Did you
forget your key
or something?
What...?
Don't
worry, I've got
a master copy
here.
With a flourish, Oliver twists the key and swings the door wide, ushering me in with an overly gracious gesture, his face lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
...Are you
serious?
Is...
something
wrong?
. . .
Does he really expect
me to fall for this?
...I'm
not going
in there.
Er—
Do you,
um...
Do you want
me to go in first
and take a look around for you?
...I could
just play along for now,
let him go in first, and
slip away while he's
not looking.
Oliver chews his lip as he waits for my answer.
NOD
Okay!
Sure! I'll be right back.
THUMP
PAK
PAK
Huh...
it won't open
any further.
PAK
PAK
PAK
Is
there something
behind the
door?
...How
should I
know?
Guess I'll
try pushing a
little harder.
HNGH!
THUMP
CRASH
The door swings open with a soft creak.
...!
Erm...
sorry about
that.
...
TAK
Whoa...
TAK
TAK
I'll just
wait until he's out
of sight... then I
can make a run
for it.
The shuffling sounds get further away as Oliver disappears into the darkness. He grunts and curses and a light flicks on inside.
CLIC
The entryway is packed with stacks of boxes and papers, leaving only a narrow pathway to walk through. As a real estate actuary, I've assessed many properties and witnessed a lot of hoarding, but this is one of the most extreme cases I've seen.
Just behind the door lays a toppled tower of boxes, their contents spilling onto the floor beyond the entrance; just one of many disasters that are likely waiting to happen.
It looks
more like a storage
unit than an
apartment...
A wave of nostalgia hits me, taking me back to the day I opened my mother's storage unit, filled with all of her worldly possessions.
It was dizzying, being abruptly surrounded by the physical remnants of someone who'd been no more than a distant concept in my life.
And just like that, a familiar object catches my eye, as if I had conjured it myself.
That's
impossible...
TAK
TAK
TAK
Perched atop another stack of boxes, in what I assume was meant to be a living room, is a handcrafted vase that looks remarkably like the one I found in my mother's collection.
It was one of the only objects I took with me from the storage unit. While most of her items held little practical value, I'd been drawn to this specific piece when I saw my mother's name, "Cassandra", engraved on its underside—carved while the clay was still wet.
Truth be told, I developed a sort of habit of running my fingers over its rough surface whenever I felt particularly troubled. I suppose it was comforting to know she'd made it with her own two hands; like we were holding hands across time...or some embarrassingly childish sentiment like that.
Even now, the familiar weight and texture of the vase is grounding as I lift it up to inspect it.
What
is it doing
here...?!
For the first time, I notice the labels on the surrounding boxes, written in my mother's distinct looping handwriting.
It's all here...
this is everything from
my mother's storage!
But it's not just her belongings that fill the room; buried under piles of boxes and papers, I think I spot the corner of a familiar couch.
With some effort, I push the clutter aside and confirm that it is indeed the same couch I've had since college.
Behind another wall of boxes, there's the TV I bought when I got my first apartment.
A lamp I received as a housewarming gift collects dust on a side table that was once part of a bedroom set.
And here, covered in empty food containers and refuse, is my coffee table with a dented corner. Somewhere there's a living room with a matching scratch on the wall, made by some careless movers
I'm so absorbed in searching for my identity beneath the clutter that I barely register the sound of fast-approaching footsteps.
Suddenly, I'm grabbed tightly around the middle, and ripped up into the air.
AGH!!
I thrash and yell, but my cries are drowned out by another deafening-
A split second later, I'm staring down at my coffee table which has been reduced to a splintered heap under a load of boxes—collapsed, right where I'd been crouched moments before.
CRASH!
..!
Oliver's breath ruffles the top of my hair as he exhales, lowering me to the ground.
That
was close.
I twist myself out of his grip.
Let go!
S-sorry,
just...
He gestures toward the fallen boxes.
I didn't
want you to
get crushed.
...
Yes,
well...
I prefer
not to be touched.
Sorry.
SIGH
But, I suppose...
Thank you.
Oh... Sure
thing.
I straighten my clothes and do my best to brush off the lingering feeling of his arms around me.
Er,
anyway...
I
checked all
the rooms.
Everything
looks fine,
although...
Having all
this stuff piled
up isn't very
safe...
Probably
a fire hazard
too.
Yes,
I'd noticed.
I have
no idea what it's
doing here in the
first place.
A heavy silence falls over us.
Familiar objects surround me in an unfamiliar room, and this man who I thought was trying to kill me has arguably just saved my life.
The idea that I may not be able to trust my own memory or judgment absolutely terrifies me.
Well...
I should, um..
I
should, probably
get back to
work.
Oliver,
wait.
Huh?
Who?
Anne.
She works
here.
Or...
Used to.
Apparently.
I don't
know anyone named
Anne...
Then
how did you
know this was...
my place?
Oh, um...
the building
directory.
I remember seeing you listed as the tenant of this apartment.
You've
memorized everyone's
apartment?
Well,
n-not memorized,
exactly... Just the important ones,
I guess.
...So I'm
important?
W-Well...
You are the
property manager.
...
He called me
the property manager... just like Anne
said.
He also
claims he doesn't
know Anne... is he
lying?
...completely
ridiculous...
U-Um...
so...
Is there
anything else
you need, Ko-...
er, Mr. Mendez?
Oliver's eyeing the door like he wants to get out of here.
...No.
...That
will be
sufficient.
Okay.
Have a good
night, sir.
Goodnight,
Oliver.
The distance between them in that last panel… 🥺
ohoho so Kogan is an important tenant to Oliver? 😏 (ik its prolly for other reasons since hes property manager but LET ME BELIEVE OK)
the way he describes Oliver’s breath and shampoo and and the feeling of his arms around him…*raises eyebrows*
Also yes, not being able to trust your own memory or judgement is absolutely terrifying, if you lose yourself what do you have left?
What is Kogan’s thing against being touched? It’s common to want your own space, but it seems particularly distressing for him. Could the touch be reminding Kogan subconsciously of trauma? Or could it be just Oliver’s touch that is distressing? We’ll have to keep an eye out in future eps
Hmmm Oliver knows more but he's not sharing
Forget the horror of the Faerie or trying to piece together who you and the people around you are. The real horror here is hoarding. Even worse, living in a hoarded home. Also, the way Oliver could just yoink Kogan like a kitten is hilarious to me. 😂
Was NOT expecting Kogan to be lifted like he weighed nothing lmao
Also loving the “out of time” feel of the apartment 👀
I like the angles some of the panels are drawn from, they're very dynamic :]
Something i notice while rereading, Oliver says he presented himself to Kogan "A couple weeks ago" when Oliver started the job. If he presented before Kogan, how could Anne know him? For that Anne should have been alive by that time. Either Kogan knew her but doesn't remember or either Oliver and/or Ane are lying. Weird things are happening on that building for sure :)