The Kill

It was a drop of blood on the floor that caught Shannon’s attention. Not a puddle of blood, not a trail, just a single, solitary drop, so small that he almost didn’t see it. He crouched down next to it, as if examining it would tell him where it came from. It was a very neat drop. It stayed in it’s own little bubble, the crimson liquid not yet dried into an unnoticeable stain on the already red floor.

(You’ll always know it’s there)

As he stood back up, he looked around the corridor suspiciously, hoping the source of the blood would become apparent - and at the same time, hoping he never found out. Nothing screamed out at him, so Shannon ignored the voice in his head and continued down the hallway.

(But the blood was fresh)

Despite being in the hotel for almost a week, Shannon still didn’t know his way around. He followed corridor after corridor, passing hundreds of numbered rooms. Every so often, he’d reach a lounge, with plush sofas, ornate tables, expensive carpet, decorative wallpaper, high ceilings and far too many flowers. Then he’d pick another direction and carry on through more corridors.

(There must be infinite space)

It was easy to loose track of time in the hotel. The only thing that told them whether it was day or night was the sky, but even then it was difficult to find the sky in such a massive building. Shannon was sure one of the lounges had a clear glass ceiling – he’d passed through it a few hours back - but it was impossible for him to find it again. So he kept going.

(It feels like night)

There was an ‘x’ carved into the top of the banister. Shannon ran his fingers over it, feeling the ridges press into his fingertips. He’d thought of leaving markers for himself earlier, to keep track of where he’d been and where he was going, but the cross showed someone had thought of it before him. If he stayed here, that person would almost definitely come back, and he’d have company for the first time in God knows how long. But there was an irresistible urge to keep moving – and he was certain everyone else felt it too. He ran his fingers over and past the mark, following them down the stairs.

(You never know what could be waiting for you)

There were no more markers after that. Every corner he turned, every corridor he followed, every lounge he searched, he looked for another cross, but never found one. The numbers on the doors started looking alien. He couldn’t make any sense of them, unable to remember whether he’d already passed them. Shannon was getting tired, legs aching from roaming the hotel all day.

(But it’s not really roaming if you’re trapped inside)

Feet dragging, Shannon made it to the end of what seemed like an unusually long corridor. He pushed open the solid door in front of him, then through it into yet another lounge. The lounge with the glass roof. He tried to look up at the sky, but the lights inside were too bright. He could only see a reflection of the room in the high ceiling – far too many flowers, decorative wallpaper, expensive carpet, ornate tables and a dark figure stretched out on one of the plush sofas.

(Well, you were asking for company earlier)

Shannon stayed frozen as the door swung shut behind him, eyes on the reflection of the person on the sofa. When he was certain the person wasn’t moving, he took a step forwards, then another, until he was stood behind the sofa. Leaning over the back of the seat, he looked to see who it was.

(Of course it was him)

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding as he saw his brother asleep on the plush seat. His heart slowed down to a more sensible rate, and he swiftly moved from the back to the front, finally stopping and sitting on the floor. Shannon leant back against the sofa, the urge to keep moving sliding out of him as he listened to his brother’s soft breathing.

(You’ve been on all day)

Shannon felt himself slipping asleep.