~ Chapter 3 ~
Gustav sat in his old green armchair, staring in to the red and orange flames of the fire. He watched them twist and curl around each other, weaving and intertwining in a blend of smoke and colour. He watched as they formed warped figures, their faces bent and skewed into distorted expressions of horror and pain. They ran through the fire, staggering and lurching across the flames before flickering into the smoke.
These were his people. They would escape one day and they would surly be the death of him, but they would remember forever that he caught them, that he held them captive.
Gustav often watched his people, trapped inside the flames, their hair burning as they stumble in and out of sight. He surrounded himself with old newspapers, their pages littered with crude stories of sex and humiliation. These are the stories that fill the minds of the average person. The people whose minds are so full of the things that don't make the slightest difference to their lives and so they feel no desire to do anything about the things that really do…
and it is these stories that blind them from the harsh reality of war and violence, diseases and floods, famine and terrorism. These newspapers talk of homicide and violent crimes as if that's the way things are supposed to be.
He walked over to his window and looked out over the streets, streets made by the same celebrity-driven moronic population, and he look on them with contempt. He gazed and the lanterns that flickered in the dark, his lanterns. Each glowed with its own small light and illuminated the world bellow in hues of red and orange. He leant against the window, and addressed the lanterns like a friend.
"Think what this world would do to you," he said. "They would kill you if they could. Believe me; you're better off where you are."
***
"Jane, it's cold and I'm tired, can we please go back to bed now."
"It would appear you are implying we return to the same bed," Jane replied, looking up from the documents and papers that were strewn across the small cluttered room. Despite the dim light, he could still see the light blush that crossed her cheeks.
"Come on Jane, what are you even looking for?" Lisbon questioned, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.
"Doesn't it strike you as odd that we haven't seen another guest, or member of staff or even another person at all other than the manager?"
"Not at 2 O'clock in the morning it doesn't."
"There's something wrong here, and I bet the answer is in these files." Jane walked over to one of the old filling cabinets and began sifting through the draws, pulling out various files and then discarding them on to the floor.
"If there was anything here worth hiding then the door wouldn't have been open."
"It wasn't open, I picked the lock." Jane stated, not looking up from the file in his hand. Lisbon stared at him for a moment, mind processing what he had just said.
"You picked the lock?! Jane, have you any idea how many rules this violates, not to mention…"
"Bingo!" Jane shouted, holding up one of the files he had not thrown carelessly to the floor. It contained a newspaper article with the headline "Mysterious Motel Murder". Lisbon read the article with obvious disinterest.
The Whinstead Motel is well known for its clean, well priced rooms and its polite helpful staff, but not for its disappearing guests. Daniel Folldon, a guest at the Motel, claims he was staying along with his business partner, Jake Myers. However, staff and other guests at the hotel deny any knowledge of his partner ever being there. There is no record of his name on the Motel's database and he was never seen by any person other than Daniel Folldon. After the police phoned Mr. Folldon's wife, she insists that her husband never mentioned his partner and she was under the impression he was staying at the Motel alone. On further inquiries…
"I fail to see how this relates to the Hotel," Lisbon said, not bothering to reed the rest of the article and handing it back to Jane, who was now engrossed in yet another file. All the files on his right seemed to contain more newspaper articles on similar occurrences.
"Mike Sullen, disappeared whilst staying at The Red Deer Inn with his wife. No proof or evidence he ever existed. Marianne Dyons disappeared during a holiday with her friends at Chesington Hotel. No one else knows who she is. Dan Hunt, Sophie Kansin, Nicholas Fink and Andrea Dones. All disappeared one by one while staying at a youth hostel in Kaesin. Jenny Sawye, the last person staying at the hostel, is the only one who remembers them. There are dozens of cases Lisbon, all the same. Why keep them, why file them away unless they are important." Said Jane, walking over to where Lisbon stood.
"People don't just disappear, Lisbon!"
"We have no right to be in here. We should leave before…" Lisbon let her sentence trail off as they both heard footsteps coming towards them. They turned to the door, but the shadow of a figure was already creeping along the wall.
"This way," Jane whispered as the headed for an old wooden door on the opposite wall of the room. It creaked as he opened it but they had already made enough noise to wake deaf reindeer on the far side of Canada. The door led to a large empty room with bare white walls, concrete floor and a single light that swayed from the high ceiling. The footsteps echoed all around them, leaping from wall to wall before fading and settling on the ground.
Scanning the room, Jane saw a white door, almost invisible. He grabbed Lisbon's hand and ran towards it. It closed behind them just as the door they had come through creaked open. This third room was the exact opposite to the first. Ornate red wallpaper covered the walls and matched the soft, velvet curtains. A warm fire burned by an old, warn armchair, its flames reflected in the polished wooden floor. The room was full of shelves and on each self was a neat row of books. Even on the glass coffee table in front of the chair there were tidy stacks of books. Jane ran to the next door but found it was locked. He fumbled with the thin piece of wire he had unlocked the first with.
"There's no time!" Exclaimed Lisbon, as they heard the footsteps approach.
Frantically looking round the room, Jane noticed one of the floorboards was raised slightly above the others. He lifted it to reveal a small narrow hole underneath the floor. Not wasting any time on discussion, he lay down and pulled Lisbon on top of him, letting the floorboard slide back into place just as the doorknob turned.
Jane and Lisbon lay perfectly still as whoever was above them walked over to the other door to check it was still locked, the sound of their footsteps vibrating through the floorboards. Lisbon let her head rest in the crook of Jane's neck and her hands lay on his chest. Jane slowly slid his hands round her waist and only now did he really notice how little she was wearing.
Her pyjamas consisted of black shorts that barely covered the top half of her thighs and a thin, grey t-shirt. The slim material of her clothes along with the thin fabric of his own meant he could easily feel her soft, round breasts pressed against him. He was now extremely aware of how close she was, her lips just millimetres away from his, her smooth legs either side of his hips.
Lisbon resisted the urge to nuzzle his soft curls with her nose and suppressed a sigh as she felt his hands slide over her waist and rest on her back. She didn't want to admit the effect he had on her, not even to herself. Yet she couldn't help thinking that if she turned her head slightly, her lips would brush against his.
The person above them began walking back to where they lay. Jane analysed the way he moved in an attempt to think about something, anything, other then how good Lisbon felt in his arms. He could tell from the loud footsteps that it was a man, around mid-30's. The man knew they were still in the room and yet appeared in no hurry to find them. Infact, he was almost curtain the man knew exactly where they are, but instead of confronting them, he left the room.
They lay in silence for a few moments, partly because they quite liked their current position, but also because they were still nervous that the man may not have left and was waiting right above them with a croquet mallet.
When he was certain the man had left, Jane began to reach for the floorboard at the same time as Lisbon lifted her head, causing the tips of their lips to touch. They paused for less then a second before jumping apart and scrambling from the hole. Lisbon was blushing furiously and Jane was sure he must look a little flustered himself; his lips still tingled where they had touched hers.
"We should go," she said, standing hastily and rushing towards the door. She was through to the other room before Jane had a chance to stand up.
"Lisbon!" He called after her, but she was already gone.