Being that Growden didn't have a great many possessions to his name at all, his car was the pride and joy of his life. He had attained her under rather questionable circumstances, but he still treasured Nessie very dearly. She was a beat up old Buick with peeling leather seats and a questionable amount of miles to her name, but she was his.
Not to mention, having a vehicle to take you about was a great convenience. So long as he kept the money for gas, Growden was free to go wherever he pleased. At the most present moment, he pleased to plant himself firmly in a dusty alley across the street from an apartment compound. He had been casing and gathering notes on the outside of Asia Alvarsson's apartment building and her general schedule for nearly a week now.
His employer hadn't given him so much starting knowledge but knowing the address was a golden information piece which he refused to give up. He watched the day-to-day of Asia from a decent distance and noted everything down. So far, he had deduced that her usual schedule began at 6:30 in the morning, when the lights went on and she prepared for the day from then until a little before 8. From there, she walked out of the apartment in business attire ready to go, Growden could only assume, to her job. She would stay at the job location anywhere from six to ten hours, implying her schedule was not exactly concrete.
At first Growden struggled to ponder on what sort of office style job would lead to fluctuating hours until he realised she must be a business executive or something of the sort. He figured he could tail her and figure out exactly but his employer didn't seem to be seeking anything related to her company, so Growden deemed such a measure unnecessary.
Anyhow, now that he knew her typical schedule, his next move was rather obvious. He waited until she left for work one morning and approached the apartment swiftly. Being that it was eight, he figured most workers would already be gone and the brunt of apartments in the compound were empty for the moment.
One behaviour of Asia's that would make it easy to get into the building, was that she left the kitchen window open the mornings of her meditations. Growden had observed there was a strict ritual she followed along with the other day-to-day procedures. She would take a few moments to be seated and close her eyes and do nothing else. Whilst he did not himself understand the benefits of such an action, he observed it was something she did. Just before she took to these plagues of silence, she would light an incense stick and set it by the kitchen window, leaving the slightest crack from which the smoke would escape.
Growden had a ripe awkward time climbing from the first balcony up to her second storyone and took to using a nearby maple tree to steady himself as he grabbed the bars and pulled his weight upwards. Sweat had soaked the back of his shirt and if anyone had seen him then surely they'd question it, but nonetheless he had made it.
From there, the boy pushed his floppy dark hair back from his face and began pulling the kitchen window farther open. The windowsill was lined with flowerpots and a few empty glass vases, Growden very carefully took down and set the items in the row which they had been standing before he began tucking his long, thin body through the opening.
Generally, he would've preferred an alternative entrance but none appeared in his analysis of the woman which left this as his only option. Once he'd steadied himself, he took to analysing the inside contents of the home easily. While he'd been able to get a general idea of what Asia was doing from the outside of her home, it was nearly impossible to discern what sorts of objects had been inside. This way, he was able to analyse her situation down to the smallest detail.
The first place Growden thought to look was in the woman's bedroom. It was the only room separated from the rest of the apartment by a door and the only room he'd never watched her whilst she was in. Sure, his employer had sought personal information about her but he doubted from Miss Polson's definition that the personal information included what manner of undergarments she wore.
He was intrigued to find the room had its own bathroom attached and wandered inside of that area first. Growden's eyes soaked in the simplistic architecture of the neat little space when he began to notice a very interesting pattern.
Asia Alvarsson was one person. Yet her bathroom was home to two toothbrushes. One was green and the other was blue, and they were kept side by side. Growden found this a very odd thing. Why would one person own two toothbrushes?
This pattern of confusion became a hypothesis as he turned on his heel and scanned the rest of the bathroom. There were two identical bathrobes hanging from the rack on the back of the door. He exited the bathroom and took note of the king size bed. Being one person, Asia had no need for a bed so large. Unless she was the sort of person who liked lavish things, a theory which Growden sought to disprove by rummaging through her closet.
He very quickly noticed that the closet was divided in two halves, being that the two sections were in slightly different styles and sizes. Asia's half revealed several of the work clothes he had seen her wearing on days prior, such as the lilac collared shirt and the pin-striped dress pants. By now, Growden was sure of his initial theory. Asia Alvarsson had a lover, and judging by the nature of clothes which the lover wore, they were a woman.
Growden scribbled all of his notes down carefully and precisely as he moved from the closet and back out into the bedroom. Whilst observing the space, his eyes landed on a computer and he smiled to himself. This was it, the pivotal breaking point.
The boy moved over to the screen, allowing his hazel eyes to waft over the keyboard and model of the computer as he clicked the buttons necessary to get it to start. When the machine started humming and the screen blinked on, Growden braced himself for the painstakingly slow process of trying to figure what a person's password could be.
Then to his surprise, the screen opened with no password whatsoever.
Growden could hardly believe his luck. As soon as he noticed the computer had opened on its own, his heart started to slam with anxiety. This had all been far too simplistic and he suddenly doubted everything he had found. Despite the growing uncertainty in him, he saved all of the files onto the spare flashdrive he had and tucked it into his pocket.
Something about the dangerous flicker of sunlight creeping in through the windows told Growden that he needed to leave. Nothing was outwardly amiss, no strange noises aside from honking cars in the sleepy city about him. Still, he moved through the house quickly, scanning for any items he had moved or touched in any way. When he'd ensured the woman wouldn't notice anything out of place, Growden moved to the windowsill and started to tuck his body back out of it. He started to set all of the flower pots as they had been when a strange noise grabbed his attention. Ever so slightly hidden under the sound of traffic and the chatter of people in the street, was a creaking noise.
The man's eyes looked about with furrowed brows as he tried to figure where the noise was coming from. He turned his body on the balcony slightly and found himself in a staring contest with an older gentleman on the balcony next door. The old fellow held a pipe up to his lips and sucked in the smoke, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. When he refocused again, his eyes briefly acknowledged Growden's existence, something the young man found troubling.
"Evening, sir."
The old man scratched at the scraggly chest hair peeking out from his wife beater and pulled more of the smoke into his lungs, nodding in response to Growden's greeting. His eyes were hardly open and he was so old Growden worried he may topple over at any point. Though, now having a witness to contend with, he kind of hoped for something of the sort. The flower pots were fixed on their window sill and nobody seemed to have any particular interest in the man's presence, yet Growden felt the sweat on his neck building.
Fixing the flowerpots on a stranger's balcony would be innocent enough but however was he meant to climb down like some urban Tarzan in the middle of the morning without someone making a fuss about it? No, this wouldn't do at all.
Growden nervously racked his brain for any sound sort of explanation, running a hand through his thick mess of dark hair. Eventually the older gentleman stretched his arms out to the sky and made a sound similar to that of a car engine.
"You, fellow."
The young man turned to the older fellow then bashfully, opening his mouth, hoping for any sound excuse to come out.
"Are you Miss Alvarsson's new housekeeper?"
Growden blinked twice, brows furrowing in complete uncertainty.
"Err, well-"
The old man nodded, mumbling to himself under his breath as he turned, opening his sliding glass door.
"Well remember to keep that cleaner away from my end of the porches, lemon is such a terrible smell and Martha hates it."
"Yes sir, I will be sure of it."
When the door slipped shut and the sound of the city resumed unassumingly, Growden let a whirlwind of air leave him. This was really a rather close one, he admitted to himself, before he began the awkward stint down from the second floor balcony to the first floor. When he was upright, Growden patted down his body and ensured he had all of his belongings before he dashed rather suspiciously away from the compound and back to his dear Nessie.
Miss Polson was sure to be pleased.
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