(Inspired by a writing prompt from Writer’s Write Creative Blog)
Through the open window there was as a sound of doors slamming shut. Derek had come fully awake at the first sound of tires squealing as the car came to a stop. He had not moved. It was the middle of the night; why couldn’t he remember coming to this place and why did he feel threatened?
Someone was banging on a door downstairs. There was a shout, something about they were coming. Derek decided that in the absence of any real information he needed to find a way to be elsewhere and quickly.
Silently rising from the bed he quickly searched the room in the light of a flashing neon sign. He saw his shoes by the bed and grabbed them, heading for what looked like a wardrobe or closet of some kind. Not the best option, but he had no way of knowing if he would be seen if he attempted to leave the room. Or if he should care.
He opened the door carefully, relieved it didn’t make any loud noises, and slipped inside. It seemed roomer than it looked from the outside, but still a less than comfortable fit. In the darkness behind the closed door he tried to feel for ways to cover up or disguise his presence. Even moving around with care it became apparent that the back of the cupboard was loose. He gently pushed to see if he could create a false back of some kind to hide behind. The panel slid open and he found a small, tidy room with a dim lamp. Hearing footsteps on the stairway and, seeing no other options, he stepped in and closed the panel behind him.
There were no doors, windows, or closets in this room, although there did appear to be ventilation. He found a latch to secure the panel, moved quietly to a chair and turned out the light. There was quite a commotion going on in the house. The best he could tell there were at least two, maybe three men conducting a thorough search. He listened carefully to see if he could gain any clues about who they were searching for (was it him?) and why? All the while trying to remember why and how he had arrived in the predicament.
He could hear them talking in the next room now. “His” room. It wasn’t English. Maybe – yes — that’s right! It was Dutch. But he only knew enough Dutch to find a taxi, order dinner and find the nearest loo. Ah, yes, that’s what it was! He had arrived in the Netherlands to attend a book fair. And there was something about a tour. He had seen little in the room he abandoned before he sought escape, but he did recall a necklace, some old paperbacks and a wineglass. He didn’t drink wine. And he sure didn’t remember a person who would have worn the necklace. He wasn’t all that interested in old paperbacks. If only he could remember something! When were these people going to leave? He heard the cupboard door swing open. Was it possible to see the false panel from the other side? He sat, not moving a muscle.
I promise, with another character, to do something more with this one.