Whatever Percy might have remembered about the ride home or even the walk up to Marguerite's apartment was immediately and completely eclipsed by the unlocked door. Percy had watched Marguerite lock it, had checked it once himself before they left, just as a precaution. The fact that it was mysteriously unlocked was unsettling to say the least. Percy had never been the type of man to carry a weapon of any kind, never one to seek violence, but having something on him now would have been preferable, just as a way to protect Marguerite from whatever may or may not be waiting inside the apartment.
Stepping inside right after her, Percy gripped his keys in his fist, the closest thing he could make as a defensive weapon where he was. The apartment was dark but undisturbed, but Marguerite's voice behind him drew his attention. Even from where he stood, he could recognise the subjects of the photographs, the way the camera was focused. All the shots were candids, all taken without her knowing, and as she cycled through the stack, he noticed any instances of his face were angrily scratched out beyond identification, though he knew they were photos of himself just based on clothing and where the pictures were taken.
Percy found the envelope, turning it over in his hands. There was nothing on it to identify who left it, no note. Frustrated, he put the envelope down and grabbed his mobile out of his pocket. "I'm calling the police," he told Marguerite, voice level despite his anger. Percy had a righteous anger that never surfaced except in moments like these. He had been told that it was frightening. This man, whoever he was that left these images, would see just how terrifying he could be.