leave the note where it was, but he didn't want any of the college kids to see it. They'd only laugh at him. Well, more than they already did.
He pulled the note from the old wood, taking some of the peeling paint with it. As he looked closer, he saw that handwriting, though small, was very neat. It looked like a girl's, not an old cranky woman's.
It was too dim in the corridor to read, so Martin took it inside, intrigued inspite of himself. Maybe it wouldn't be Mrs. Finnigan demanding her money just yet. He flipped on the bare lightbulb that swung freely above his head, and sat down at the cheap desk in an effort to make out the tiny writing. While it might have been dimmer in the hallway, it was certainly warmer.
Don't worry about the rent this month. You were out, so paid Mrs. F to stop banging on your door. Not helping paint situation. A friend.
Martin sat at his poorly made desk under the light of a bare bulb in disbelief. Someone had paid his rent. And noticed that he had been away. And that his door needed to be repainted. Then his heart sunk again. It was probably some stupid college prank. They would tell him his rent was paid, only to make it all the worse when Mrs. Finnigan did start pounding on his door. Probably very early in the morning.
If it hadn't been so quiet, he probably never would have heard the soft padding of socked feet coming down the hallway. He stood up in surprise, grating the feet of the chair on the old wooden floor. He heard the feet scamper away again. And then he saw how silly he was being. Why should anyone be sneaking around in the middle of the night. It was a college house - people rarely went to bed at all, let alone bothered to sneak around in the middle of the night. There was the faintest of taps on the door, as if someone had knocked just slightly harder than they had wanted to.
Right, Martin thought as he crossed the room, this prank ends now. He was tired, stressed, cold and now he was being played with. Well he wasn't in the mood for it. He yanked the door open, nearly wrenching it off its hinges. He heard a door click closed down the hall. All that was left was another pink sticky note.
Didn't want you to think I was showing off. Just didn't want you to be worried when you realized you hadn't paid. Sorry if you thought it was prank. Not at all. A friend. P.S Check the back of the first.
Martin felt his heart sink for the second time in as many minutes. He had mistrusted someone who had been so nice to him. He took the first note from where it had fallen from his hand onto the desk. He flipped it over.
Also, blanket on bed. It's cold tonight.
He turned to see a large woolly blanket neatly folded on top of his thin, threadbare sheets. He smiled as tears sprang to his eyes. He climbed into bed feeling warmer that he had in a long time. Partly from the blanket, but more than that, it was knowing that maybe there was someone out there who was actually on his side.