Michael felt sick.

He opened his eyes, leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. The smell was horrifying – after five seconds it had reached the level of being mildly disgusting – after ten seconds it was gone again. Michael looked around, lazily caressing the golden ring on his ring finger while trying to locate his cell phone. Turned out it was resting on the table right in front of the sofa, on which he was sitting – on which he had been sitting for who knows how many hours.

Michael stood up and walked around with sluggish movements, feeling tired and still a bit nauseous. His apartment was quite small, so there wasn't much space to walk around in: just the living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Michael's path consisted of warped circles and ellipses, twisted and elongated by continuous mappings, until he finally reached a simple conclusion: he had to leave. He had decided (many hours ago) to start driving, but he also had postponed the practical aspects of this decision again and again. Now it felt like an optimal moment to start moving, and get as far as possible. Far away from the stench.

Michael went through his pockets while walking around, yet he couldn't find his keys – once again, he had just scattered them somewhere without thinking. They weren't in the drawer, nor inside the sofa. Not in the kitchen or the bedroom either, so they had to be in the bathroom. Michael entered the small room covered with white and deep blue tiles. There was a toilet in the corner, a bathtub hidden behind a blue curtain, small table next to said tub, and a wooden cabinet with mirror-covered doors.

Michael opened the cabinet – his keys were lying on the top shelf. It was unclear to him how they had ended up there, but he wasn't surprised either. He picked them up and looked around, wondering if he had forgotten something else. He stared at the small table, with a folded piece of paper resting on it. Michael stood there for a while, thinking about nothing. He turned around and grabbed the door handle, yet suddenly decided to pick up the paper and place it inside his wallet.

Michael returned to the living room and checked his phone: it was a bit over 10 in the evening. Even so, the living room's windows were pitch-black, as late autumn had already taken the sun away. Michael didn't mind the darkness – quite the contrary, since he wanted to be as alone as possible. He took his beige jacket from the stand and stuffed various important items inside the pockets: phone, wallet, keys...and that was about it; there was no need to take useless items on the road. Michael stood still for a while, staring at the red carpet and rubbing his hands together. Eventually he made it to the door and stepped into the corridor.

The interior of the apartment building was shaped like the letter H: two long corridors, plus a shorter one connecting them around the midpoints. Michael's apartment, number 48, was in the fourth floor, so he had to take the stairs (elevator didn't work for whatever reason). While walking, he wondered how many of his neighbours were already asleep – it was really quiet. All he could hear was a distant, extremely faint humming, whose source was unclear.

Michael listened to the echoes of his steps as he descended the staircase. He reached the first floor and inspected a green bulletin board – couple of paper sheets were attached on it, but none of them seemed interesting. There was also a matrix of metallic mailboxes hanging next to the front door – Michael's sight jumped from name tag to another, until he reached the one stating Kane. He pushed the lid open, noticing some kind of brochure lying inside. He had no use for an advertisement, so he ignored it and opened the front door. Michael got slightly puzzled for a moment, since the door wasn't locked – seemed like the door closer hadn't done its job properly.

It was cold outside – Michael followed the water vapors dancing in front of his face. He stepped on the narrow driveway, which was bordered by a high concrete wall and the apartment building itself. On Michael's right the driveway connected to the main road; on his left it led to the parking lot. That's where his car was parked, but he chose the opposite direction in order to investigate something peculiar – a white van was left on the driveway, blocking it completely. The engine was running, but there was no sign of the driver. It seemed like he had been about to back the van inside an alleyway, but forgot to do the actual backing.

Michael left as the engine's fumes made him sick again. He decided to worry about the van later – he had to pick up his own car first. Therefore, he started walking towards the parking lot and inspecting his environment by looking around: some ornamental trees were standing behind the concrete wall. Their long partially leafless branches stuck through the black veil, making their appearance unnatural.

Michael passed two other vehicles left in the middle of the parking lot (he did wonder why there weren't more of them) until reaching his own car – a dim blue Mazda 626 GB. It was old, but he had taken precise care of it. Michael stepped inside and turned on the engine – it took a minute or so to get used to the low-pitched rumbling. He sat there for a moment, staring at the bright little lights glittering in the dashboard. Since he didn't have a plan, he decided to just drive away – direction wasn't important. Even so, he did make one decision beforehand: turning right at the end of the driveway.

Michael drove between the apartment building and the wall, puzzled to see the van already gone. He passed the alleyway, and the lightless husk of the van placed neatly inside it – pretty much perfect timing. He took a right at the connection and started following the main street. Orange glow of the street lamps created a pulsating light show – Michael felt almost peaceful. He looked at the tall buildings around him, whose windows were mostly black – it seemed like people had gone sleeping rather early.

Michael reached a crossroads. On his right, there was a light green sign with name Cloverfield Avenue written on it. He sighed and took the turn left.