Chapter 13: The White Room
The room that the men had deposited Chuck into was solid white, with white epoxy flooring, white painted walls, two white chairs, and a white table. It was as if a tap had been placed on the room and the color had been physically drained out. There was a mirror lining one entire wall. One-way glass, Chuck speculated. They had taken his watch so he had no way of knowing how much time had passed. He was tired and let his eyes droop.
Finally a door opened and a man dressed in a dark suit sat in the chair opposite him, he was holding a slim file folder. He was older then any of the three men who had met him at the airport. Graying temples, and wrinkles entrenched around his lips and eyes. Perhaps he occupied a more senior position?
"Hello Mr. Bass. I hope you don't mind that we've kept you waiting so long," the man rumbled in a low voice.
Chuck's eyes fluttered wide. "Not an imposition, at all. May I ask your name?" Chuck forced himself to adopt a polite persona. His only credible option, he decided.
"You may call me Mr. Grey. Do you know why we've brought you here?"
"No. Your colleagues weren't very talkative. If it's about Bass Industries, I really think you bring your questions to the board. I'm really more of a figure head. The board tends to veto most of my ideas. The CFO might be a bit more useful."
"We didn't bring you hear to ask questions about Bass Industries."
"Okay."
"While you were out of town, there was a mishap at your hotel, 'The Empire', as you call it."
"A mishap?"
The man opened up the file folder and started to place pictures on the table.
It was about Jack, Chuck thought nervously, before he started examining the pictures.
The first picture was of the bartender, who worked in the lobby, he was draped on the bar, and the bar looked odd, not cream colored at all, but a dark shiny red.
Chuck looked up.
"He's dead." Mr. Grey said.
Chuck nodded, his heart rate was shooting up. Why was the bartender dead? Blair was only supposed to kill Jack.
There other pictures of assorted women and men, dressed in costumes and masks, all laying motionless in odd postures.
Chuck looked up again.
"They're all dead," Mr. Grey said.
The final picture was in his suite. Jack was half dressed, his naked chest sported a dozen deep gashes, and he had been placed spread eagle on the wall held up by knives through his wrists and ankles. A dead naked woman was sprawled beneath him. The room appeared spattered in blood.
Chuck stood up and gasped. "This is impossible," he managed to utter before he threw up all over Mr. Grey.
He closed his eyes, and sank back into his seat wiping his lips with his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his eyes still shut. "That was less than civil. Please take away the pictures, I don't want to look anymore."