The mop was drying the warm water of floor seven, floor eight was dragging the buzzing of a small earthquake, an earthquake that was more likely to be the fall of a extremely heavy mass, followed by a couple moments that maintained back the impact, it remained for not too long, the tubes of the ceiling trembled reaffirming, it was what Mr. Smithson saw once he looked up freak out of a sudden silent before the next heavy fall of mass with extra impact. The mop, the warm water in the floor, and the answer that he waited, water falling from the tubes, tubes that trembled dripping warm water, and a tremendous heavy sound of the next floor as if it was a big hammer with a wooden grip making the full attack against a hard rock, it must have been a mad man, the sound was far more descriptive within the next try as if the previous one grew pitiful seeds of anger added to the desire of more strength and power, the eye movement of Mr. Smithson kept him unwinking as his eyes stood still, contemplating the tubes of the ceiling that seem to never stop trembling.
The mop was too wet, the bucket was located a few feet away, but the shock hold him back … the alarm, it all went far too sudden, the alarm competing against the earthquake of the next floor, something was about to happen, or perhaps it already had, and he knew it, Mr. Smithson decided to dry it as soon as possible, so he took the mop and walked fast trying to avoid the water of the mop to drip any further.
"Attention all units, we have an intruder in floor eight, you should had left the building as soon as the warning alarm started, right now is not possible, the enemy has now total control of the panel of security, if you haven't evacuated the building yet, then you are being watch at this very moment, and if you are being watch we do not recommend to do anything that can be a threat against the enemy, please keep doing what you are doing until the enemy gets caught."
A pause.
The mop was dried, the squeeze sound of the water in the bucket comforted what fear could not take over. If Mr. Smithson's whistle hadn't match the sound of the trembled tubes of the ceiling, then he might have become a mad man himself.
Once again, he went back to the puddle of water where he, with a very relaxed movement, dried the water, it was almost clean, but it wasn't, there was something that he never allowed himself, ever. And that particular part was part of his personality; he could not dare to walk away from a smudge of any kind.
Mr. Smithson bent and taking out his best silk cloth he rubbed the small smudge.
"One and two, up and down, left to right, a small circle, a big circle, and that's how you rubbed a trouble some." He coughed.
Liquid from what now seemed to be rotten wood fall in his head and went down his forehead as the enormous sound in the next floor stopped, but the moment he realized that it was blood what went down his forehead he though he was doom, but it wasn't his blood, it only firmed his determination in his own reasoning.
Something unusual never appeared to bother Mr. Smithson, that's why when he saw drops of blood falling into his smudge he didn't question himself, neither looked up because he already knew where it all came from, but the blood kept falling and falling, it soon became a puddle of blood falling from a rotten wood above his head, it not longer was water from tubes, now it was the real deal.
"I'm not mean to anyone, there's not reason for me to be in danger."
The piece of cloth was too went, but this time as he stood up and went towards his bucket not trying to walk too fast but at the same time trying to prevent the blood from dripping he realized that the alarm stopped at some point in between he struggling with the blood.
The silent was there as he dried the piece of cloth in the bucket of water that soon contaminated all as he saw his reflection in the water vanished in blood, making it all red.
The blood started to fall again in the same spot a few feet away the bucket.
"I'm too old for this job."
By the time he dried the blood for the second time the lights told him to be afraid.
"Hello, someone … anyone."
The job was done; there was nothing else to do rather than putting the bucket and the mop away. The silent became hesitation of a survival threatening. The territory was rather loneliness between the halls.
He decided to walk and find people but he only saw himself as the fool trapped in the seven floors alone. No one was there, neither in the other six floors as he went down carrying the mop as a weapon if necessary, only to realized that the main entrance was secured, there was only one way out and that was … to approach the eight floor and above where danger awaits.
Eight floor.
"Hello, please if anyone out there-"
"Who's there?"
"! Me of course."
"I don't know where you are."
"I think you do, I can hear your voice from here, why don't you just come in."
"But … What if –"
"JUST come, I'm bleeding to death, what are you afraid of?"
"!? … "
"What's that, you are too chicken to save a man you can't even enter the room."
"Let me just go I'll bring help."
"HAHA, don't make me laugh, we both know where we are, we are lock inside the building aren't we –" (coughing)
"I think I could enter the medical room just wait here while I-"
"Don't you dare leave me here, you hear me."
Mr. Smithson was steady for a moment, wondering why he was still alive, all the hallways of floor eight were dripping blood from the walls as if some occasion people were smashed into the ground or wall, or perhaps just simply death bodies carried around, he did not know much of it, and he certainly didn't want to know, but as he stood there, in the middle of hall way waiting for his own death, a man seemed to had survive the terrifying amusement of a massacred of a serial killer, or perhaps multiply individuals, and for him, doing what a normal person would do in their panic for freedom just wasn't suited in this agenda. One by one, the lights of the hallways seemed to fade out from the other end, leaving only the trace of a fatal catastrophe, knowing that when the light that rested upon him finally fade out, that would be the clue just like doing a count down from five, and death awaits at zero, much rather difficult to believe when Mr. Smithson though for a moment if it would make any difference to wait for the final light to fill the darkness or to risk and enter the room ahead of him where a man calls him, and so as the mid-last shadow of the light near him faded, he couldn't take it and just entered the room.
"So you've come."
"There's huh well I can't go anywhere to be honest, I think I'm being watch."
"You think, well I'm telling you, look at me, you are being watch."
The man was a bit far away from his desk holding his badly injure, it almost seemed to be that he was shot multiple times when he was at his desk because paper on top of it was washed in pure blood, leaving a total mess from the chair to the carpet, may be the man jump to the ground and pretended to be death in the killing shot.
"Are you a doctor?"
(Coughing)
"Does it even matter, of course I am a doctor, but look a you holding a mop, are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm … the cleaner."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (cough) HAHAHA (cough again) HEHE. Then how am I suppose to cure myself without any medicine, I guess I'm going to die before I let the cleaner toy with my life."
"I never though that accepting a job from the army as a cleaner would be this dangerous even for the cleaner old man."
"You are a funny one, why did you came to here there's plenty of jobs in the city, coming here is only to risk your life at your on cost for your own personal reasons."
"An old man, that's who I am, my kid is schizophrenic and I'm sorry, I'm totally broke, can't pay the bills, my wife is doing better than me which is nostalgic, I couldn't register in the army because I'm already too old to do much of that, but I was reconsider for the cleaner job since that's all I can do well from the past seven years, nothing to be proud of, nothing to put in a fresh resume, it would only add more fire in my misery, making the matter of my age worth a penny, the youth is taking over the jobs, even for the cleaner guy, I can't believe I had competency in this job, and now look at me, in the middle of a mess. How shameful of me, no one should feel pity for me."
"I'm a doctor, yes that sounds like a have power, but I wouldn't be bleeding if I were not. What's your name?"
"Banner Smithson."
"Listen, I know I'm going to die soon, I don't know what you are planning to do once to are on your own, but tell me, at least you know what he do here, don't you?"
"No, I don't, I'm just the cleaner, nothing more, nothing less, and it's not at big deal."
"But you must know something, what does it look like we do here, take a guess, and if you guess wrong, then guess again."
"I don't know, a lab may be, it's very confidential and I see flags and symbols of the government everywhere, so I can't say it is, but is just, I don't know I'm just guessing
Here I never say anything about it to anyone, I don't really care, I'm here do my job, as putrefying as it seem to be, I'll do just that, my job. Well now that I think of it, there's plenty of blood around here, so I think failed even in this decent job that once I though was easy enough for an old man like me."
"So that's why they kept you alive, they know you, they were watching you from the beginning, they just didn't make a big deal about, in fact, they kept alive because they want someone to clean their mess, once you do that, you are out just the rest of us, forgive me, I'm too slow to see it coming, and even now I can't really tell you what we do here, you might not be a good old man after."
"Do not worry my friend, I don't want to have a ticket to my grave, so there's no rush, you don't have to tell me anything."
(Coughing)
"Are you really planning on cleaning the blood."
"Yes, there's nothing more to it. Unless you have the keys of the outside."
"I don't (cough) But … I'm happy I met you."
A pause.
The moment of silent told Mr. Smithson that there was a clock in the room by the sound of the clicking of every second, slowing him down, wondering, thinking about whether or not it was possible to find a common reason for what he was seeing, a man dying under his nose, nothing else to do, nothing more to add, suffer and suffocation took over his sleepy eyes, just if … words could demand a better comfort but the atmosphere never changed, the mood was shaped by the silent, by the time Mr. Smithson walked out something hold him back in the door, perhaps it was a whisper, a whisper of a man he though was already death, the whisper, the same sentence. What could had been so drastically important for a man to fight for his life and throw away his last words only making a whisper that wasn't loud enough, fighting for the same sentence, a useless one, just a warning, yes it was a warning. Mr. Smithson went back and bent, then pull his weight forward and listened to it for the last time.
"You are the cleaner, use it to your advantage and … take this, save the world from harm."
And he died. Holding a piece of fragment, it contained blood in it, very small, the size of an eraser, Mr. Smithson felt a new kind of danger attacking his cardio, he walked out of the room holding the ridiculous mop in his hand trying to not be too suspicious as he scrub the blood, by the time the panic reach him, he though twice of running away, he wasn't alone once he realized what he saw, the painter man was looking at him through the window, the man was frozen, wondering why the cleaner old man was the only who survive, and then it all became clear, the were nothing to the company government whatever it was, they were just pawns no big deal, they were the last ones because they were no one.
"Hi …" said Mr. Smithson. The man smiled, then waved his hand, for a moment, Mr. Smithson though that he didn't have a clue about the missing bodies and the front door lock, but then as he saw the man pretending to paint again it all became clear, he did knew, he was frightening but he knew how to controlled himself, perhaps we was waiting for the right moment to escape from the ladder or whatever he was stepping on from the outside of the eight floor, it was also the only escape plan that Mr. Smithson saw logic too, as he tried to force himself out of the window where the painter grabbed him the alarm suddenly begun. Quickly the painter let go of the sustainer as they suddenly went down two floors and six more to go, someone was approaching, they were not going to make it in time if they both got caught which it seemed to be because the sound of someone getting closer was perhaps too accurate, as if everything was calculated and well predicted, the painter seemed to be a nice guy, Mr. Smithson gave him the special fragment and the man hide it in the bucket of paint as it submerge inside the white paint. Mr. Smithson went inside the building entrusting all his hopes in the painter man, who quickly went down floor by floor while Mr. Smithson distracted the danger that followed them, but the silent took off his mask of determination, he was being watched once again, however, this time, someone was and must have being, very close, enough to tell by the breathing, he was going to be attack, whatever it was, it also kill many many other people, the time was running out, it was now o never, he must deal with the killer before the painter gets to the ground, the lights changed, yes he was ready, even though he's old man he can do it, is not too late, he must do so, he has family, a hard worker wife, a grown up girl, and a schizophrenic boy, is not too late.
"So what are you standing there for? Are you going to do a little dance for me?" said a man from behind; At last, Mr. Smithson wished to have a ridiculous mop in his hand so he could break it in the head of this fool. As the turned back to face him, he saw a skinny man, about mid-age, drown in blood carrying a dead body from the right foot, using his left hand dragging it across the entire hallway making a line of blood from where he enter which was the stair case, no making a big deal an all natural. The old man stood there, facing him, feeling nothing else but fear, the body the man was dragging was the painter, he never made it to the ground, he was never the main target, from the beginning he was meant to be the last one, label from the people who matter the most to the cleaner of bathrooms, an old man, a no one, a hopeless man, no body besides his family would ever care, he would never appeared in the news paper as the cleaner who died in a tragedy, no one would ever care. The fragment must had fall to the ground as the painter might had throw the bucket of paint, then he did it because he believe it was important, but doing so he distracted himself from combat and die.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
A smile coming from his check, then he calmly looked at him from top to bottom, and fresh wink.
"I'm Scar."
"What do you want from me?"
"The antidote of my poison."
"I don't have it."
"Don't lie to me or I'll kill you."
"It's true, I don't."
"I heard everything, the doctor is a foolish, I waited for him to die and he did well, don't you think so Banner Smithson, I saw everything, I'll let you go on with your miserable life, I opened the front door for you, however, you better give me back my antidote once I pay you a visited this week."
"You mean I can … just leave."
Scar smiled, then he let go of the foot of the painter and raised his hand pointing at the door, Mr. Smithson took the chance and quickly walked towards the exit with fast paste, trying to not look back.
"However, if you don't have my antidote once I visit you, then I'll just kill your family, don't I don't mine if you call the police, they would not take you lightly with this."
Mr. Smithson ran down the staircase, he wasn't relief, it was more like a new challenge, he saw the patterns and a bran new list of possible death people he could no dare to lose, what he heard in that moment, was the laugh of an evil person possessive by the thirst of blood.
To be continued ...