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.
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