The last thing she remembered was turning the key in her mailbox and the sudden appearance of a muddling cloud of dust mingling across her field of vision. Weeks later in a grief counseling session a vivid flashback of the stranger down the hall who had a slight limp, mischievous smile and always dressed in black returned to her with frightening clarity as she starred dimly ahead with her out of focus one good eye. Once she realized that he and what had happened were linked, tears filled her eye. The few times their paths had crossed he always seemed somewhat suspicious in that he never exchanged pleasantries and was always carrying something in a black bag. She guessed his age to be mid-twenties early thirties at the most and his shaved head and thin build were reflective in her mind of a man of few necessities. Their mailboxes were directly beside each other in the lobby and long packages in solid brown wrappers with no return address or other distinctive markings could be found upon her late afternoon arrival from work leaning against the boxes regularly. She had on several occasions had to move a package to get at her box, noting they were extremely heavy; even the small ones. Oddly enough her normal entrance and exit of the building more times than not was greeted with an ajar door to his apartment which she suspected was not just coincidence and while she had never seen him walking around in the apartment when she passed she could always hear Fox News blaring on the television and the clanging of pots and pans coming from inside the apartment. She never took more than a second or two glancing inside; dare she be caught and have to explain her curiosity.Su