The goddamn telephone wouldn't stop its ringing. Wrong numbers, solicitation, various minor annoyances. After the fourth call, Forrest Bondurant had started dolling out death threats. In the end, that made him feel marginally better, even though he'd judged the new, modern world and found it wanting. People were scarce, a good number of the apartments in his building standing empty, which was more than fine by him. But they were all a bunch of busybodies, and he was sure he'd never get used to living in such tight quarters with a bunch of damn strangers.

He spent his whole life on Bondurant land, surrounded by kin, and he'd planned on dying that way. The change had been more than a little inconvenient.

Sack of garbage in hand, Forrest shuffled out of his apartment, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. When he saw her, all done up in red, well. Who could've blamed him for thinking she was nothing but an apparition?

But she was as solid as he was, her keys jangling. He could hear the rustle of her velvet dress.

"Maggie? Aw, hell. Maggie?" He took a step into the hallway, leaving his door wide open. There wasn't a damn thing worth stealing in there, anyhow. "Whatchu doin' there?"