He moved forward, counting up as he did, glancing into each room. There was still some office furniture left: a few desks, some chairs with broken backs and a couple of steel filing cabinets with drawers out like tongues. Some of the ceiling tiles were missing too and short lengths of wire hung from the shadow that was left. The corridor itself was mainly shadow, the only source of light whatever bled out from the rooms.

Room 2.12.

It was on the right side. He peered in. The blinds were down to give just a hint of daylight etched around the squared edges. He could make out a circular white table in the centre of the room with a flat black piece of paper in the middle. There was nothing else. He pushed the door open.

‘Hello?’ His voice echoed in an empty room. ‘HELLO! IT’S RICHARD? YOU LEFT ME AN APPOINTMENT.’

He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? This was some joker taking advantage of a vulnerable old man. ‘If something seems too good to be true, it generally is,’ he muttered out loud. It was an old mantra, one that he had lived much of his life by. It had never done him any harm either.

He took one last look in, still holding the door, ready to pull it shut, and as his eyes moved to the floor he spotted a white piece of paper that was taped down by his feet, close enough for him to miss on his first sweep. It was a typed note, addressing him personally.

RICHARD. YOU WILL NEED TO BE CALM AND YOU WILL NEED TO READ.

The right side of the paper was taken up by an arrow that looked to be hand drawn and pointed directly at the table. It led him back to the black piece of paper. Now he could see it wasn’t paper at all. It was a folder.

‘HELLO! IS THIS SOMEONE TRYING TO BE FUNNY?’ he called out again. There was no answer. He opened the folder to the first page. It was just three typed words on ice-blue paper. They were enough to take his breath away.

ANGELA MADDOX – DECEASED.

His heart raced faster. Suddenly he needed the table, and splayed the fingertips of his free hand against the wood to steady himself. He could feel his heart rate picking up. He knew it was anger – rage, in fact. It would spread, it could rob him of his vision if he couldn’t control it. This was a windup, someone taking delight in tormenting him, he was sure of it. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. He flicked his gaze up to the corners of the room, expecting to see cameras. There was nothing there.