I stare into the darkness, hoping my eyes will adjust. Hoping to see who, or what is in there. My eyes are drawn to a small area of tiles just in view, for a second i couldn't work out why these tiles had captured my attention, then it hit me. The tiles are clean, the only clean tiles in sight, in fact the only clean anything in sight.
why would they be clean? would it, by any chance of been blood that had been cleaned up? Hobart's blood? If thats the case then I'm guessing that Hobart's body is in the bathroom. This raises another more important question. How did it get there? I know that me and Mr Hobart were alone, i checked the place thoroughly. Dead men can't walk, and they wouldn't wipe their blood up after them. Especially Hobart, it looked like he hadn't cleaned the flat since his wife left him, eight years ago. So how the hell did he get there? he was such a skank, I'd be surprised if he knew the way to the bathroom.
I push my back against the wall and hold my breath. I'm covered in a film of sweat, it's running down my arms and pooling in the fingertips of my leather gloves. I'm anxious, nervous, I'm worried. The hunter becomes the hunted, for the first time in a long time I'm actually scared. I count to thirty in my head, still holding my breath. I'm waiting for a sign, any sign. A sign that someone is in there, and that someone is still alive. my Patience pays of.
I hear a sound, a sound like the noise sticky tape makes when it's pulled from the reel. Thank you Mr Hobart thank you. His bad house keeping had done me a massive favor, maybe even saved my life. The sound i heard must of been a foot lifting up, from a filth covered sticky floor tile. Instincts took over, i crouched low to make myself a smaller target. anticipating a sudden attack.