I tried asking Frank what it was that he saw in the corridor that made him lead us into the painfully cramped cupboard we were suddenly squashed into tightly, but he stopped my already muffled question immediately by snapping his hand across my mouth. I could tell from the small section of his face, illuminated only slightly by the little beam of light filtering through the crack in the door, that he was glaring at me. I took the hint and copied him in being deathly silent.
He was breathing heavily but trying not to and I was so close to him that I could tell he was sweating profusely, not only because of the heat radiating between the two of us, confined together, but because of a fear, the dread, of whatever it was -or more likely, whoever it was- we were hiding from.
My question was answered not long after I attempted to voice it and 'whoever' became a familiar face -or rather, voice- when the momentary silence was broken by the noise of footsteps and barked orders moving past the thin door concealing us, keeping us safe.
"Search every fucking room for them!" he shouted as he passed us. I guessed that it was either Stan or Richard that he was ordering to look for...who?
I stopped moving completely, desperately fighting the nerves passing through my body screaming for it to shake. Frank's terrified breaths had stopped; he was holding them as if his life depended on it. In fact, it probably did.
We waited until their voices faded into the distance and all we could hear of them was the steady thumping and cracking of hotel rooms as they searched for whoever they were looking for. Bob probably. Or maybe Ray. Or Gerard. Or...-
Frank cut off my scared rambling thoughts as he silently pushed the door of the cupboard open and led me out of it into the hallway by pulling on my arm sharply. Looking around frantically to make sure the coast was clear, he continued to pull me away from the direction Marley and co. had disappeared to. I followed.
I followed as he dragged me down the stairs. I followed as he pulled me down the corridor on the floor below the one we had come from and along to a room at the end of it.
He let go of my wrist and knocked on the door three times. Immediately, Ray appeared out the door in just his shirt and his boxers, looking tired but still with the same frightened look on his face as Frank was wearing. He slammed the door shut, unquestioningly, behind himself and followed Frank back down the corridor to the stairwell, leaving me standing in confusion outside his door. How could Ray know something was wrong?
Frank's hand was on the handle for the entrance to the stairs before he noticed I hadn't rushed after them. He turned and locked eyes with me, pleading with me to follow, mouthing words of encouragement -for some reason not wanting to speak them out loud. I didn't move, there was something telling me not to.
Ray rushed back to where I was rooted to the spot and pulled me forwards, "Stop being an idiot Mikey!" he hissed at me lowly, dragging me closer and closer to the stairs. I couldn't explain it, but there was something seriously bad going to happen if we went down the stairs.
This is really really short I know, but I have a dishwasher crisis goin' on here...it's decided to break on me and flood my kitchen glares at dishwasher So, sorry, I just wanted to post something.......awkward smile**
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