Chapter 2: The Next Morning
45 East Villa Street – Monday
Redheart awoke the next morning to her alarm clock vibrating against her chest. Its metal bells were muffled by her alabaster coat and hooves, which had wrapped around it. She uncurled herself slowly, stretching out on her side and feeling the cramps that had settled in overnight. She had spent the night on the floor by the bedframe, behind a locked door. The solitary box she had opened sat next her, its contents scattered partly around it. Yawning, she blindly shifted her hoof and switched off the alarm.
Stillness filled the apartment, the dust motes drifting slowly in the first rays of dawn. Even the city outside seemed quiet, as if afraid to disturb the early morning.
Redheart climbed to her hooves, trying to remember why she hadn’t unpacked.
Procrastination never helped anypony, she thought, quoting the words of her mother.
With reluctant strides she made her way to the bathroom, not ready to wake up or endure the confined space. The linoleum floor was sticky under her hooves, and the reflection of herself cringed in the small mirror above the sink. She nudged on the warm water, careful to avoid the rusted stains, and brought her hooves to the sink’s edge. A steady drip had started from beneath it; a quiet plinking rhythm to accompany the whining pipes.
Blinking heavily, Redheart pushed her forelegs under the running water, which was still only a little less than cold. She shivered, but scrubbed away the grime from walking through her apartment, until her coat was a shade brighter. Then she plunged her nose under the stream and jolted back, shaking away the last remnants of sleep. Her face was still damp when her eyes reopened, but at least she was seeing clearly. Or, at least as much as one could in a smudged mirror. What she could tell was that her mane was a disappointment. It was lying flat against her neck, and was tangled and knotted from being slept upon. But without anypony else, there was no way of fixing it. Unless she wanted to sort through her boxes until a proper brush could be found, and she couldn’t remember which of the million boxes they were in.
Redheart huffed and turned away, exiting the bathroom with as few steps as possible. The floor still stuck to her back hooves, but at least her front ones were clean and dry. She hurried to the door of her room and unlatched it, pulling it aside and slipping through to her living space.
She stopped in place, the floorboards groaning underhoof. The wall between the windows was still covered by the black letters that had escaped her memory. But now they didn’t seem so menacing in the daylight, with a golden sky growing behind them.
She walked away from them and went to her boxes, cautiously stepping around the broken glass from her picture and pulling aside a box marked “warm clothes.” She tugged it open, ignoring the taste of cardboard, and drew out a bright blue overcoat from the top. With a quick glance back at the wall, she laid down and pulled the garment over her, expertly slipping her forelegs through the sleeves. Then after fetching the key from the peg by the door, she stepped out and locked it behind her.
It was only a joke, she reminded herself and hurried over to the stairs, praying she wouldn’t be late.
The lobby of Redheart’s apartment complex resembled much of her own apartment. It was mostly vacant, with only a single seating area opposite the landlady’s office. The floor was the same unfinished wood, and the walls were made of multi-colored brick. She trotted over to the frosted glass door labeled with “East Villa Apartment” and rapped twice on its frame.
Somepony barked from the other side, and their voice was followed by slow hoofsteps. The door squealed opened, revealing the face of an elderly mare with an excessively curly mane. It had been dyed so deeply brown that it almost appeared black.
“What do yah want?” she grumbled, eyeing Redheart up and down with a heavy squint. A pair of red spectacles hung unused around her neck.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Redheart smiled. “But I’m the new tenant in room 315, and I—”
“I know who you are,” the mare snapped. “Gave yah your key last night. So what is it? Broken stove? Leaky faucet?”
“Well yes, but—”
“Fine,” she said and turned back to her office. “I’ll have Mister Gorse look at it while you’re out.”
“No! That’s not why I’m here,” Redheart said, hastily following her in.
The landlady sat down at her desk and lifted her glasses up onto her nose, perusing the documents lying before her. “That’s what everypony bothers me for, Hun. I’m used to it.”
Redheart held her breath, suddenly finding it very warm as she waited to see if the old mare had finished. When it appeared to be safe, only then did she speak. “Somepony defaced my wall!”
The landlady glanced up with a rather incredulous look on her face. “Impossible. I just cleaned your room yesterday. Nopony has been in or out of there since.”
As if I trust your word, Redheart thought, and felt a rather pressing need to ask what exactly the landlady cleaned, because the state of her home suggested quite the opposite. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said. “But I don’t care how the paint got there, I just want it gone. Can you please ask Mister Gorse to do that?”
The landlady muttered something and pointed her nose back at the documents on her desk.
Redheart squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take another, very long, inhale of musty office air. “Could you please repeat that?”
“I will see to it he checks into your problem,” the old mare ground out the last word like a chunk of salt, and not for a moment did she look up from her papers. “Now don’t you have some place to be?”
Redheart left without another word. She practically galloped to the front door, shoving through it and out onto the windy street. She was immediately glad she had brought her overcoat. The sun still wasn’t high enough to shine over the city buildings, and the rough sidewalk quickly sapped away the heat she had gathered in the landlady’s office. Now she had four blocks to cross before getting to the hospital, and as she thought about it, Redheart had no idea what time her alarm had been set for.
She quickly waved a hoof for a taxi, many of which had already started their rounds. One of them flew by her with a passenger already in tow. The gruff stallion who was riding in it looked like he could barely afford any fare at all.
As if I’m made of bits, she thought miserably. Her eyes shot wide. My bits! I left them in the apartment!
She cursed, then immediately bit her tongue for doing so. She had turned in a full circle, trying to decide what to do when the sound of rattling wheels tumbled over the cobblestones beside her.
“Where you off to miss?” the cabby asked, grinning beneath his stubble.
“I—I’m sorry,” Redheart stammered, already trotting down the sidewalk. “I can’t pay, I need to run.”
“Whoa, slow down there,” the cabby said, following after her. “If you need to be somewhere, I can take you there quick.”
She only slowed down a little. “I already told you, I can’t pay. I forgot my bits.”
“It’s free of charge for a fine mare like you,” he said, still beaming. “Well, so long as it’s not too far.”
Redheart stopped, even though her heart was racing. “Fillydelphia General Hospital? It’s four blocks—”
“Four blocks south on East Main Street,” the cabby finished for her. “Hop on.”
She hesitated despite her need to rush. Back with her parents, she had rarely needed to use a cab, and the thought of him charging down the street at full gallop was a little terrifying.
“Well?” he rasped. “I thought you were in a hurry.”
“I just work there, you know,” Redheart explained, while climbing onto the cart’s hard platform. “There’s no emergency.”
“Miss, in my book, being late for work is an emergency.”
And that was the only warning she got before he tore down the cobblestones, the cart rattling like a mobile earthquake.