I was not alone. My eyes took a long minuet to adapt, the door now closed, locking me away in the dark. The room opened up to my right with one bed ahead of me in a corner, and another snug against the corner to my right. The bed in front of me was occupied by a lumbering, docile mass, under a single blanket. I eyed Alex’s sleeping roommate.
Being where you’re not supposed to is a measured misconduct. Whatever the reason, people tend to be hyper conscious of every second when they know they’re not where they’re supposed to be. Law terms say this kind of stuff is ‘meditated’. Take that advice. When people don’t meditate on the plan, they usually screw up somehow, too busy freaking out about each moment.
I set myself a 30 second limit, 20 now with a sense of familiarity.
I bent my knees into a half-crouch and raised my arms slightly for balance. In four light steps I was at Alex’s bed. Corner bedpost then.
Pressing my fingertips against the smooth tile floor, I deftly slipped onto my stomach, and crawled under. I felt a tingle in my cast-arm. A week ago I’d never think about applying so much pressure to it. The cool of the floor pressed against me as I settled under the bed. Reaching back with my right, I peeled off the last of my bugs and feeling blindly in the dark, stuck it on the side of the post facing the wall.
The floor vibrated against me now. I held my breath as I recognized the source. The stairwell door just closed. The paced vibration of footsteps became more distinct. I only realized now, half my body was stuck out in the open. Exhaling a slowly, I angled my legs into joining me in the safety of the concealing bed. The sound of steps were projecting right under the door I had stepped through moments ago.
Without pause, the vibration continued. I turned my head and watched the door for safe measure. When only remnants of the sound were remaining, I relaxed.
Only then, with my head turned to face the door did I notice something above me. With my precious seconds well past wasted, I still lay there on my stomach fighting the darkness to confirm what I was looking at. I bit back a curse, more fearful of the reality of what it was that could be just above my head. Keeping still I pulled my flashlight out awkwardly and clicked on the light.
Stuck to the wood support of the mattress was a device that held the shape of a contact lens without the translucence. I made out the details of a microphone embedded at its center.